Moi, Toi, et VoI: July 2009

Find of the Day 237.

For the powder room at Canary II.

WAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Ouch.

Waah!

Surgery on my hand scheduled for August 12 to remove the "mass in right palm". Waah. At least I will be 'moderately sedated', that is, I will, according to the waiver, not likely remember much and they will drug me sweetly before inserting myriad needles into and fileting my mitt. And PeopleCat arrives that night from Chicago, so I will, no doubt, be in the partying mood.

The two good things about the impending doom:

1. The surgeon is the main hand surgeon go-to guy to the stars, er, the Philadelphia Eagles, Phillies and Sixers, so I am in, er, good hands.

2. I cannot do dishes for two weeks. It's because of the bacteria in the dishwater, of course. Shana Maidel suggested 3 weeks. I totally trust her professional opinion.

I'm Cranky; Whatchya Gonna Do About It?

People in general are annoying me lately. If you read this blog, you are most likely not one of those people, but to hell with the rest of you.

Deuce is going going. Almost finished painting. I think I may have a heart attack if crap doesn't get cleaned up and cleared out so I can finish up with the black and white tiling in there. All of my equipment is coming by the end of this week and the place is still a minor disaster. Let's not even discuss the fact that the lump on my hand is preventing me from assisting in the expediting of this process. Jesus Christos.

Since we are about to put SFG's condo on the market, we must have it 'model home' ready at any given point in time now. And I just had to order (at the realtor's behest (sigh)) a custom made knock-off Karlanda slipcover from Sweden for better feng shui purposes (and the fact that Ernie hair shows up, and yes, it is Ernie-colored). (Yes, this is, literally, the only place you can get slipcover for a discontinued Ikea sofa on the planet.).

And I have an appointment with the hand surgeon on Thursday who will probably stick that nasty needle in my palm and extract a gelatinous fluid that leaks from the tendon and cannot absorb back in the body naturally (Yes, I've been reading too much WebMD so help me god). But this effer hurts and we've gotta do something with it. I am at at 78% capacity with a bum dominant hand and it's making me very cranky.

Hiss.

Hands Off!

I have this unidentified lump on my right palm. It hurts when pressed, which has made using tools difficult. I've been doing a lot of painting at Deuce and I've had to hold the brush like a pen and lemme tell you, that seriously hurts after 450 square feet of that kind of maneuvering.

My doctor thinks it is either a ripped tendon sheath or a cyst on the tendon. I have an appointment with a hand surgeon next week to take a look at it.

Oh, just thinking about the phrases "my hand" and "surgeon" make me woozy to think about. I do not like my hands or feet poked, prodded, pulled or otherwise fondled in any way. I scream like a banshee when my mom puts acupuncture needles in my hands. And those needles are nothing like the needles that they show on WebMD for aspirating palmar cysts.

I can't even think about this without my eyes crossing. I will sign any forms waiving claims against Jefferson for general anesthesia. They will at the very least have to give me a Valium drip and lay me down flat because I will not last long with a 172 gauge needle in the palm of my dominant hand. I can't even think about the possibility of the knife.

I think I am going to faint.

Unplanned Asskicking.

Have I mentioned the new space is on the same block as Planned Parenthood?

This morning, while I was fiddling with those horrid new parking meter kiosks from Hell that make me feel especially stupid, two old guys with signs that said "Contraception Hurts Women" started tag team-whaling on the Planned Parenthood 'bouncer' while he was trying to escort a poor soul into the building. The oldies managed to drag him into the street, all the while the bouncer screaming "I'm being assaulted! Attention! I'm being assaulted!". Then the cops came. Like two squad cars, an ambulance, and another three on bikes. I must have just missed the horse and the Segway.

I have some really good cross-promotional marketing ideas with PP using those little plastic babies they put in king cakes, but I won't go there.

Find of the Day.

Labor of Love.

Good evening ladies and germs!

Sorry I've neglected ye, I've been busy as sin jumping from Canary I to Deuce and everywhere in between. We've had staff changes, accountant appointments, PGW/PECO applications, and godhelpmeIonlyhopeIgetitalldone!

Deuce is coming along. M and I went shopping for fabrics for the picture window bench and corresponding pillows: oh, holy cuteness...we're doing 8-10 different pillows in different shapes, sizes and fabrics. I've got Space Age go-go girl, cheetah print, polka dots, '50s ladies' suits weaves, plaid moires, Chinese brocades...oh, can I tell you how freakin' gayborhood adorable this place is gonna be? Dang, am I excited.

I'm in the (continual) process of (t)arting the joint up. I am always looking for cool stuff to grace the Celestial Lyndhurst walls of Deuce. If you're feeling creative and funky and want some cred here in Philly, send me some art! We'll put it on the walls and give you props, dig? Right now, I've got a whole lotta 'canary' art, but cool, colorful, fresh and fruity is always accepted.

Cheers!

This May Sound Mental, But...

I LOVE the new WC sign for the shop I bought on etsy.

Serenity Now!

Just when I thought things were interesting and juggly enough, I got word that my tenants in the house that Mr. X and I own are moving out September 1.

September 1 happens to be the target date for Canary Deuce opening.

Lord, grant me the serenity...yada yada...

SFG and I are doing our damndest to move into the house, but I'll tell ya, as much as I am very excited about the prospect of 'coming home', so to speak, the thought of doing it simultaneously with the birth of Deuce is enough to turn Golda Meir into a dribbling, giggling banshee.

What this all boils down to is putting SFG's condo on the market and being prepared to move out in, oh, say 7 weeks or so. All the while attempting to sell my first born to PGW to get gas service at the Deuce. It is a lot to digest. In fact, I am feeling quite nauseated at the moment. Like I just gorged myself at the Southern Italian restaurant down the block. And then I ordered dessert.

Please Don't Gouge Your Eyes Out Out of Boredom After Reading This Post.

I feel supremely accomplished today.

I

- finished painting the main interior ('Celestial Lyndhurst').
- picked out the stainless steel tables with which to create our fresh and sleek wainscoted cashwrap and condiment bar.
- caught up on ugly QuickBooks inputting.
- picked up the Interceptor and Frontline from the vet.
- got on the ball with insurances for Deuce.
- ate three gigunda maki(s?) from the El Cheapo Sushi Joint.
- unloaded the dishwasher.

Believe me, if I actually had something interesting to report, I would. I'm not holding back for the sake of salivation/anticipation/being evil.