Via BoingBoing.

So sure enough, an hour later here comes this nice young Ukranian man with a Kirby vacuum in a box. I thought, "Ah, the Kirby people." But I'm mighty good at resisting a sales pitch, and lord knows the carpet needs all the attention it can get.

He started vacuuming and stopped almost immediately. He showed me a filter from the machine that looked like a big dog-fur hamburger. It had already picked up that much crud. I was impressed, and he went on along, sucking up Pomeranian-sized wads of hair and dirt. Then he started the sales pitch. He claimed the retail price of the vacuum was $2800, but since they were trying to start a business in town, he'd sell it to me (tonight only!) for $1800. And guess what? They offered easy financing!

I tried to look interested, and encouraged him to keep vacuuming. When he asked what payment option I'd be looking at, I told him we're going to Hawaii this spring and that I was saving my money for that. He went on with some middling-hard sell tactics, but I resisted. What finally convinced him to pack up and leave was how I kept trying to get him to vacuum and shampoo more parts of the carpet. He said, "I don't want to waste anyone's time here," and I replied, "You're not wasting mine--you're cleaning my carpet." He said, "Maybe I'm wasting my time."

Heh heh.

I decided to do some researching tonight, and a quick glance at Wikipedia tells me all I need to know. No matter how good the vacuum is, the sales practices appear to be so shady that I don't want any kind of relationship with that outfit.

Isn't that typical of so many multi-level marketing groups?

In the meantime, it sure is nice to have all that dog hair out of the carpet. I should have tried to get him to just run the vacuum over Daisy a bunch of times--that would have eliminated a lot of the middle steps.

The best things about the cabin were those that occurred outside it, though. We discovered a big patch of ripe huckleberries behind it, and spent quite a bit of time picking and eating. We also found that Freya has an astonishing aptitude for catching the little white butterflies that were flitting around in the meadow below the cabin. She'd catch one, name it (Scooby, Daphne and Edie were among the names she selected), then turn it loose to be caught again minutes later. To my dying day, I'll never forget the sight of her running around in the grass, chasing those butterflies. It was beautiful.

While she was occupied with the lepidopterae, Matt and I took time to just sit in lawn chairs, read and relax. The weather was perfect and we had a good stock of adult beverages to sip. Freya would check back in to deliver snuggles as she felt appropriate.

We visited nearby Olive Lake and Matt got to do some fishing, and the dogs fetched sticks ad nauseum. We drove to Desolation Butte Look-Out and saw some pretty spectacular views, and we visited the town of Ukiah, which pretty much was a sucky place. Nice location, but there were junked cars and metal scrap heaps everywhere, hardly any businesses to speak of, and it just struck me as a place that kids probably couldn't wait to get out of--and for good reason.

We saw salmon spawning in the North Fork of the John Day River, we saw deer grazing in the meadow below the cabin in the evenings, and we made some great memories. I hope you all had a good week, too.

*This is in no way a paid endorsement. As if the government would ever pay anyone to talk up one of their rental cabins.

I painted the master bedroom, for starters. We'd been talking about doing it for a while, and I seized the initiative on Thursday and got started. I was able to peel the last of the masking tape off the trim this morning. I'll show you pictures of the finished product once I've got the bed assembled (and since I haven't found the needed box springs yet, it could be a while), but here's a shot of the first few strokes of paint.

It ended up being what I call "plum chocolate," in that it is a definite brown color, but there are hints of purple to it. It's really pretty, and the room looks awesome, especially with the contrasting white in the trim and on my furniture.

Today's project has been home-made spaghetti sauce. I picked up a case of tomatoes from the farm we have the CSA with, and was able to get most of the other ingredients from a nearby farm-stand. This year I decided to grill the tomatoes before stewing them with everything else. I think it should turn out great. I've got about three gallons cooking now, and will hopefully make at least another four or five gallons tomorrow.

Want to know my secret ingredient for the sauce? Cinnamon. It's hard for me to say what measurement, since I don't measure anything, but I'd guess about a tablespoon of cinnamon per two gallons. It adds a great depth to the flavor.

The best part of the sauce project is that we don't eat all the sauce ourselves; I trade lots of it off to coworkers. I'm usually able to get a pound of elk steak or burger per quart of sauce. Alternately, I've often got a quart of frozen cherries or peaches in exchange.

Next week I'm roasting anaheim peppers and will make up a bunch of chili relleno casseroles for the freezer. Woot!

Where are we going, you ask. We have rented a Forest Service cabin in eastern Oregon and will be spending a few nights there. It's our first trip with Daisy, though Grover is an old hand (paw?) at traveling around. We're hoping Daisy isn't the type to take off like a jet plane the first time she gets out into the woods off leash.

Remember, if you're going to break in and burgle the house while we're gone, do something to ruin the carpet while you're here. It really needs to be replaced. Thanks!

The new box springs are smaller, but they're still too large by a combined total of 2.5 inches. I called the Youth Ranch and it turns out the box springs they should have given me are now not in the store anymore--not sure if they sold them, or what.

At this point, I hardly know what to do. I'm so frazzled by the entire experience that I can't think straight. I guess I'll end up taking the set I bought today back to the store, and then I have to go on a hunt for box springs that have a combined width of just slightly less than 72 inches.

This is madness, or at least the road to it.

Oh, you want to hear something else? You'll love this: after chewing the mechanic's ass yesterday, taking my money back and leaving, guess what happened? My check engine light came back on.

This is me--> "Waiter, how fresh is your crow this evening?"

Not really. I'm not ever going back to that mechanic. I did run the car back by the second mechanic who hooked the car up to his machine, read the code out loud to me, and then let me look over his shoulder while he looked up the code online. We both read, "Replace ignition coil." So then he clicked around some more, found the place with the best deal on the part, and gave me a quote of $120. That includes labor. No drama, no jacking me around. So strangely, while I am bummed that the car does need repair after all, I feel good about the experience.

You're going to have to bear with me for a few minutes before I explain that, though. First I have an epic triumph to share with you all.

You'll recall that last week I dealt with a bit of a cluster when my car started acting weird. I returned to the mechanic that gave me the explanation that my computer needed to be replaced for $2900, because I needed to pick up the engine cover they'd forgotten to put back on it. While there, the mechanic said, "I'm glad you came in, because I forgot to get the diag from you." I said, "What's a diag?" He said, "The diagnostic fee." I said okay and followed him into the shop with my checkbook in hand. He beeped and booped on the computer for a minute and then said, "That'll be $114.76."

I was already writing out the check, and then said, "What exactly am I paying for here?" He explained that it was for the mechanic's time in diagnosing the issue with my car. I said, "That's kind of ironic, considering the explanation he gave me wasn't even correct. I'd like to talk to the shop owner, please." The owner came in and I ever so sweetly gave it to him with both barrels. I explained that I was extremely suspicious of their diagnosis and pointed out that rather than costing $2900 for a computer, the actual fix cost me $50 for a tank of ethanol-free gas and a bottle of fuel injector cleaner. I then said that as a woman, I was extremely annoyed by how mechanics were known to take advantage of women, relying on them not knowing about cars or not getting a second opinion.

The owner started to bluster a bit and pointed out that in order for my computer to report the error as "Check Engine," the problem had to happen hundreds of times in short order. Armed with the knowledge I had from the other mechanic shop, I said, "No, it only has to happen twice, and there are numerous reasons that error could have come up." I again said that I was very unhappy with the transaction, and that as a business owner, it was excellent for him to hear the unvarnished truth from a customer so they could then address their issues. He finally said, "Fine, we'll just eat the expense," and handed me back my check. I thanked him, and I left. Freya was with me, and as I was loading her into the car, she opened up her little paw and showed me all the penny candy she'd lifted from their dish in the waiting area. She's her mama's child, that one.

So that's my triumph. Want to hear about the bad news of my day?

I came home and Matt and I started assembling the bed in our room. It looks AWESOME. Seriously, no one (aside from the entire internet) will ever know that we didn't spend a thousand dollars or more on it. But then we went to put our box springs inside the frame. Our bed is a king, and there are two twin box springs that go with it. They didn't fit, not by several inches. They were much too big. We stood there and scratched our heads and Matt said, "Maybe we have a California King." I told him that wasn't possible. I went and measured our queen bed, which was a good foot narrower than the new bed frame. I scratched my head some more and then called the Youth Ranch, where I bought it.

They swore up and down that they had a regular king-sized mattress on it when it was on display, along with the box springs. I made them go measure the box springs: they were several inches narrower than mine. It turns out that we do, after all, have a California King.

So here's the bed--lovely, isn't it?

I'm going back to the Youth Ranch tomorrow to buy their box springs. Our mattress should work fine. Sigh...it's a damned good thing I saved all that money by arguing with the mechanic, huh?

Anyway, the bed got a coat of paint each of the last two nights, getting plenty of time to dry out thoroughly between coats. Tomorrow, I'll sand down a few spots to make it look worn, and then try to horse that behemoth into the bedroom. I'm picking a great night for it, since Matt will be out working. Maybe it's better this way--he won't get hurt trying to put it together, and won't get his feelings hurt when he finally has to concede that I'm better at doing stuff like that anyway.

I wish I had taken a Before picture of the bed. Suffice it to say that I think it was owned by a professional bed-user in its past life. Specifically, I think it must have been a fixture in a bordello--a rough bordello. There are a lot of chips and dents in the wood, and in places along the legs there are some good-sized splinters that I had to sand down. It's...impressive.

However, it really does look good and I'm quite impressed with my refinishing work. Now that I know I can do it, I'll have to look for more of these little projects, and I can quit lusting after the adorable shabby chic items at the vintage and antique stores!

I couldn't get the bed out of my mind. As soon as the store opened Saturday morning, I called them and had them put a hold on it for me. I took Freya over there, and took a closer look at it. It was pretty banged up. In fact, it had once been a canopy bed, evidently, but all four of the posts were missing just above the headboard. They'd been unscrewed and were no longer with the rest of the bed. The wood was very nicked up, and there were gouges all over the place. A lot of people probably looked at it and said, "Junk," but I was still caught in the throes of shabby-chic-hood. I saw a show piece. I bought the bed and it was delivered this afternoon.

In the meantime, I got online and read about 20 articles about refinishing furniture in the cottage style. I went over to Lowe's and got sandpaper, primer, brushes and paint. And today, after the bed arrived, I went to work. I put a few hours into it and now have it sanded and a coat of primer applied. The first coat of paint goes on tomorrow after I get home from work. Needless to say, I really hope it turns out well. I'm good at getting myself into situations that initially sounded like a great idea, but don't turn out that well in reality.

Also, I hope Matt likes it. I didn't tell him last night that I'd bought the cool bed I saw. I thought I'd just surprise him. Bless him, he's used to this from me. Knowing that I am easily influenced, he didn't even bat an eye when he came home after a weekend away at work and found I'd painted the master bedroom in our Cascade house dark purple, a la "While You Were Out." He's pretty well broken in at this point.

I suppose I'd better leave him a note about the footboard on the porch, since I'll be in bed before he gets home from work tonight.

I think this stems from having a 1986 Isuzu Trooper when I was in high school, and that stupid car was in the shop literally far more often than it was out during the time I owned it. I think I paid like $1800 for it, and over $3000 in repairs. That was some hardcore suckage right there. Ever since, I've only owned new cars. Granted, I've regularly owned those cars for years and years and driven the shit out of them.

So earlier this week after the first diagnosis that the car wasn't just in imminent danger of taking a major crap, but HAD taken the crap, I got all panicky. I started car shopping. I have to admit, it is very fun to fantasize about having a new car. However, I really wanted to wait until after Freya had started public school and I no longer was paying $6k+ per year in daycare before I took on a car payment again.

I wobbled, I waffled, I talked to car dealers. I researched trade-in prices and purchase prices and calculated loan payments at Edmunds. I consulted with co-workers. But then I talked to the coworker I have dubbed "The World's Cheapest Man." (The dude has never paid more than $30 for a pair of tennis shoes. And he still owns every pair of tennis shoes he's bought in the last 15 years.)

He pointed out that I should really at least try the second mechanic's suggested fix of the ethanol-free gas and fuel injector cleaner before I got all crazy to buy a new car. He said that if the problem returns, I can do the quick-fix again long enough to take it to a dealership and trade it in if I have to. But in the meantime, is it worth having car payments again? Since we're planning a trip to Hawaii in February and I want to save more pennies for that mission, the answer is no.

I'd like to think this means I am growing up and gaining wisdom about large purchases.

My car is a 2003 Toyota Matrix with only 60,000 miles on it. I am not given to expect things like chugging.

I pulled over, noticed the Check Engine light had come on, and looked in my owner's manual to get a clue of what to do. Essentially it said, "Point toward the nearest dealership and hope like hell you make it there." I limped the car home and took it to our regular mechanic on Monday.

I got a call yesterday afternoon from him, and it was bad, bad news. He said my ignition coil had burned out, and unfortunately it destroyed my car's ECU (computer) with it. The repair would cost $2905. My car is only worth about $7000 in trade as it is, and so the thought of spending nearly half that to fix it shook me up. I wasn't sure what to do, so I did what I always do--I called Daddy. He told me to get a second opinion.

I went and got my car and drove it to my boss's mechanic. A few hours later, he called me and explained that because of the conditions I was driving in and because I had less than a quarter tank of fuel when the chugging happened, he was pretty sure that I simply had some vapor issues in the gas tank. He recommended a can of fuel injector treatment and a tank of ethanol-free gas to clear things up. It cost $53 to take the car to him, and another $30 for the gas. He said that while he couldn't absolutely say that my ECU wasn't going out, he was pretty darned sure that the car was going to be just fine.

The lesson: get a second opinion.

The fire department station just across the field from us has sent out two trucks heading south, and we heard another station's truck wailing in that direction a few moments ago.

I'm sure most all of my fire buddies are getting their knickers in a twist tonight, wondering if fire season is really here.

Me? The closest I'm going to get to a fire is hearing my beloved Michael Franti singing "Yell Fire" tomorrow night at the Eagle River Pavilion. Woot!

I'm going to tell you right now: it was WAY better than I thought it would be. As Freya and I were waiting in the line to sign in and get name tags, a lady who was the school secretary when I started school (back in 1980!) came up and gave me a huge hug and said she and her husband had just been talking about me the other day. Now, considering it's easily been 12 years since I saw either one of them, I found that pretty flattering. In fact, I spoke to and got lots of hugs from the older folks in the crowd. That made me feel like folks thought I was a pretty good kid.

None of the people I didn't want to see were there, which made things easy. The only nervous-making time was when I recognized a Jehovah's Witness family who lived down the road from me. I usually respond to their shunning of me with a hearty shunning of my own, but was later surprised shocked when the son that I grew up with came up and chatted with me for a while and was very friendly.

Freya got lots of admiration, and a couple of people said that she looks just like I did when I was little. I told them I took that for a huge compliment, since I think she's totally beautiful. I hope that sounded the way I meant it.

In summary, I feel like it was actually a pretty healing experience. I know I fall into the trap of remembering the bad things--I guess most of us do that--and thinking about them more often than the good. The reunion helped me remember the good things, and it helped me to see myself the way others see me. I'm very glad I went.

I am also pretty glad I didn't wear a girdle.

Class of 1992:

2 Cool
2 Be
4 Gotten

Okay, now what do you think?

If that doesn't do it for you, how about this:

Additionally, the indomitable Mel is going to give the place a little face-lift here in the days to come. As she pointed out to me, "Skins are kinda old skool, yo," and I have to agree with her. Besides, I could never figure out how to get rid of the whole Pink for October thing the other eleven months of the year.

So! I hope you like the new look, and that you find some joy and great bargains in the new ad program. I do appreciate your feedback on such things, so if you have thoughts, let me know in the comments, won't you?