Game of Thrones: The Terlet chronicles

 Back in 1906, shortly before the great lard famine that was the beginning of the 100-year Swine War, a young family saw fit to build a house in St. Paul.  Over the years, this house saw few renovations other than when some bright soul thought to tile the ENTIRE second floor in mint green vinyl/asbestos tiles and when when they installed carpeting (sometime around 1948) that would still be there (smelly and worn through to the floor) in 1999 when we purchased this abode. 

For what seems like 10 years now, we here at VonPartypants headquarters have been toiling on what has been dubbed "Operation Fix This Fucking House"- a full on renovation & redecorating effort that looks to be nearing an end sometime in August...of 2025.

Well, I am ever so proud/embarrassed to say that we have finally finished another room- the very room that was the main reason that we started all this nonsense in the first place:  Crapper #1.

Crapper #1 was truly, truly fugtacular.  Actually, "fugly" isn't really even strong enough for this abomination.  The walls & tile were that color that Crayola used to call "flesh" (what do they call that color now? "White Folk"?), and the trim was the color of poo the day after eating too many beets.  I tried gussying things up over the years, but how horrifying that we lived with THIS grossness for way, way too long:

 (I'd like to say that the light looking like that was a recent thing, but we had the house re-wired over 2 years ago.  So...yeah.)

(You can see I just kind of gave up here.  By now we had a 2nd crapper and I pretty much just ignored Crapper #1)

The beginning of the demo. 

Aaaannnnddd....

New and improved!  And cute!  I'm not scared to pee in there now!

The shelf is lined in cedar- that was an idea of the Mr's I was skeptical of, but it looks great & smells fantastic. 

The thing on top of the radiator is a padded landing for the kitties- I knew they'd jump up there no matter what, so I decided to make it more comfy for their furry little behinds.

So. Much. Tiling. 

I'm in deep, deep love with the mosaic on the floor.  If you're ever in the market, Modwalls has REALLY cool tiles (not just mosaics) at really great prices.  Highly recommended.

I thought things were getting a bit too masculine in there, so I bought this print on Etsy.  I call it "Bunny Vagina"

More stuff on the walls.  My Crazy Cat Lady influence stretches far and wide at the VonPartypants Estate. You can't walk two feet in here without running into something pussy-related.  Next week I'll show you my vast collection of cat-themed embroidered sweatshirts.

We really only have one room left in OFTFH:  the kitchen.  

Ugh. 

OH, and the back porch.  

And the front porch. 

And the scary basement.

And the guest room. 

And...

Achoo, Achoo, Haiku!

Dog pukes on the bed
So much for sleeping in late
It smells like turkey


Guy drives by slowly
"Nice puppies" he says to me
I think he means boobs


Twins game on Friday
Is that football or baseball?
At least we'll have beer


Raw rhubarb, so tart
So crisp, don't eat too much though
It gives you the poops

Somewhere between zealotry and nihilism?

I once had a conversation with someone I knew, but didn't know all that well, when the topic of religion came up.  Yay!

"So, what are you?" they asked.
"What do you mean?" I answered, not really entirely understanding what they were asking me.
"What religion are you?" they replied, ever-so-nonchalantly, as if asking about what kind of car I drive.
"Well, none, really.  I'm athiest." (In car terms, this is roughly the same as announcing that I drive a rusty 1974 Pinto.)

*crickets*
"Really?" was their response.  "You really don't believe in anything?"

Um...well, it's not that simple, really. 

I'm always hesitant to engage in this particular discussion with people who do not know me that well.  Once the question is asked and answered, the conversation usually goes one of three ways:

1) I see that unmistakeable flicker on their face that marks a flash of judgment passing through their head.  This is the point where they decide that, not only will they never leave me alone with their children lest I corrupt them with my heathen ways, but they will likely not be asking me to join their scrapbooking club that meets every other Monday night.  This I can live with. These same people usually try to politely "state the case" for religion, as if I could change my ways by simply engaging in a five-minute dialog about why religion is so awesome and how could I make such a choice?  I usually get out of this exchange as quickly as possible, either by telling them I have explosive diarrhea and need to visit the can, or I tell them I'm late for my "How to knit Satanic sweaters" class and I bolt out the door. 


2) They go into persuasion/arguing mode. This is a discussion I usually stop immediately, sometimes by faking a seizure or feigning narcolepsy.  Here- I'll condense what would likely be an hour-long, heated, and ultimately pointless exchange into this: You're not going to change my mind, I'm not interested in trying to change yours.  The end. 

3) They feel the same way I do, or at least they understand and have no interest in going down that road.  Then we start talking about other stuff (usually our pet's pooping habits), have a cocktail, and ultimately leave the situation as friends, or at least acquaintances that won't intentionally avoid one another in social situations by pretending to not know how to speak English.

When people don't get it, the thing they most likely don't understand is that this isn't a choice for me.  I didn't choose to be/feel this way.  I simply don't believe in God, I don't believe in heaven or hell, I don't believe in an afterlife.  I've known this my entire life, just like I know I have brown eyes and that I can't whistle.  For a while in my teens I was convinced that the posters in my bedroom were actually watching me, but I have since come to understand that no, the boys from Duran Duran were NOT watching me change clothes, so there was really no reason to shut the light off when I did.


This isn't a choice.  It is simply how I am.  Just as those that believe can't imagine not believing and would fight to the death for their beliefs, I will fight for my convictions with every cell in my body.  I firmly believe that I conduct myself in ways that are far more "Christian" than many people claiming to be as such.  I believe in the credo of "live and let live", I treat others as I would like to be treated (most of the time, anyways. Sometimes people just suck and deserve what they get), I believe that we all deserve equal opportunities in life, regardless of where, how, or who we were born to, and I believe that, whatever your feelings/leanings when it comes to religion or lack thereof, you have no right whatsoever to use those beliefs to suppress, dismiss, or persecute other people.  Period.


I just can't imagine...believing.  It just doesn't register.  It doesn't make me amoral, evil, or lacking in character.  I don't judge you or try to change your mind, how dare you judge and try to change me.  It isn't fair. 

How about we all just try to get along, accept one another as we are, maybe go get a nice cheese plate & a glass of wine and enjoy this lovely, sunny day together?

Sounds good to me.