So I cleaned house.
Such a lovely Cinderella day I've had. Er, Cinderella pre Fairy Godmother intervention that is. No balls or glass slippers (impractical if you ask me). I cleaned the silver, swept and vacuumed, rearranged things and did several loads of laundry.
By silver I mean the handmirror and keepsake boxes my grandmother left to me years ago. I don't think I'd have the strength for more than that. The mirror and boxes are rather nice, with my grandmother's initials embossed (is that the term you use with silver?) on them. Far classier than any of the trinket boxes that I've ever received (and I've gotten several throughout the years)
There has to be a better way to clean silver than with store bought polish. I'm certain there's some all natural, household, Victorian method. I must find myself one of those delicious old books such as "Inquire Within," that makes Martha Stewart look like an amateur.
There's something satisfying about cleaning up your own personal space, in my opinion. Though, I think I'm developing an obssession with laundry. Not my fault really, when I was a kid that wasn't one of my chores and I never learned to do it 'til I went to Uni. Doing laundry there meant using those horrible coin machines that never got your clothes really clean. Besides everyone else in the dorms would be using them during the day so I'd have to stay up 'til three am to get mine done.
But now I have brand new, squeaky clean, reliable Maytag appliances. The washer's so huge that I can fit both Maldini and Nesta in there once I've kidnap...er I can fit a few weeks worth of clothes in there...yeah.
My fit of cleaning really impressed Mum when she came round. She feels all those years weren't wasted after all. She wants me to proofread her journal for some leadership seminar she's taking. I offered to show her how to use Word to type it up (I refuse to wade through her handwriting) and then I'd spellcheck and proofread from there. Was rather doubtfully received but if she can use the computer for hours for Freecell she can surely learn Word.
I interspersed my housework efforts with bouts of live journal drama. Some interesting communities there that collect fanfic flames and wanks. Amusing really, most of the flames were by fanfic writers who had received constructive criticism...by this I mean reviews other than, "Ur story iz so kewl!!!!!! Plz writ more."
The classic reply to even the most gently phrased urge to get a beta reader and be careful of one's grammar was, "I'm only 15!!! What do u expect from me???? Bitch!!"
Which is so much BS, my grammar was better at 15 than it is now. Many teenagers have excellent spelling and grammatic skills. Most of the stories seemed Mary Sues, which is why I refuse to read OC fanfic anymore. Not that OC atomatically=Mary Sue but you've got a much higher chance of getting a nasty surprise with that genre.
Urrrgh, annoying, scratchy throat is back! I need honey and coffee.
By silver I mean the handmirror and keepsake boxes my grandmother left to me years ago. I don't think I'd have the strength for more than that. The mirror and boxes are rather nice, with my grandmother's initials embossed (is that the term you use with silver?) on them. Far classier than any of the trinket boxes that I've ever received (and I've gotten several throughout the years)
There has to be a better way to clean silver than with store bought polish. I'm certain there's some all natural, household, Victorian method. I must find myself one of those delicious old books such as "Inquire Within," that makes Martha Stewart look like an amateur.
There's something satisfying about cleaning up your own personal space, in my opinion. Though, I think I'm developing an obssession with laundry. Not my fault really, when I was a kid that wasn't one of my chores and I never learned to do it 'til I went to Uni. Doing laundry there meant using those horrible coin machines that never got your clothes really clean. Besides everyone else in the dorms would be using them during the day so I'd have to stay up 'til three am to get mine done.
But now I have brand new, squeaky clean, reliable Maytag appliances. The washer's so huge that I can fit both Maldini and Nesta in there once I've kidnap...er I can fit a few weeks worth of clothes in there...yeah.
My fit of cleaning really impressed Mum when she came round. She feels all those years weren't wasted after all. She wants me to proofread her journal for some leadership seminar she's taking. I offered to show her how to use Word to type it up (I refuse to wade through her handwriting) and then I'd spellcheck and proofread from there. Was rather doubtfully received but if she can use the computer for hours for Freecell she can surely learn Word.
I interspersed my housework efforts with bouts of live journal drama. Some interesting communities there that collect fanfic flames and wanks. Amusing really, most of the flames were by fanfic writers who had received constructive criticism...by this I mean reviews other than, "Ur story iz so kewl!!!!!! Plz writ more."
The classic reply to even the most gently phrased urge to get a beta reader and be careful of one's grammar was, "I'm only 15!!! What do u expect from me???? Bitch!!"
Which is so much BS, my grammar was better at 15 than it is now. Many teenagers have excellent spelling and grammatic skills. Most of the stories seemed Mary Sues, which is why I refuse to read OC fanfic anymore. Not that OC atomatically=Mary Sue but you've got a much higher chance of getting a nasty surprise with that genre.
Urrrgh, annoying, scratchy throat is back! I need honey and coffee.
