naming a fantasy league is hard

I decided that this year, I want to run my own fantasy football league. This is partially because I didn't have another one to join, and partially because I think playing with all my friends will be WAY more fun than playing with a bunch of someone else's. And before I can even encounter any problems as the commissioner, I'm faced with the most epic challenge of all: naming the damn thing.

Here are the current contenders:
DMVPs
Not Great Bob
Password Is Taco
Lazy Sundays
Team Zissou

I'm thinking that my team name will probably be Mr. Rodger's Neighborhood, or maybe I'll go with last year's epically rude Yankee Doodle Handy.*

Anyway, help me come up with a league name, so I can invite people already. I'm spending way too much time on this part. I've got a team to put together!


*Dear strangers reading this blog, in my personal life, an unusually large proportion of the words that come out of my mouth are filthy. I'm like Joe Biden with better boobs. And so, for both that image of vice-presidential man-boobs and my keeping it clean here, you're welcome.

what I've been up to

I'm posting more photos than usual lately, mostly because they do a better job than I could at describing what I've been doing. This post is no different.

I finished my summer policy internship last Friday, and have been completely throwing myself into getting the house together. The yard has been entirely in my domain, since Nick hates plants and lawns. Fine. But here's how far I've come in my week off:

Before. Super intense, right? When the neighbors saw I was doing yardwork, they all started rushing out offering to loan me their lawnmowers. It was actually kinda sweet, even though they've clearly been judging the crap out of my yard.

After. Glorious, glorious after. And the vines on the railing belong there: that's spaghetti squash.

And here's a close-up of my mulched out garden bed and new tree, before the lawn was mowed.

Not bad, is it? And I did it all by myself with just hand tools. Well, except for the guys who mowed the lawn.*

Nick and I did rip out the basement carpe together; he pulled it up and cut it into pieces, and I rolled it up and toted it up the stairs and outside. I didn't write about it here, but soon after we moved in, Beans got a bladder infection and started peeing ALL OVER the basement (poor sweet thing hadn't gone outside the litter box before and hasn't since). We steam cleaned down there and briefly had a tenant; it was OK during her tenure. But then, right during the June heatwave, we had unexplained flooding down there (thanks broken AC and washing machine!), so our carpet had become a travesty.

But then, there's what we found underneath:

That's right. It's effing asbestos tile. Because apparently this IS your grandma's house.

But are you sure it's really asbest- Oh. Yeah, that's asbestos.

So our next unexpected project is to seal off the vinyl asbestos tile (wasn't the previous owner supposed to disclose this? raggedy heifer), put down quarter-inch Hardiebacker and then slap down some smooth-ass wood look ceramic tile. Seriously, have you seen this stuff? It's dope. 

And that's a week in the life of the Jolly-Paleos house. I'm giving myself a two-week vacation before I jump back into research on September 2nd, so expect more house photos.


*Chris Morrison of Out of Control Lawns (rude!) is seriously one of the nicest guys ever. He did our front and back yard, plus detailing some of our edges, and only charged us $35. You should call him and get your lawn did - (301) 908-3569.

What'd the five fingers say to the face?

SLAP. 

I love her and all, but if I have to listen to her sing "Where Do Broken Hearts Go" into this lighter-microphone and call back, "Whitney, somebody lied to you!" 

ONE. 

MORE. 

TIME. 

I'm gonna go slap him myself. 

oh, this desert life, the high life

Sorry no recent posts. I've been living the good life with some of my sorority sisters at one's family lake house in New Jersey. This is what dreams are made of. 

Here's some photos in lieu of words:

Lake Arcadia

Guthrie is totally over this sparkletini

Tasha and Milo

My not so secret guilty pleasure. I ate three bags this weekend. 

We're gonna take the same exact photo every year. Can't wait for next year.