The Treadmill.

Work has been coming along fairly steadily on the house; I wish I could say the same for my comics. I've decided, in the interest of having something on my table at Stumptown, to print up each chapter of Ivy as its own individual minicomic. That way I can get the work out in the world and perhaps light a fire under my ass to get more completed. I seriously cannot believe how long this book will take me to finish. I'm beyond sick of it.

Matt has been setting up the garage as a print shop, and we'll put it to the test soon - we've run out of most of our prints, and I have a few new ones I'd like to have ready to sell. I also have plans to make more cat toys and other little gifty items - anything to take up that looming tabletop. I'd also like to have something to bring to SPX, so people know me as a cartoonist and not just as some party-girl hanger-on (a comics groupie?).

I have to say, though, I'm so happy the upstairs bathroom is done (except for some paint touchups). Just to jog your memory, here are some "before" pictures:

Unbefuckinglievable. People lived here like this? Look at the unfinished board "panelling"!

Love that luxury vanity setup. I felt like a true princess.

And now, the shocking conclusion:

Whoa! It looks... clean! And inviting! Cobalt blue tiled floor, spackled walls (they're a very light lilac but it's hard to tell except in direct sun), new toilet, and a cabinet from Craigslist.

We "re-contextualized" a 60's-era stereo cabinet for the sink. Matt drilled out all the holes to fit the plumbing inside (there's a shelf in there now) and installed the vessel sink. The ginormous mirror makes the room look more open.

The only thing we kept was the tub. Those are new faucet handles and hand-placed tiles. Can I say this is the best shower/bathtub I've had since moving to Portland? The clawfoot at the last apartment was so heavy and cold, the tub water would be lukewarm by the time it was filled. Here we have the HOTTEST water, and that tub is like 18" deep.

So things are running along nicely at ol' Dekum Shack. All that's left as far as the upstairs is placing the bamboo floor in the kitchen. I wish I could say the same for the outside, however.

My biggest fear, especially after living next to the cuntalicious Amanda Benz (yeah, I called you out bitch, eat it!) for the last few years, was that I would have some issue with the new neighbors at this place - and since we bought this house, we'd be stuck with the problems long-term. Well. Unfortunately one of the sad facts of life is that you will consistently get shit flung at you over and over again, and you just have to deal. I should have seen this coming.

My next-door neighbor has lots of two things: dead pick-up trucks and dogs. The street outside my house, his house and the neighbors' house is lined with five rusted-out trucks. This is nicely complemented by the two beater motorcycles in his trash-strewn driveway, which take about 35 minutes of revving (especially after 10 pm) to start. And apparently this guy, Shane, likes to collect things, because his FIVE giant, male boxer/pit dogs who live in the backyard just wasn't enough - he went to the Humane Society about two weeks ago and added a little black and white terrier, whose squeaking, piccolo-like bark adds to the almost nonstop chorus of canine voices that float into my house day and night. Every time I was in the backyard the mass of dogs would rush up to the chain-link fence between our properties and snarl, growl and leap. I might take this moment to mention that while I like many dogs, I have a deep-rooted fear of them (I was mauled in the face by one when I was a toddler and sometimes a snarling dog causes an unexpectedly emotional reaction even today). We hung tarps over the fence to try and block their view of our backyard, but they can still hear us, and usually they don't even need a reason to start up.

I called the city to find out who the landlady was, since our other neighbors told us that place was a rental, but to my horror I learned that Shane was indeed the owner, and therefore probably not going anywhere soon. So this must be dealt with more delicately. I have all the numbers and forms in place to call about noise complaints and house inspections, but I guess some discussion is in order first. I just hate to be put through this again. Every time I hear those snarls and barks I want to cry. I can't even hang out in my own backyard. Fuck people!!!