E found a pit bull mix roaming our neighborhood. He was adorable and sweet, and his collar said “The Dude”. She babysat the little pup for the evening. He was so dope, we’ve talked about convincing his somewhat neglectful tardo owner to let us take him for good.
We would need to get his nuts chopped though, he spent most of the evening trying to buttrape our male golden retriever, Burton. Burt got pissed for the first half hour, then The Dude just wore him down and had his way with him.
We are, of course, insane for even talking about dog number four. But that seems to be the way we roll. Our whole lives have been filled with a veritable menagerie of acquired pets and rescues, species of all sorts, shapes, and sizes. Why stop now?
I started marking my food in the staff fridge. I’m hesitant to put my real name, because of enemies, so I first thought to just put “Not Yours”. Then I figured, “Hey, when in Texas Rome.”
E and I have taken Sundays as project day, and have started to get things accomplished around the house. This weekend she stripped and repainted our coffee table. Since we never quite caught any rain, she did it in the driveway right outside the garage.
I went ahead and put a box fan at the head of the garage, to help keep out the fumes from the rattle can.
At the end of the day we cleaned up, and I caught a look at the box fan. The pic is of the back (intake) side of the fan, it’s covered with small red paint particles. The fan was over 20 feet away from where the coffee table was being painted, and it still pulled that shit from out the air.
I own a respirator and am good about wearing it, but seeing that fan made me seriously never want to be around paint without one.
