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Most of the time I actually don't mind my duplex neighbors. They're relatively quiet, they've stopped leaving their yip dog out in the yard next to my bedroom window yipping his little head off until three am because he can see the light from my tv, they sort of reinforced the fence between our two yards which is something that had been on my "Honey Do" list for awhile... All in all, not bad people. We usually share a laugh when Tito - the small yip dog - escapes and tries to menace my seventy pound furry snausage while Brandon blinks and tries to figure out why the tasty meat snack is making noise at him.
However, they're cookers. They cook things in their house and I can smell it.
Nothing exotic or horribly gross or anything, but during certain times of my hormonal cycle the smell of cooking meat makes me want to hurl.
Violently.
There are reasons why I prefer my meat medium rare, tops, and this is one of them.
Right now my entire house "reeks" - I put that in quotes because I tend to be a tiny bit more sensitive about smells than other people, like my husband, and have been told I have a werewolf nose, and there is a very real possibility that I am the only person on the planet who would be noticing this right now - of "over cooked" meat.
In other random Hormone induced craziness news - I sat down at my desk today and decided it would be a good day to completely reorganize the way iTunes has sorted my music library. Then, I decided that the giant plastic tub full of newspaper clippings, certificates, movie ticket stubs, brochures, postcards and whatever ever else I've been hoarding for the last EIGHTEEN YEARS with the idea that someday I would put them in some sort of memory album needed to be sorted out. Today.
Good news - I found every letter that Captain wrote me during his time at Basic/AIT and his first deployment in '05. Plus the two letters he's sent me this deployment - and if you're reading this Pumpkin, that was a hint.
Bad news - I've sworn to myself that I need to be careful with the budget until mid-month, yet I ran off and spent forty bucks on some expandable boxes to hold all the aforementioned junk from the plastic tub.
Last night, when the hormonal shift began, I sat down and pieced together everything I would need to finish the next seven pages in the current scrapbook, even though I won't actually be putting them together until this weekend when Sarah comes over for Crafty Times With Miah! (Also called Short Attention Span Let's Go Shopping Are You Hungry Were We Doing Something What Time Is It Anyway days.)
I also typed up 1100 words for chapter six of Walls, finishing up the second scene of the chapter and leaving me with three more to write according to the outline I sometimes remember exists. And I also also knitted roughly a tenth of the baby blanket currently on my kicky skull topped size 13 needles.
Sarah and I are going to dinner when she gets off work tonight - there may be a What-a-Burger Patty Melt in my future - and then I plan to fill the tub with sugared vanilla bubbles, turn on the jacuzzi jet thing and write an outline for my SS/HG Exchange Fic since I finally settled on a prompt.
However, they're cookers. They cook things in their house and I can smell it.
Nothing exotic or horribly gross or anything, but during certain times of my hormonal cycle the smell of cooking meat makes me want to hurl.
Violently.
There are reasons why I prefer my meat medium rare, tops, and this is one of them.
Right now my entire house "reeks" - I put that in quotes because I tend to be a tiny bit more sensitive about smells than other people, like my husband, and have been told I have a werewolf nose, and there is a very real possibility that I am the only person on the planet who would be noticing this right now - of "over cooked" meat.
In other random Hormone induced craziness news - I sat down at my desk today and decided it would be a good day to completely reorganize the way iTunes has sorted my music library. Then, I decided that the giant plastic tub full of newspaper clippings, certificates, movie ticket stubs, brochures, postcards and whatever ever else I've been hoarding for the last EIGHTEEN YEARS with the idea that someday I would put them in some sort of memory album needed to be sorted out. Today.
Good news - I found every letter that Captain wrote me during his time at Basic/AIT and his first deployment in '05. Plus the two letters he's sent me this deployment - and if you're reading this Pumpkin, that was a hint.
Bad news - I've sworn to myself that I need to be careful with the budget until mid-month, yet I ran off and spent forty bucks on some expandable boxes to hold all the aforementioned junk from the plastic tub.
Last night, when the hormonal shift began, I sat down and pieced together everything I would need to finish the next seven pages in the current scrapbook, even though I won't actually be putting them together until this weekend when Sarah comes over for Crafty Times With Miah! (Also called Short Attention Span Let's Go Shopping Are You Hungry Were We Doing Something What Time Is It Anyway days.)
I also typed up 1100 words for chapter six of Walls, finishing up the second scene of the chapter and leaving me with three more to write according to the outline I sometimes remember exists. And I also also knitted roughly a tenth of the baby blanket currently on my kicky skull topped size 13 needles.
Sarah and I are going to dinner when she gets off work tonight - there may be a What-a-Burger Patty Melt in my future - and then I plan to fill the tub with sugared vanilla bubbles, turn on the jacuzzi jet thing and write an outline for my SS/HG Exchange Fic since I finally settled on a prompt.