Have you ever noticed that Terran females have a way of saying your name in such a way that you just know you're in trouble?
A certain tone, a certain pitch, and lethally cold chills will run up your spine. Bladders and bowels may be voided, as well. At the very least, a Terran female calling your name in 'that manner' will immediately make you do a quick mental rundown of your actions since the last time you got in trouble....
'What did I do? Think, man!'
Sigh....
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| *You can bet she's not yelling 'Come fulfill yer fantasies with me NOW!* |
Since the Crazy Lady I Live With is blessed by Satan with the ability to yell my name in such a way that I immediately fall to the ground in convulsions, I knew I was doomed the other day when she announced....
Spring Cleaning.
'It's time for you to do something with all those models in the closet you never use.'
If I wasn't having spasms on the floor, I would have attempted immediate resistance. As it was, all I managed was a strangled sounding whine.
Many of use male hobbyist types live with Terran females, in many different capacities.
Whether you live at home with moms, or you're confined to the limbo-like house arrest of a 'relationship,' Terran females may very well have some effect on your hobbying.
Worst case scenario is you're married and have larvae, or 'children,' as Terrans call them. If this is the case...I'm sorry, but you've probably already lost any chance of favorable compromise, and your hobbying will always be at the mercy of your family.
*shrug*
It is what it is.
I have a buddy who inherited a house, and shares it with his sister. Shortly after she moved in, he forced me to memorize a complex, blanket alibi, in the event she ever 'goes missing,' and investigators come knocking.
Granted, Terran females that are not immediately related to you offer certain perks that make residing with them...almost worth the hassle. Males of any species pretty much become morons when dealing with Terran females, however, and the decision to share living quarters is never left to us, regardless.
One day their stuff is just...there. I dunno how it happens. Gypsy trickery, I suspect.
-_-
To all the cats out there that still live at home, I feel yer pain, too.
Moms are no joke. You dinna wanna mess with moms. Not if you wanna go on living, anyhow. Moms word is law. At least with the 'relationship or sibling' Terran female, you have a chance, albeit slim, of smooth talking and/or bullshitting your way outta trouble.
Moms, on the other hand, ain't buyin' it. Period.
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| *Moms can break your favorite model, and somehow yell at you for it. You can't front on that* |
Every year around this time, I suffer with the Terran female ritual known as Spring Cleaning. I'm not clear on the origin of this ritual, but I'm fairly sure it was one of the plagues visited upon ancient Egypt in Biblical times.
Amphibians raining from the sky pales in comparison to the horrors of Spring Cleaning, if you ask me.
For some time now, I have two full blown 40k armies stashed in the bedroom closet, and this has long been a point of contention with the Crazy Lady. Storage space in the average Bronx apartment is limited, you see, and there just isn't enough room to just store stuff for the sake of storing it.
Well, maybe there is, but the Crazy Lady doesn't see it that way. If something is simply collecting dust, it's gotta go.
The only thing I have that is exempt from this rule is the urn that contains my mother's ashes. Seriously. Everything else is fair game for the Thrift Store, and each year around this time they usually reap the benefits of the Crazy Lady's OCD in the form of donations.
Honestly, she runs a tight ship, and if it were left to me there would only be a narrow path between the front door and my hobby desk, with branches that led to the bathroom and kitchen.We'd be forced to run an Indiana Jones-like gauntlet to get from one end of the apartment to the other, with the slightest misstep resulting in a potentially fatal avalanche of hobby stuffs and slightly sticky Megan Fox posters.
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| *Intermission. Post will resume in approximately 35 seconds. Pass me the paper towels* |
Among my many obsessions (see pic, above) is a strange desire (see pic, above) to retain every single box, for every single model I've ever purchased. Once upon a time, I had quite the stack of Tau Skyray boxes. Since that kit contains the parts for not just the Skyray, but the Hammerhead and Devilfish as well, I ended up with...oh, I dunno, twelve or so.
DON'T YOU JUDGE ME!
I needed every one of those fishy hovertanks, so nyah.
The Crazy Lady was digging in the closet one day, and was shocked to find out the boxes contained only whatever bits were left over from each kit. Naturally, I lacked the argumentative abilities to convince her that the boxes were required for...y'know...organizational reasons, and stuffs... so out they went.
My box-collecting is policed now, and closely monitored. I pitched a very toddler-ish fit when I had to recycle the box for my Flames of War King Tiger, though
Blah. Stupid recycling. It's stupid.
It was the boxes that gave away the fact that I was playing a new game, when I started Flames of War. The Crazy Lady nearly had a stroke when she realized what was occurring, and she sat down and cradled her head in her hands.
'Oh, god...it's starting again. It's all starting again.'
I gotta tell ya, it was a close thing, but I managed to convince her that I would keep the madness to a reasonable minimum (heh), and she made me agree to consolidate everything and store it properly. This, in turn, led to the 40k stuff getting stashed.
It was the great box holocaust of 2011.
And the sprues...all those poor sprues that had only a single bit attached to them....
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| *This blimp was made of sprue* |
But that was then, and this is now.
Right now, I'm in brooding mode. It has been made clear to me that I could potentially be killed in my sleep if I do not make a decision regarding the six milk crates piled in the closet. None of the milk crates has moved substantially in the last year, and she won't stand for it.
The whip has been cracked, and I ain't gonna lie, folks. I wanna wake up tomorrow, and pretty much every day for the foreseeable future, actually. I may be pushing my luck here, cuz she's been letting me slide on the forty some-odd 15mm tanks I've got in various stages of construction strewn about a lot of the 'cat-safe' flat surfaces in the bedroom for the last few weeks.
I was forced to recycles all of the boxes, though.
Sigh.
As for the 40k closet stash....
Well, I suppose I'll start with a re-org and re-pack. I know I talk a lot of smack about maybe dropping the 'Nids, and oh-my-goodness I know I've even said I might not come back to 40k cuz they-who-shall-not-be-named vex me so, and whatnot...
Clearly I'm full of crap.
I can't do it. I can't part with my 'Nids. My Tau? Are you surreal? No way.
Aaaaaargh!
FRIGGIN' CRAZY LADY WHY YOU DO THIS TO ME?!?
What I'm hoping is that I can maybe lose two milk crates via re-org/re-pack...cuz maybe I have a few somewhat empty boxes stashed at the bottom of each one.
-_-
SHUT UP! DON'T YOU JUDGE ME!
This is a crisis here.
Following the re-org/re-pack, I'm gonna try for the dispersal method. Over the last year I've added some shelves, and a chest at the foot of the bed, and I'm hoping I can shift some stuffs.
More like hide. My 40k models will become like refugees.
:P
Wish me luck, my friends. If I don't post next week, please say a prayer, and hope the Crazy Lady I live With missed all my vital organs.
And to all the fellas out there dealing with their own Crazy Ladies...take it from me, and do a better job stashing yer stuffs in the first place.
Letting her find those Skyray boxes? Dumb.
Until next time, folks- Exit with catchphrase!
-SinSynn
P.S.- And for any wiseguys who might say something like, 'Well, you could maybe get rid of some Megan Fox posters, y'know.'
...
Pffffffft! Yeah, like that'll happen.
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