May. 2nd, 2004

xiphias: (Default)
I've got to talk to Dave, [livejournal.com profile] merkcomet, about his habit of picking crap up at yard sales. I've filled a dumpster with stuff I pulled out of the basement -- by myself, mind you; nobody else has helped ONCE -- and there's more shit in the basement than when I started. That's an exaggeration, but Dave, over the week I've been trying to clean out the basement, brought in several bicycles, a rug, and ghu knows what else. Which is all lying hither and yon around the basement and elsewhere.

The living room is entirely adrift in papers. The downstairs kitchen is filled with stale food and dirty dishes (although no actual ROTTING food, which is good.)

The point, or at least A point of taking over the downstairs was so that Lis and I could finally have a grown-up house. A house with a nice living room and dining room, nice space to entertain, like ADULTS have.

Having auto parts all over the living room isn't helping.

Having those auto parts in the same room as the thousand-dollar sofas is ALSO not helping. It's not that the auto parts themselves are going to fall over or damage the sofas -- it's that people treat sofas that are in rooms with auto parts in them worse than sofas in NICE rooms.

The fucking POINT was to HAVE nice rooms. Places where people would see the furniture, and go, "Hey! These people have nice furniture! How civilized and genteel!"

Having bench seats from a old car leaning up against the wall is just not helping that.
xiphias: (Default)
Dave and I got everything into the dumpster that we wanted to.

That included a busted-up ugly old dresser that was taking up room in the basement.

The bicycles that Dave had went nicely where that dresser was.

I think things are about where I want them to be. The dumpster is totally full, and has everything that I wanted to get into it in it.

After we got a bunch more crap in the dumpster, Dave and I found an old knife sticking into a tree in the yard, so we practiced throwing it. That was fun. And neither of us got injured, which would probably surprise anyone who'd ever seen Diana try to teach me knife-throwing back at Brandeis. Diana told me I was no longer allowed to throw knives in her room (she had throwing knives, and a target on the back of her door) after one of the knives bounced straight back at me, and I had to dodge to keep it from hitting me in the face.

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