The Gentle Fart of Domesticity

I'd like to tell you a story. Gather round, children.

It's barely lunch, and there is already a story to tell. This morning started way too early. BF is on a business trip, and so he thought that I too might like to get up at 8:15am to chit chat. As this was a horrible error in judgement, I was too aggravated to go back to sleep at 8:30 when he finally let me off the phone with promises of blueberry pancakes once he moves here. Anyway, I got up, watched some tv, hung out with the dog, and decided that I should go get an uber coffee drink at Starbucks, and maybe wander around Barnes & Noble. Whoever thought to team the two up is an Evil Genius.

So I get my coffee and I wind up purchasing two books with the money I earned (but have not received yet) by cleaning a newly vacated apartment owned by some clients at work. Aren't I clever? I was going to blow it all on yarn, but these books called to me. I bought Weekend Sewing by Heather Ross. It's splendid. It's not intimidating, has cute projects, all easily (or so it would seem) completed and all were things that I totally wanted to make. Love. I looked at sooooo many books that I had my eye on because of the blogosphere hype of them all, and they sort of left me feeling kind of meh. But this one, oh this one had me wanting to run home and sew all sorts of things. I like that- I think that's the mark of a good, no, great book. There's a difference is a book that's nice to look at and makes me say "oh, that's a nice...thing" and one that makes me say "I LOVE that, that, that, and that and I need them in my life and feel inspired to make it so." That's how I feel about Heather Ross' book. It's neato.

Then. Oh, then I found a book I have coveted from afar but never actually held in my grubby little hands. It's The Gentle Art of Domesticity. It's beautiful. What little I have read has been sweet, thoughtful, accompanied by gorgeous photos, and just generally enthralls me. I had already planned to leave it out on the coffee table with my other Coffee Table Books (Spirit Dancer and Bitter With Baggage Seeks Same- what can I say, I am a varied and complex young lady.) So I pull up at the house with visions of cleaning a little, opening the doors and windows, planting some foxglove seeds, perhaps a little NPR, and practicing the art of domesticity, ever so gently.

Then I walked in the house and smelled shit.

Yup, Someone could not stand the thought of me having fun without her and shit her pants. Er, crate. Then i let her out of her crate, to discover that she stepped on turds with her back feet. They made these sort of Turd Hooves that thankfully didn't get on the carpet (mostly) while I chased her around the apartment. By the time I caught her she was so frazzled, I had to carry her to the bathroom. Now at this point, i will say that there is an upside to the fact that I frequently have to wash her own bodily...whatEVERS off her. That is that this dog delights in baths and has perfected her own Gentle Art of taking them. She waits for her collar to come off. Once it does, she hops in the tub on her own. She stays at the back end of it waiting for the water to be the right temp before walking into it (the tub drains sort of slowly. I bet there's two dogs worth of fur down there.) and then she stands very still while you lather her up, except for maybe giving you a kiss or eleven while you are on eye level. that's about the point where it's useless staying mad at her. So then when it's rinsing time, she puts her front paws up on the edge of the tub, so that you can make sure you get all the soap off her, please and thank you. Then she steps back down and lifts one leg at a time so that you can rinse those as well. Turn off the water and she will shake off once, hop out of the tub (more slowly and carefully than hopping in- wouldn't want to slip, now would we.) and waits to be towel dried. Again, with the Show Pony style leg lifting. She gives one thank you kiss, and then heads out to resume laying on the couch. How this civilized little doggie still insists on crapping herself, I will never know.

So yeah, this sort of sums up my life, and the constant fuckery that accompanies my attempts at crafty goodness and a lovely surrounding. I have the grandest intentions of perhaps ogling my hostas (still not over the wonder that is a plant that dies and then just decides to come back without a seance or anything. Amazing.), cleaning, working on the great kitchen makeover, knitting a few more rows of the second sock, and reading my books over and over and over again. But does that happen? Nope, not till the dog's Turd Hooves are removed, and the remaining little shit nuggets in her crate are ever-so carefully removed, the surrounding area cleaned, the room aired out, and disinfectant sprayed. Hey, we share a bedroom, Maya and I. i don't want Eau de Dookie in my room. Aromatherapy, it is not. Actually, I have started having a Pavlovian response to it almost and my blood begins to boil immediately upon smelling it. So yeah- cute tunics, vegan muffins, neatly stored balls of yarn, the quiet and thoughtful feathering of one's nest- not happening here at the Stupid house. Nope, but the gentle art of poop cleaning is in full fucking swing today, friends!

Oh and in the way of Confessional Sunday, unless you count books (which I do NOT; books are our friends and they are always allowed to be purchased and loved- AWAYS!) I am guilt free this week, and last week. I am also sadly Finished Object free, but hey- see above.