Money, Nothing, No Free Chicks

I've finally committed my first monetary expenditures towards the house I don't even own yet - going with the more-expensive but kickass roll-in Pink Panther R-40 insulation over the cheap anti-insect treated shredded paper blow-in stuff. Neither, apparently, will be going into my walls much; per the contractor who started doing the repair work stipulated in my purchase agreement yesterday, there are copious firebreak members in every section of the walls of my abode. Bad for fire, but bad for insulation. Burning trumps electricity bill, so there's that.

Note to self re: Burning - call to get homeowner's insurance quotes at lunch while opening a frigging bank account.

As previously noted by angel_renewed, we laid the smack down on a cubif foot of paint removal last night while consuming our various preferred nationalities of sweet sweet beer (Labatt Blue for me, Red Stripes for the micro-zionist commie). Finally determined that there are too many walls between my PC and the wireless hub to afford a stable connection and ran a length of Cat5 to my box, so while we're sharing some serious bandwidth usage (mmmmm, BitTorrent), at least it's gonna make it to all the machines in the house.

The job is finally starting to sink in - routine won't be setting in for at least another week or so [just in time for K to hit town twice in one week, once for an interview and then for good with our stuff (aside to axissilverhand: You did get the flight information, ja? I don't expect to need anything but an overnight bag, but don't know how long the closing will run the afternoon before we fly out; please email me with your cell #)].

Phone service rolled over to the new residence: Check.
Old cable provider alerted to end service 7/23: Check.
Electric company notified of vacating of premises: Up to K (sorry, hon).
New cable company told to turn on service: Pending.
New electric company told same thing: Ditto (probably at lunch).

Vanity plates are $12 - I'm probably going to get one, if I can figure out what I want.

I'd rant about Tom Ridge being a Chicken Little-crying motherfucker, but gargoyl did that pretty well yesterday.

WTP: Balls (no butter) - We're officially endorsing Kerry/Edwards in a press release soon. They can keep the Oval Office warm for us until 2008.

I loathe laptop keyboards; a secondary mission may be to hunt down an inexpensive USB 104-key model so that I can actually type at full speed without wrist deformation. Recommendations welcome.

Sorry I haven't been keeping up with everything better, but I figure I should keep my fucking off at the new job to a minimum for at least a -short- while. ;-)

Wild Turley... Errr. . .. Sledgehammer Party

So, as some of y'all may know, my new house has a garage.

Said garage is, kindly spoken, a fucking deathtrap - the list of fixes required noted on three separate housing inspections are all obviated by a closing statement essentially stating "structure cannot be salvaged."

So, in the fine tradition of my enjoying an adult beverage and some low-grade carnage, I'm planning on having a gathering of folks who are willing to get a little dirty and sweaty wielding crowbars and sledgehammers to knock the fucker over and throw the remains into a dumpster sometime after I assume ownership. (Future plans for the cement pad it sits on are unclear - making it a parking pad and putting up a basketball hoop? Building a new garage? Going with a prefab car port? Option D?)

Similarly, some sections of my exterior fence need some tough love, but that's a later concern - my stance on them is similar to my stance on furniture - until I can do just what I want, I'll hold off (plus, I don't know What I Want is defined as just yet as pertains to the fence, other than it will be tallish and intruder-unfriendly).

So, consider this to be fair warning that, sometime in August, I'm planning on supplying beer and weapons and maybe something to burn meat with in exchange for the blood and sweat of some friendly volunteers for Project Backyard Mayhem.