Today's Quote: "Some people drink from the fountain of knowledge...other just gargle."
I am beginning to think that the further South you go, the more literally minded the people are. Every now and again my dry humor would be lost on some unsuspecting moron in Shreveport…but Beaumontians take it to a new level. It’s not a retarded literalness, however, it is more of a kind-hearted concern for what you are saying and taking you very seriously. Let me explain…
Yesterday was the dogs first day of doggy day care and in an attempt to use every moment of my “alone day” wisely, I decided to start out with a McDonald’s iced coffee to get me going. I pulled up to the window, placed my order, and proceeded to the first window. After she collected my money, I found myself stuck there with two cars in front of me. She was standing there…just inches from me…with the window still open…so I felt the need to fill the void with some of my classic, sarcastic conversation. I asked what they would charge to just start an IV to infuse me with iced coffee. She looked a little confused, so I continued. “You should suggest that…you could get promoted!” Again she looked lost but she started to smile so I thought maybe I was getting through. “Just think, they could get some chairs like the blood bank and set them up along the front there. Then we addicts could come in, get wired up on iced coffee, and then be on our way!” Now her smile was gone…she looked up and to the left…and it occurred to me…she was deep in thought!
Finally she was prepared to speak. “They would probably charge an arm and a leg for something like that” she said like she was afraid I would be disappointed. “Oh well, maybe they should just sell it by the gallon jug,” I said while thinking “why won’t this damn car go!!!! For the love of Christ and all that is holy, how many sausage biscuits could one car order?” I really wanted out of this overly serious conversation I had unintentionally started. But no such luck. She went on to explain exactly how iced coffee is made…right down to how many packets of coffee are used for each pot!
Finally! The car pulls ahead and I left her…she was about halfway through the process of taking ordinary coffee and turning it into iced coffee goodness…but I had to move on with my day…and my life.
The underlying lesson: Make no smart ass comment to a stranger unless you are prepared to weigh the pros and cons and present a fully thought out business plan.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
My Furry Little Porn Star
In spite of 2 long (and hot) walkies and a bath, Bon Jovi was still wound up last night. Lucky for me…he found his frog…or should we say…his lover. He actually went to the door of the room the frog was in and did his smoke-detector-like bark until Tim opened the door…at which point he dashed in, grabbed the frog, and trotted back to the living room to commence his business.
A few times throughout the evening I noticed he was either busy with the frog or sprawled out on top of it…panting in exhaustion. I asked if he needed a drink…a cigarette maybe…but he seemed happy to just share time with is furry green friend. Eventually we decided it was time for one last trip out to tee tee before bedtime. I noticed something weird when I picked him up to carry him to his personal outdoor toilet…but thought nothing of it.
Then…as I put him on the bed…I felt it again…I still wasn’t sure what it was…it felt like a lump on his belly…did he get bit by something? Was he swollen? Was it a tumor? Ummm. No. He had a boner. I rushed him in to Tim to show him what I had found (all while my little Jon Bon Jovi was completely oblivious to my upset…he was just looking around as if to say “hey, I thought we were going to bed…where we going now?). Tim was no help…responding with… “that’s my big boy”… followed by (in that sing-song voice many people unconsciously use with a baby) “does my big boy have a boner?”
Ew.
So I checked it a few more times and realized this sucker wasn’t going ANYWHERE. I had no idea who to call about a doggy boner…but I knew the Emergency Vet in Shreveport could usually answer questions…so I dialed the number. I kinda saw it coming while it was ringing…and then it happened as the nice woman answered the phone…I realized I had absolutely no idea how to ask what I needed to ask.
I prefaced with “I have a 9 month old dog who was just fixed a few weeks ago and he’s been playing with a big stuffed frog all night.” She accepted this information with a uh-huh (and I’m pretty sure she was nodding her head) so I continued. “Okay, so like you know the Viagra commercials right?” (viiiiva Viagra…). Thankfully she knew the one. “Okay, so the commercial says if one who has taken this medication was to have an erection lasting more than 4 hours should see his doctor right?” Again I got the uh-huh but I can actually hear her face twisting into a knot. “I mean I don’t get it because I wouldn’t think a doctor would be high on the list…maybe a hooker…but I can’t see a guy sitting around for hours in the emergency room, explaining this to a million nurses, waiting on an actual doctor…all while wasting a boner.” She started to chuckle…I just figured I may as well help her along…after all…if we take it too seriously…it would be embarrassing.
“So my husband is impressed with his stamina…but I’m a little concerned…is a four-hour boner an issue for a dog?” That did it…I could hear her stuffing it back…but I knew that upon hanging up the phone…she was going to need dry pants.
She very nicely explained the dangers of the predicament (in that very elevated tone of voice you use when you are fighting back the gut busting shrieks of laughter). Apparently, if it says “out” too long, it can dry out and he could “lose it.” I was like “lose it like it will fall off?” No…she explained if it dried out it could do damage and need to be removed. She suggested I put something on it and put him in a dark, quiet place to “calm down” and check him in an hour or so.
So I hang up the phone and report my findings to Tim. His mouth drops open in horror as he shrieks “LOSE IT????” as if we were talking about his tool. “What do you mean lose it? I don’t want my big boy to lose it! Oh my God what do we do?”
I, being the calm mother, started pilfering through my bathroom cabinet in search of some lube for my dog. I had some Vaseline…but it was Chamomile and Lavender scented (works great on tired feet). He immediately said it would probably work…but I had the sense to read the label… “if ingested…seek emergency care and contact poison control” I read aloud. Ok, so if we put this on his wanker…it is very possible we will be headed to the vet with a poisoned, horny, yet lovely smelling dog.
I opted for some wanker medicine I had gotten a few weeks ago for a mild “wanker infection.” It had similar properties to lube and it had to be safe to ingest or it wouldn’t be for doggy wankers. Tim rolled him over and rubbed his belly so I could administer the treatment. It did NOT help any when he kept saying (in his Jovi voice…as we frequently speak for our dogs) “yeah…lube me up mommy.” I quickly spread the cream around with a Q-tip and plopped him on the bed for an hour of dark, quiet, and Desperate Housewives.
After the hour was up, I rolled my sleeping boy over for observation. To my dismay…there it was…staring back at me as if to say “hi there!” Tim had the idea to give him a warm bath…I opted to call the woman back. It didn’t take much to remind her who I was (I was sure she had gotten several calls since our last). I just said, “okay, so I called a bit ago about my porn star…” She was concerned the problem had not yet alleviated itself and somehow got on the subject of a pot-belly pig she once had that would hump random stuffed animals. Now as funny as this was…and it was funny…I was worried about the whole “lose it” thing. She was just about to help me come up with a plan (which I’m sure would have involved me staying up all night to lube my dog’s tool) when Tim came out the backdoor…holding a wet pup…and almost screaming… “It’s in!!”
I relayed this to the nice woman, who was relieved, and thanked her for her help. It wasn’t all the way fixed, but it was indeed a huge improvement.
So what does this teach all of us?
1. 4 hour boners are bad news for human and canine
2. Vaseline is not for eating
3. Tim can indeed fix anything
A few times throughout the evening I noticed he was either busy with the frog or sprawled out on top of it…panting in exhaustion. I asked if he needed a drink…a cigarette maybe…but he seemed happy to just share time with is furry green friend. Eventually we decided it was time for one last trip out to tee tee before bedtime. I noticed something weird when I picked him up to carry him to his personal outdoor toilet…but thought nothing of it.
Then…as I put him on the bed…I felt it again…I still wasn’t sure what it was…it felt like a lump on his belly…did he get bit by something? Was he swollen? Was it a tumor? Ummm. No. He had a boner. I rushed him in to Tim to show him what I had found (all while my little Jon Bon Jovi was completely oblivious to my upset…he was just looking around as if to say “hey, I thought we were going to bed…where we going now?). Tim was no help…responding with… “that’s my big boy”… followed by (in that sing-song voice many people unconsciously use with a baby) “does my big boy have a boner?”
Ew.
So I checked it a few more times and realized this sucker wasn’t going ANYWHERE. I had no idea who to call about a doggy boner…but I knew the Emergency Vet in Shreveport could usually answer questions…so I dialed the number. I kinda saw it coming while it was ringing…and then it happened as the nice woman answered the phone…I realized I had absolutely no idea how to ask what I needed to ask.
I prefaced with “I have a 9 month old dog who was just fixed a few weeks ago and he’s been playing with a big stuffed frog all night.” She accepted this information with a uh-huh (and I’m pretty sure she was nodding her head) so I continued. “Okay, so like you know the Viagra commercials right?” (viiiiva Viagra…). Thankfully she knew the one. “Okay, so the commercial says if one who has taken this medication was to have an erection lasting more than 4 hours should see his doctor right?” Again I got the uh-huh but I can actually hear her face twisting into a knot. “I mean I don’t get it because I wouldn’t think a doctor would be high on the list…maybe a hooker…but I can’t see a guy sitting around for hours in the emergency room, explaining this to a million nurses, waiting on an actual doctor…all while wasting a boner.” She started to chuckle…I just figured I may as well help her along…after all…if we take it too seriously…it would be embarrassing.
“So my husband is impressed with his stamina…but I’m a little concerned…is a four-hour boner an issue for a dog?” That did it…I could hear her stuffing it back…but I knew that upon hanging up the phone…she was going to need dry pants.
She very nicely explained the dangers of the predicament (in that very elevated tone of voice you use when you are fighting back the gut busting shrieks of laughter). Apparently, if it says “out” too long, it can dry out and he could “lose it.” I was like “lose it like it will fall off?” No…she explained if it dried out it could do damage and need to be removed. She suggested I put something on it and put him in a dark, quiet place to “calm down” and check him in an hour or so.
So I hang up the phone and report my findings to Tim. His mouth drops open in horror as he shrieks “LOSE IT????” as if we were talking about his tool. “What do you mean lose it? I don’t want my big boy to lose it! Oh my God what do we do?”
I, being the calm mother, started pilfering through my bathroom cabinet in search of some lube for my dog. I had some Vaseline…but it was Chamomile and Lavender scented (works great on tired feet). He immediately said it would probably work…but I had the sense to read the label… “if ingested…seek emergency care and contact poison control” I read aloud. Ok, so if we put this on his wanker…it is very possible we will be headed to the vet with a poisoned, horny, yet lovely smelling dog.
I opted for some wanker medicine I had gotten a few weeks ago for a mild “wanker infection.” It had similar properties to lube and it had to be safe to ingest or it wouldn’t be for doggy wankers. Tim rolled him over and rubbed his belly so I could administer the treatment. It did NOT help any when he kept saying (in his Jovi voice…as we frequently speak for our dogs) “yeah…lube me up mommy.” I quickly spread the cream around with a Q-tip and plopped him on the bed for an hour of dark, quiet, and Desperate Housewives.
After the hour was up, I rolled my sleeping boy over for observation. To my dismay…there it was…staring back at me as if to say “hi there!” Tim had the idea to give him a warm bath…I opted to call the woman back. It didn’t take much to remind her who I was (I was sure she had gotten several calls since our last). I just said, “okay, so I called a bit ago about my porn star…” She was concerned the problem had not yet alleviated itself and somehow got on the subject of a pot-belly pig she once had that would hump random stuffed animals. Now as funny as this was…and it was funny…I was worried about the whole “lose it” thing. She was just about to help me come up with a plan (which I’m sure would have involved me staying up all night to lube my dog’s tool) when Tim came out the backdoor…holding a wet pup…and almost screaming… “It’s in!!”
I relayed this to the nice woman, who was relieved, and thanked her for her help. It wasn’t all the way fixed, but it was indeed a huge improvement.
So what does this teach all of us?
1. 4 hour boners are bad news for human and canine
2. Vaseline is not for eating
3. Tim can indeed fix anything
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Is Trash Really this Complicated?
I was so excited on Monday morning. Why? Because it was my designated “heavy trash” day which means all of these boxes…which (as you will remember) I have carried to the street and then back into the garage…should have disappeared for good. I thought I heard a truck a few times but, to my dismay, every time I looked out the window…the boxes looked back. So by the time Tim got home, it had rained a good bit and a big wet pile of boxes greeted him. My thought was…maybe they don’t come when it rains. Maybe they will just come on Wednesday when it is trash (and grass clippings) day. After all, the very informative website said my moving trash is considered heavy (I don’t know why because the boxes are empty) and it will be picked up on the 2nd and 4th Monday (use full weeks). I feel like I need a damn degree just to calculate my trash pick-up days…Anyway, the boxes did not move on Monday.
Nor did they move on Tuesday. In fact, when I left to walk the dogs…I think they laughed at me.
Wednesday arrives and I figure certainly the boxes will be leaving. I took out a few more to add to the family and wished them all well. Again the trash truck came and went at the speed of sound and I rushed to the front window to remind myself what the empty driveway looked like. HA…HA…HA…It doesn’t look empty at all!! It looks like a mountain of used boxes doused with rain and dried to irregular box-like shaped lumps of wet cardboard!!! YOU GOTTA BE FUCKING KIDDING ME…right? I’ve had it with this…they took my little green can and emptied it and then put it back by the pile of boxes AND my bag of grass clippings (which is clear). I decided it was time to call someone.
So I again read the very informative site and found the phone number. I explained we were new and could not seem to get our schedules in order with the trash pick-up. She interrupted me to ask my zip code and matter-of-factly stated our “heavy” trash day would be next Monday (again with the heavy…the boxes are flying down the street with a slight breeze).
ME: “Oh, I thought it was this Monday.”
YOLANDA: “Well, it’s not.”
ME: “Ok, so what about our yard clippings?”
YOLANDA: “That is on regular trash day.”
ME: “So that would be today?”
YOLANDA: “If today is your trash day.” (isn’t she the one with the damn schedule?)
ME: “Well, it is, but they are still out there.”
YOLANDA: “Is the bag beside the trash can?”
ME: “Well, no matter where you place them, they will be beside the trash can…it really depends on what direction you are looking from.” (now I'm having some fun)
YOLANDA: “But is the bag behind the can or beside the can”
I can stop here right? Is this insane to anyone else? Apparently, like the diagram (yes, diagram) on the very informative website states…the items must be separated and 2 feet apart…side BY FREAKING side.
I called and informed Tim of his error and scolded him for not doing it right. He instantly made his excuse but, unlike his usual excuses, this one made perfect sense. If he were to pile things 2 feet apart in a side-by-side fashion…how would he get OUT of the driveway?
At any rate, Yolanda was not much help and the boxes will sit there until
a. they are picked up
b. they fly away or
c. they disintegrate.
Of course there are more than just these 3 outcomes…they could spontaneously combust, be carried away by aliens, or I may rectally deliver them to Yolanda.
Nor did they move on Tuesday. In fact, when I left to walk the dogs…I think they laughed at me.
Wednesday arrives and I figure certainly the boxes will be leaving. I took out a few more to add to the family and wished them all well. Again the trash truck came and went at the speed of sound and I rushed to the front window to remind myself what the empty driveway looked like. HA…HA…HA…It doesn’t look empty at all!! It looks like a mountain of used boxes doused with rain and dried to irregular box-like shaped lumps of wet cardboard!!! YOU GOTTA BE FUCKING KIDDING ME…right? I’ve had it with this…they took my little green can and emptied it and then put it back by the pile of boxes AND my bag of grass clippings (which is clear). I decided it was time to call someone.
So I again read the very informative site and found the phone number. I explained we were new and could not seem to get our schedules in order with the trash pick-up. She interrupted me to ask my zip code and matter-of-factly stated our “heavy” trash day would be next Monday (again with the heavy…the boxes are flying down the street with a slight breeze).
ME: “Oh, I thought it was this Monday.”
YOLANDA: “Well, it’s not.”
ME: “Ok, so what about our yard clippings?”
YOLANDA: “That is on regular trash day.”
ME: “So that would be today?”
YOLANDA: “If today is your trash day.” (isn’t she the one with the damn schedule?)
ME: “Well, it is, but they are still out there.”
YOLANDA: “Is the bag beside the trash can?”
ME: “Well, no matter where you place them, they will be beside the trash can…it really depends on what direction you are looking from.” (now I'm having some fun)
YOLANDA: “But is the bag behind the can or beside the can”
I can stop here right? Is this insane to anyone else? Apparently, like the diagram (yes, diagram) on the very informative website states…the items must be separated and 2 feet apart…side BY FREAKING side.
I called and informed Tim of his error and scolded him for not doing it right. He instantly made his excuse but, unlike his usual excuses, this one made perfect sense. If he were to pile things 2 feet apart in a side-by-side fashion…how would he get OUT of the driveway?
At any rate, Yolanda was not much help and the boxes will sit there until
a. they are picked up
b. they fly away or
c. they disintegrate.
Of course there are more than just these 3 outcomes…they could spontaneously combust, be carried away by aliens, or I may rectally deliver them to Yolanda.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Finding Comfort in the Familiar
We have been amazed at how drastically different the service is here in Beaumont. Wait staff and clerks are all happy, smiling, friendly…it’s downright frightening! But today I found comfort in something familiar. Today…I went to Walmart.
There is no need to detail the goings on throughout the store…suffice it to say, it is like any other Walmart…everyone has gone down the IQ slide upon entering the doors… grabbed their weapons of choice (a buggy, a basket, or a small screaming child)…and they are wandering about in an varying states of unconsciousness. I quickly grabbed what I needed while simultaneously running from the screams and dodging the other armed patrons.
The real treat…the comforting reminder of home…was when I went to check out. I approached a lane that had a light on but no one in line (bonus!). I noticed the clerk looked really short and at first thought maybe she was “little” which almost made me detour (those of you don’t know, I have quite the phobia of midgets…it’s something about the big head that gets me). Anyway, I realized she was just sitting on a cardboard box. As I put my things up on the belt I was surprised that as she started to scan my purchases, she had not yet removed her ass from the box…as if they had a symbiotic relationship. I figured there was no way she could possibly ring up this entire purchase without standing up and I watched out of the corner of my eye as she stretched to reach the 24-pack of Diet Dr. Pepper. Now why she was sitting on the box is still a mystery to me…but if she was doing so because of back pain…that stretch did far more damage than standing for a mere 2 minutes. It was actually more work to do her job from her low lying box than if she were standing…but I wouldn’t dare suggest…Lakeshia clearly knew what she was doing.
After I had compiled all my items on the belt I moved forward to watch the finale of this show and pay for this excellent service. Did I mention she hadn’t even spoken to me yet? Well, her first words blew my mind. I’m sure you’re expecting something like “hey, how you doing today?” or maybe “did you find everything you were looking for?” HA! Her first words were “your lettuce rode over dare” (rode and dare not being typos but to translate she was saying ‘rolled’ and ‘there’). I followed the direction of her finger as she pointed and saw my lettuce…all alone…in a bag…on the floor…about 10 feet away. Did she expect me to go fetch it? Did she throw it? How the hell did my lettuce make it from her hands to this unusual location?
I looked at her puzzled…but she was not making eye contact…I looked at the guy patiently waiting behind me…he raised his eyebrows. I knew at that point I could not go and collect my little head of lettuce…I refused to be defeated…I really wanted salad with dinner…but I had gotten 2 heads of lettuce so I had one to spare! I announced I no longer wanted the abused head of lettuce. I figured she would have to go collect it to perform the void…but I was wrong…she dug through all of my other bags to find the spare. I turned to the guy behind me and explained that we had just moved here from Shreveport and I feel like I never left! To my surprise…she found this to be very funny…probably because it was far too many words for her little brain to process and thus she laughed out of confusion.
I paid my bill (minus the head of lettuce which was still lying there on the dirty floor), passed the greeter (who said nothing), and dodged several vehicles (with big rims and booming trunks) before throwing my bags in the car and making my way out of the parking lot…vowing the entire time…I will not return to Wal-Mart in Beaumont…(until my homesickness kicks in and I feel the need to be mentally and verbally mistreated while handing out my money for substandard quality goods and services).
There is no need to detail the goings on throughout the store…suffice it to say, it is like any other Walmart…everyone has gone down the IQ slide upon entering the doors… grabbed their weapons of choice (a buggy, a basket, or a small screaming child)…and they are wandering about in an varying states of unconsciousness. I quickly grabbed what I needed while simultaneously running from the screams and dodging the other armed patrons.
The real treat…the comforting reminder of home…was when I went to check out. I approached a lane that had a light on but no one in line (bonus!). I noticed the clerk looked really short and at first thought maybe she was “little” which almost made me detour (those of you don’t know, I have quite the phobia of midgets…it’s something about the big head that gets me). Anyway, I realized she was just sitting on a cardboard box. As I put my things up on the belt I was surprised that as she started to scan my purchases, she had not yet removed her ass from the box…as if they had a symbiotic relationship. I figured there was no way she could possibly ring up this entire purchase without standing up and I watched out of the corner of my eye as she stretched to reach the 24-pack of Diet Dr. Pepper. Now why she was sitting on the box is still a mystery to me…but if she was doing so because of back pain…that stretch did far more damage than standing for a mere 2 minutes. It was actually more work to do her job from her low lying box than if she were standing…but I wouldn’t dare suggest…Lakeshia clearly knew what she was doing.
After I had compiled all my items on the belt I moved forward to watch the finale of this show and pay for this excellent service. Did I mention she hadn’t even spoken to me yet? Well, her first words blew my mind. I’m sure you’re expecting something like “hey, how you doing today?” or maybe “did you find everything you were looking for?” HA! Her first words were “your lettuce rode over dare” (rode and dare not being typos but to translate she was saying ‘rolled’ and ‘there’). I followed the direction of her finger as she pointed and saw my lettuce…all alone…in a bag…on the floor…about 10 feet away. Did she expect me to go fetch it? Did she throw it? How the hell did my lettuce make it from her hands to this unusual location?
I looked at her puzzled…but she was not making eye contact…I looked at the guy patiently waiting behind me…he raised his eyebrows. I knew at that point I could not go and collect my little head of lettuce…I refused to be defeated…I really wanted salad with dinner…but I had gotten 2 heads of lettuce so I had one to spare! I announced I no longer wanted the abused head of lettuce. I figured she would have to go collect it to perform the void…but I was wrong…she dug through all of my other bags to find the spare. I turned to the guy behind me and explained that we had just moved here from Shreveport and I feel like I never left! To my surprise…she found this to be very funny…probably because it was far too many words for her little brain to process and thus she laughed out of confusion.
I paid my bill (minus the head of lettuce which was still lying there on the dirty floor), passed the greeter (who said nothing), and dodged several vehicles (with big rims and booming trunks) before throwing my bags in the car and making my way out of the parking lot…vowing the entire time…I will not return to Wal-Mart in Beaumont…(until my homesickness kicks in and I feel the need to be mentally and verbally mistreated while handing out my money for substandard quality goods and services).
My Hero...Armed with High Threadcount
So after I finished typing last night and headed to bed, it happened again…not just a bug…big enough to be a pet…scurrying across the living room. Tim was all over it once again…my hero. But without the vacuum handy, what should he find to kill this sucker? Some would think shoe, newspaper, etc. I was frantically looking for a lasso…a machine gun…ANYTHING! Tim, being cut from a different cloth, chose a towel. Yes, a towel. Because nothing says you mean business like a nice soft piece of Egyptian cotton! Of course it took several poundings with this towel to kill it. When he was done I didn’t know whether to ring the bell and send him to his corner or find a paper towel to collect his kill. I told him he had to measure it to justify my insanity…we noticed it had a collar with a name tag…not really, but it should have. 2 1/2 inches long…3/4 of an inch wide…Needless to say…the bedroom was well lit last night and in between bed checks I dreamed of poodle sized cockroaches flying around like helicopters…smacking me in the face. Tim said he would call someone today…Orkin, Terminex, the National Guard…someone!!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Everything IS Bigger in Texas!
Today is a good day to stay in and make some progress. I was told today was trash day so I got up at the crack of dawn to empty as many boxes as possible. As I hurriedly carried out boxes (all of the contents was covering every square inch of surface available inside), I noticed the man across the street walking around his house, as if inspecting the slab or maybe taking his daily measurement of grass growth, and drinking his morning coffee. In an attempt to be a good neighbor, I threw him a nod and he returned by raising his cup like we were making some silent toast. It was still pretty early when I heard the familiar sounds of the trash man…and I was more than impressed with myself for compiling quite a mountain of boxes in the center of which was the big green can…filled with wadded up newspaper.
I came back inside to realize that what a complete mess I made. It is difficult to find a place to start when you don’t even have a place to stand…but I dug in my heels and thought to myself how surprised Tim would be to see so many boxes missing when he gets home from work. After I heard the truck pass…I looked outside…and was very disappointed. My mountain remained. I looked up and down the street and indeed everyone else’s cans were empty. Maybe there is a recycling truck on its way to get my boxes? A few hours later, my curiosity grew. I halfheartedly googled Beaumont trash pickup…who woulda thunk the sanitation department would have such an informative website? My answers were there…they don’t pick up any trash not in the can…CRAP! What an ass…he was making a toast after all…toasting the new neighbor who was carrying out boxes with such gusto…in her jammies…only to be forced to make each trip again…to return the boxes to the garage…defeated.
I did make progress today and decided to even make a pan of ziti for dinner. As Tim was outside mowing our new backyard so Jovi could poop without being violated…and I was inside cleaning lettuce and making a salad. I threw a few little pieces of lettuce down the disposal and cranked that baby up…WOW! After 5 years of what a plumber called “the cheapest piece of crap you could find” for a disposal…this sucker was awesome! I could hear the lettuce being violently obliterated as it slipped from view down the sink. It worked so well, I sent a few cups of noodles down too and sang a little “goodbye noodles” song. Little did I know, I should have opted for the “see you in a bit” song. After the dinner dishes were done I went to the laundry room to empty just a couple more boxes to wrap up the day. As I reached for a box…there it was…the lettuce I annihilated just an hour before…on the floor…surrounded by a puddle…which was creeping dangerously close to so many boxes I didn’t know which one to save first. It got even better …not only was there a puddle on the floor…but the wall was soaked as well. After Sherlock came in to investigate, he found a drain by the washer line had been spouting up water…probably since we moved in. Lovely. Tim chimed in with his new favorite phrase… “Glad it’s not my house!”
Now how could we wrap up a day as exciting as this? After cleaning the chewed noodles and lettuce off the laundry room wall…the dogs drove me to the brink with the Small Dog Smackdown until I agreed to a walky. We leashed them up and dodged the speedway drivers in the dark…always good for an adrenaline rush! I figured some warm cookies and a hot bath would be a good nightcap and went straight to the kitchen to make it happen. I thought it was weird Tim walked in the front door and grabbed the vacuum cleaner from the hallway and was following close behind me. I grabbed my cookie dough and spun around to the counter…and then I saw it…right there…on the coffee pot... “HOOOLY SHIT”…bigger than any I had ever seen…although it has been years since I had ever seen one at all...what some refer to as a water bug…but what I call a supersized cockroach. Now you may be thinking “get a grip…it’s a bug.” Um…no. This was no bug sized bug. This was a monster…a mutant…it could carry off a small child...or dog. I grabbed my dogs and quickly ran to seek shelter while Tim whisked in to suck him up and carry him away. He was amazed by the size and said “he musta been really old to be that big!” Like what the hell do I care how old he is? Was there a bunch of balloons on the mailbox or a Happy Birthday Bug sign on the door? I think not…tonight I sleep with one eye open…and one finger on the trigger…
I came back inside to realize that what a complete mess I made. It is difficult to find a place to start when you don’t even have a place to stand…but I dug in my heels and thought to myself how surprised Tim would be to see so many boxes missing when he gets home from work. After I heard the truck pass…I looked outside…and was very disappointed. My mountain remained. I looked up and down the street and indeed everyone else’s cans were empty. Maybe there is a recycling truck on its way to get my boxes? A few hours later, my curiosity grew. I halfheartedly googled Beaumont trash pickup…who woulda thunk the sanitation department would have such an informative website? My answers were there…they don’t pick up any trash not in the can…CRAP! What an ass…he was making a toast after all…toasting the new neighbor who was carrying out boxes with such gusto…in her jammies…only to be forced to make each trip again…to return the boxes to the garage…defeated.
I did make progress today and decided to even make a pan of ziti for dinner. As Tim was outside mowing our new backyard so Jovi could poop without being violated…and I was inside cleaning lettuce and making a salad. I threw a few little pieces of lettuce down the disposal and cranked that baby up…WOW! After 5 years of what a plumber called “the cheapest piece of crap you could find” for a disposal…this sucker was awesome! I could hear the lettuce being violently obliterated as it slipped from view down the sink. It worked so well, I sent a few cups of noodles down too and sang a little “goodbye noodles” song. Little did I know, I should have opted for the “see you in a bit” song. After the dinner dishes were done I went to the laundry room to empty just a couple more boxes to wrap up the day. As I reached for a box…there it was…the lettuce I annihilated just an hour before…on the floor…surrounded by a puddle…which was creeping dangerously close to so many boxes I didn’t know which one to save first. It got even better …not only was there a puddle on the floor…but the wall was soaked as well. After Sherlock came in to investigate, he found a drain by the washer line had been spouting up water…probably since we moved in. Lovely. Tim chimed in with his new favorite phrase… “Glad it’s not my house!”
Now how could we wrap up a day as exciting as this? After cleaning the chewed noodles and lettuce off the laundry room wall…the dogs drove me to the brink with the Small Dog Smackdown until I agreed to a walky. We leashed them up and dodged the speedway drivers in the dark…always good for an adrenaline rush! I figured some warm cookies and a hot bath would be a good nightcap and went straight to the kitchen to make it happen. I thought it was weird Tim walked in the front door and grabbed the vacuum cleaner from the hallway and was following close behind me. I grabbed my cookie dough and spun around to the counter…and then I saw it…right there…on the coffee pot... “HOOOLY SHIT”…bigger than any I had ever seen…although it has been years since I had ever seen one at all...what some refer to as a water bug…but what I call a supersized cockroach. Now you may be thinking “get a grip…it’s a bug.” Um…no. This was no bug sized bug. This was a monster…a mutant…it could carry off a small child...or dog. I grabbed my dogs and quickly ran to seek shelter while Tim whisked in to suck him up and carry him away. He was amazed by the size and said “he musta been really old to be that big!” Like what the hell do I care how old he is? Was there a bunch of balloons on the mailbox or a Happy Birthday Bug sign on the door? I think not…tonight I sleep with one eye open…and one finger on the trigger…
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Who Gets Pulled Over in a U Haul??
The big day finally came. Moving day is here. The adventure begins. Amidst the sweat and exhaustion, two things happened today of comical value.
Tim rented a transport to haul his car behind mine. He was gone awhile and then I saw my car go by with the transport. It was some time later when I realized I had not heard from him. I stepped out the front door to see him in his car on the transport behind my car. I figured he must have been fooling with that, so I started to go back inside…when I heard a honk…and a really pitiful “please come here.” I trotted out to the street and asked what the hell he was doing. He said he got the car up on this thing but now he had a problem…he opened the door and in about 4 inches he hit the wheel cover on the transport. He looked at me so pitifully and asked “how do I get out of the car.” At this point…I had only one choice…it was a force I could not fight. I laughed. I laughed and I laughed and I laughed. I went over to the instructions painted on the transport and saw nothing about how to exit the vehicle once it was secured…but it was difficult to read with the tears in my eyes. He decided he would just crawl out the sunroof…which made me laugh harder. Upon realizing his round ass was not going to go out the square sunroof…he decided a Dukes of Hazard move was his only option. As he was crawling out the driver side window…the neighbor appeared for the first time since his offer to help us load the truck. He grinned and offered some sound advice… “You know those covers over the wheels lift up so you can open your car doors.” Again…no options…I laughed and laughed and laughed…until I peed.
Eventually the truck was as loaded as it could be and we were on the road. We were making amazing time…he was trucking right along in the truck and I was an acceptable distance behind him. Round about Jasper…the adventure really began. The road was getting crazy bumpy and I was starting to think about all of the things that could be falling onto my grandmother’s antique china hutch. I was totally zoned out when I noticed a cop do a hella u-turn in the median and come whizzing by me…I looked at my speedometer and then laughed…we hadn’t even come close to the speed limit since we left…and what kind of cop would pull over a U Haul anyway? Well, I’ll tell you…a Jasper cop. He whipped in front of me, promptly braked, and turned on his lights. As Tim pulled off and was leaning on the 3 inch drop to the shoulder, I was in a panic. What if everything just fell over? Is something wrong with the truck?
I couldn’t make this up…the cop…driving 70+ mph…in the opposite lane…across a sizeable median…could not see Tim’s seat belt. Tim was visibly livid and quickly explained he was indeed wearing his seatbelt…less for the possibility of an accident…but more because if he didn’t wear one…he would have likely been ejected from the truck several miles back.
The cop chose not to write a bogus ticket, which I have to say was in his best interest. We pulled off a few minutes later for a pee brake and I have to say that standing 5 feet in front of the truck…I couldn’t even see the color of his shirt…much less his seat belt…but what I could see…what that he was a white man…in Jasper, Texas…
Tim rented a transport to haul his car behind mine. He was gone awhile and then I saw my car go by with the transport. It was some time later when I realized I had not heard from him. I stepped out the front door to see him in his car on the transport behind my car. I figured he must have been fooling with that, so I started to go back inside…when I heard a honk…and a really pitiful “please come here.” I trotted out to the street and asked what the hell he was doing. He said he got the car up on this thing but now he had a problem…he opened the door and in about 4 inches he hit the wheel cover on the transport. He looked at me so pitifully and asked “how do I get out of the car.” At this point…I had only one choice…it was a force I could not fight. I laughed. I laughed and I laughed and I laughed. I went over to the instructions painted on the transport and saw nothing about how to exit the vehicle once it was secured…but it was difficult to read with the tears in my eyes. He decided he would just crawl out the sunroof…which made me laugh harder. Upon realizing his round ass was not going to go out the square sunroof…he decided a Dukes of Hazard move was his only option. As he was crawling out the driver side window…the neighbor appeared for the first time since his offer to help us load the truck. He grinned and offered some sound advice… “You know those covers over the wheels lift up so you can open your car doors.” Again…no options…I laughed and laughed and laughed…until I peed.
Eventually the truck was as loaded as it could be and we were on the road. We were making amazing time…he was trucking right along in the truck and I was an acceptable distance behind him. Round about Jasper…the adventure really began. The road was getting crazy bumpy and I was starting to think about all of the things that could be falling onto my grandmother’s antique china hutch. I was totally zoned out when I noticed a cop do a hella u-turn in the median and come whizzing by me…I looked at my speedometer and then laughed…we hadn’t even come close to the speed limit since we left…and what kind of cop would pull over a U Haul anyway? Well, I’ll tell you…a Jasper cop. He whipped in front of me, promptly braked, and turned on his lights. As Tim pulled off and was leaning on the 3 inch drop to the shoulder, I was in a panic. What if everything just fell over? Is something wrong with the truck?
I couldn’t make this up…the cop…driving 70+ mph…in the opposite lane…across a sizeable median…could not see Tim’s seat belt. Tim was visibly livid and quickly explained he was indeed wearing his seatbelt…less for the possibility of an accident…but more because if he didn’t wear one…he would have likely been ejected from the truck several miles back.
The cop chose not to write a bogus ticket, which I have to say was in his best interest. We pulled off a few minutes later for a pee brake and I have to say that standing 5 feet in front of the truck…I couldn’t even see the color of his shirt…much less his seat belt…but what I could see…what that he was a white man…in Jasper, Texas…
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Load that Puppy Up!!!
Tim was off first thing to swap our leaky truck for a more water repellant one. Of course it was still raining but today was the day and it had to be done. He thought he could just back up the new truck (and by new I mean new…much newer than the one she had retrieved from the graveyard behind the building the day before) to the old truck and run the ramp from one to the other…but she thought this would be unsafe. By the time he returned, his mood was quite foul. Apparently he was picking up one box, climbing out of the old truck, and then climbing into the new truck. It was not until he fell out of the truck into a puddle that he realized he could actually just slide all of the boxes to the edge and then get down and do the transferring. Once home, he started hauling boxes out of the house and into the truck…in the rain. At one point the neighbor came out and said if we needed any help to let him know. I quickly replied “we need help.” “Well,” he said, “I’m heading out right now, but I’ll be back in a little bit and if you need any help let me know.” “We need help,” I again stated as he got in his truck…never to be seen again.
Around 3 p.m. Tim figured he had most of the boxes loaded and it was time to call Todd, the son of a neighbor who agreed to help move the heavy stuff for some extra cash. I was sent off to run some errands…probably to avoid making gasping noises as all of my belongings were carried through the rain and into the truck…which may or may not be more water “repellant” than the first. Around 7 p.m. the tuck was about out of space and all that was left was the fridge, which they had left a nice little spot for in the back of the truck. By this time, Tim and Todd were exhausted, the rain had yet to stop, and we were about over this whole moving thing. Todd was pulling and Tim was pushing (or making it appear he was pushing although he said there was really no push left in him) and as I watched Todd’s feet slide forward and my fridge land perfectly on his legs, I thought to myself…we’ll never get a homeowners policy again after paying to reconstruct this poor man’s legs. But Todd jumped up and was in his truck and gone (smart man). I am certain he will rethink ever helping anyone move again.
I came inside to find all that random crap that is leftover when one is moving. The stuff you don’t even really want…that wasn’t important enough to get into any of the boxes. I sent Tim to find food and while he was gone I started pulling this random crap into a central location…the living room…for placement into the final box. I didn’t really notice until he got home and looked like he was going to cry…that the living room floor was almost completely covered. The truck was packed…all 26 feet of it…and here we stood…in a room full of miscellaneous crap…
P.S. Thank you so much Todd...you are a master mover and we couldn't have done it without you!!!
Around 3 p.m. Tim figured he had most of the boxes loaded and it was time to call Todd, the son of a neighbor who agreed to help move the heavy stuff for some extra cash. I was sent off to run some errands…probably to avoid making gasping noises as all of my belongings were carried through the rain and into the truck…which may or may not be more water “repellant” than the first. Around 7 p.m. the tuck was about out of space and all that was left was the fridge, which they had left a nice little spot for in the back of the truck. By this time, Tim and Todd were exhausted, the rain had yet to stop, and we were about over this whole moving thing. Todd was pulling and Tim was pushing (or making it appear he was pushing although he said there was really no push left in him) and as I watched Todd’s feet slide forward and my fridge land perfectly on his legs, I thought to myself…we’ll never get a homeowners policy again after paying to reconstruct this poor man’s legs. But Todd jumped up and was in his truck and gone (smart man). I am certain he will rethink ever helping anyone move again.
I came inside to find all that random crap that is leftover when one is moving. The stuff you don’t even really want…that wasn’t important enough to get into any of the boxes. I sent Tim to find food and while he was gone I started pulling this random crap into a central location…the living room…for placement into the final box. I didn’t really notice until he got home and looked like he was going to cry…that the living room floor was almost completely covered. The truck was packed…all 26 feet of it…and here we stood…in a room full of miscellaneous crap…
P.S. Thank you so much Todd...you are a master mover and we couldn't have done it without you!!!
Friday, September 11, 2009
Waterproof vs. Water repellant...A lesson from U Haul
Tim headed home early today, so I spent the afternoon in overdrive trying to get as many boxes packed as possible. The weather has been so awesome all week, which has helped immensely (this information seems unimportant…but it will come into play shortly).
When he left I told him I might just have the whole house packed up and ready to go. He said if this was the case, he would shit a golden nugget. All week I have been packing my ass off in an attempt to collect my golden nugget. However, I fell slightly short of my goal. But he was surprised nonetheless…and decided he might just get an early start on packing the U Haul. We decided to go grab a bite and then pick up the truck.
We went to grab a bite and through the window…we watched it begin to rain...YOU BETCHA!!! We figured we could still load up the boxes in our storage building since the entrance is covered so we got the truck. We were a little confused when she said she had to go “out back” to get the truck for us…we looked at the half dozen or so trucks sitting in the front but figured she knew what she was doing.
At the storage building we watched the rain turn into a downpour…of course…but we started loading up boxes with fervor. After about 50 boxes were in…Tim noticed a puddle forming in “Grandma’s Attic” where he was putting all the “fragile” boxes. At exactly the same time I was sitting in the back of the truck reading the little fact sheets painted on the inside of the truck. Something struck me as odd…it goes something like this. “U Haul trucks are water ‘repellant’ but not waterproof. Important documents and items should be packed in water-tight containers.” WHAT?? Who the hell would buy a truck that is merely water “repellant?” I could tell he really wanted to go forward and ignore the puddle, but I reminded him how our luck works. If we keep packing boxes, we will soon find ourselves not even needing a waterproof truck, we will need an ark. He finally agreed and called the customer service line completely prepared to be pissed off. She surprised him by saying they would have someone out within a couple hours to fix the truck!!
We headed home with our leaky truck and commenced trying to park this sucker in our driveway. As has been the case for the past year or so, “Red Truck Boyfriend,” as I call him, was visiting across the street and was parked perpendicular to our driveway. Now I have tolerated this for a long time…dodging the big red Dodge parked practically in the middle of the street…but on this day…I could not. It was dark…it was rainy…and I was wet. I had taken our cars down to the parking lot and walked back (it’s only 4 houses down) and there was no reason he could not do the same. I rang the doorbell (3 times just to be obnoxious) and when the father answered the door shirtless (yummo) I was at a loss for words. All I could say is… “both trucks won’t fit and mine is bigger.” He stepped outside to see a 26-foot U Haul only inches from the shiny red truck. Jessie, who is the not-so-bright owner of the red truck quickly came outside and helpfully moved his truck forward about 10 feet and then ran back inside. There is no need to go into detail about what happened next…needless to say…about an hour later the truck was parked only a few feet from our back door. Many nasty things were said in the process but it was parked.
Now it was time to call U Haul and see where this truck fixer was. Well, she couldn’t find anyone and didn’t know if they would want to fix it or swap it and would know more at 9 a.m. the following morning. Since the actual store opens at 7 a.m. we did not really see what help she had provided and thus we got to be pissed as originally expected. We decided to just spend what was left of the night packing and cleaning (which I did until 3 a.m.) and go swap the truck in the morning.
We slept to the sound of rain…downpour…what did you expect?
When he left I told him I might just have the whole house packed up and ready to go. He said if this was the case, he would shit a golden nugget. All week I have been packing my ass off in an attempt to collect my golden nugget. However, I fell slightly short of my goal. But he was surprised nonetheless…and decided he might just get an early start on packing the U Haul. We decided to go grab a bite and then pick up the truck.
We went to grab a bite and through the window…we watched it begin to rain...YOU BETCHA!!! We figured we could still load up the boxes in our storage building since the entrance is covered so we got the truck. We were a little confused when she said she had to go “out back” to get the truck for us…we looked at the half dozen or so trucks sitting in the front but figured she knew what she was doing.
At the storage building we watched the rain turn into a downpour…of course…but we started loading up boxes with fervor. After about 50 boxes were in…Tim noticed a puddle forming in “Grandma’s Attic” where he was putting all the “fragile” boxes. At exactly the same time I was sitting in the back of the truck reading the little fact sheets painted on the inside of the truck. Something struck me as odd…it goes something like this. “U Haul trucks are water ‘repellant’ but not waterproof. Important documents and items should be packed in water-tight containers.” WHAT?? Who the hell would buy a truck that is merely water “repellant?” I could tell he really wanted to go forward and ignore the puddle, but I reminded him how our luck works. If we keep packing boxes, we will soon find ourselves not even needing a waterproof truck, we will need an ark. He finally agreed and called the customer service line completely prepared to be pissed off. She surprised him by saying they would have someone out within a couple hours to fix the truck!!
We headed home with our leaky truck and commenced trying to park this sucker in our driveway. As has been the case for the past year or so, “Red Truck Boyfriend,” as I call him, was visiting across the street and was parked perpendicular to our driveway. Now I have tolerated this for a long time…dodging the big red Dodge parked practically in the middle of the street…but on this day…I could not. It was dark…it was rainy…and I was wet. I had taken our cars down to the parking lot and walked back (it’s only 4 houses down) and there was no reason he could not do the same. I rang the doorbell (3 times just to be obnoxious) and when the father answered the door shirtless (yummo) I was at a loss for words. All I could say is… “both trucks won’t fit and mine is bigger.” He stepped outside to see a 26-foot U Haul only inches from the shiny red truck. Jessie, who is the not-so-bright owner of the red truck quickly came outside and helpfully moved his truck forward about 10 feet and then ran back inside. There is no need to go into detail about what happened next…needless to say…about an hour later the truck was parked only a few feet from our back door. Many nasty things were said in the process but it was parked.
Now it was time to call U Haul and see where this truck fixer was. Well, she couldn’t find anyone and didn’t know if they would want to fix it or swap it and would know more at 9 a.m. the following morning. Since the actual store opens at 7 a.m. we did not really see what help she had provided and thus we got to be pissed as originally expected. We decided to just spend what was left of the night packing and cleaning (which I did until 3 a.m.) and go swap the truck in the morning.
We slept to the sound of rain…downpour…what did you expect?
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Rubix Cube of Packing has Commenced
After 2 weeks of trying to sell our house, we caved and listed with an agent and are moving this weekend. Of course for the past two weeks I have done no packing (in an attempt to keep the house neat). I have 3 days to pack our entire house and get ready for departure.
I went to buy boxes and was aghast at the thought of paying $2-$10 for boxes, especially to pack up old, dirty crap in the garage which probably will never be used and is worth less than the price of the box. Mission: find cheaper boxes. I found a place online which sold used boxes. I was dismayed to find that used boxes, boxes which at one time had someone else’s crap in them, actually cost more than brand new boxes. Whatever. I had the brilliant idea to look on Craigslist for boxes and BEHOLD! A woman had posted “free moving boxes.” Tim was worried I would get murdered in exchange for these freebies but when she said she would leave them in her driveway when she went to work, I figured I was safe. 1. Her name was Susan 2. She lived in Twelve Oaks and 3. She had a job. What sort of criminal would think of such a simple alibi? I went to collect my treasure… and the day starts well.
So I’m home with my boxes, a mixture of new and used and I start to look around at my project. Where should I start? What goes first? Being of an easily distracted mind, I followed the path I usually do. I’ll start in the middle and quickly make my way around the entire house, packing a little from each room until I have a complete disaster.
After getting started in the kitchen I realized I have a rare problem. While many tell stories of trying to find a lid for which they have the container…I have dozens of lids for which I do not have containers. I think back to a doctor telling me he will not prescribe Ambien because one of his patients got in trouble ordering thousands in merchandise from Home Shopping Network. Of course I didn’t get my Ambien from him, but I did get it and take it here and there…so now I wonder…do I dash about during my Ambien-induced comas and steal other peoples lids? Could I be the cause of so many people’s upset when they cannot find the right lid? What else have I done? Have I stolen the one white sock to make them believe the dryer is possessed?
Hmmm…pack the lids….let us move on! So I decided it would be smart to pull everything out of my bottom cabinets so I can play the rubix cube of packing. After doing so, I realize I have no place to put the empty box. After tripping over a waffle iron, I backed up and was violated by an open cabinet door, and finally reached my final destination on the kitchen floor with my face pressed firmly against a food processor attachment.
The day has ended and so I shall summarize. I have a bruise up my ass, my house is destroyed, a particular food processor attachment is now “missing,” (and by missing I mean broken from being flung across the kitchen) and my dogs have taken the bones I thought would keep them busy and are now playing a game of “who can hold two bones in their mouth the longest without actually chewing them.”
But a dozen or so boxes have been packed and tomorrow I get to do this all again.
JOY!
I went to buy boxes and was aghast at the thought of paying $2-$10 for boxes, especially to pack up old, dirty crap in the garage which probably will never be used and is worth less than the price of the box. Mission: find cheaper boxes. I found a place online which sold used boxes. I was dismayed to find that used boxes, boxes which at one time had someone else’s crap in them, actually cost more than brand new boxes. Whatever. I had the brilliant idea to look on Craigslist for boxes and BEHOLD! A woman had posted “free moving boxes.” Tim was worried I would get murdered in exchange for these freebies but when she said she would leave them in her driveway when she went to work, I figured I was safe. 1. Her name was Susan 2. She lived in Twelve Oaks and 3. She had a job. What sort of criminal would think of such a simple alibi? I went to collect my treasure… and the day starts well.
So I’m home with my boxes, a mixture of new and used and I start to look around at my project. Where should I start? What goes first? Being of an easily distracted mind, I followed the path I usually do. I’ll start in the middle and quickly make my way around the entire house, packing a little from each room until I have a complete disaster.
After getting started in the kitchen I realized I have a rare problem. While many tell stories of trying to find a lid for which they have the container…I have dozens of lids for which I do not have containers. I think back to a doctor telling me he will not prescribe Ambien because one of his patients got in trouble ordering thousands in merchandise from Home Shopping Network. Of course I didn’t get my Ambien from him, but I did get it and take it here and there…so now I wonder…do I dash about during my Ambien-induced comas and steal other peoples lids? Could I be the cause of so many people’s upset when they cannot find the right lid? What else have I done? Have I stolen the one white sock to make them believe the dryer is possessed?
Hmmm…pack the lids….let us move on! So I decided it would be smart to pull everything out of my bottom cabinets so I can play the rubix cube of packing. After doing so, I realize I have no place to put the empty box. After tripping over a waffle iron, I backed up and was violated by an open cabinet door, and finally reached my final destination on the kitchen floor with my face pressed firmly against a food processor attachment.
The day has ended and so I shall summarize. I have a bruise up my ass, my house is destroyed, a particular food processor attachment is now “missing,” (and by missing I mean broken from being flung across the kitchen) and my dogs have taken the bones I thought would keep them busy and are now playing a game of “who can hold two bones in their mouth the longest without actually chewing them.”
But a dozen or so boxes have been packed and tomorrow I get to do this all again.
JOY!
Saturday, September 5, 2009
New Place, New Adventure, New Blog
So I’ve been told a million times (and by million, I mean 50) the stories of my life are suitable for a comedic blog. I agree completely that my aggravations and frustrations could bring joy to many...but I could never find a good place to start.
Well, what better time to start a blog than after a life changing event? The life changing event has occurred...Tim accepted a job and we have finally escaped the cesspool of Shreveport, Louisiana. Of course, the real test will be how long we can fight the current and avoid being sucked back in to the black hole! Unfortunately, the job was not in Michigan and thus I am not going home. Instead we will be heading a couple hundred miles further south. Janice Joplin says it's the asshole of the South...which is lovely because I've been calling Shreveport the armpit so at least we are anatomically on the same page.
I'm certain there is nothing like a move to a new place with new people to spark some interesting adventures. My screams are your laughs...enjoy it while you can...there's no telling how much longer I can fight off the straight jacket.
Here we go…
Well, what better time to start a blog than after a life changing event? The life changing event has occurred...Tim accepted a job and we have finally escaped the cesspool of Shreveport, Louisiana. Of course, the real test will be how long we can fight the current and avoid being sucked back in to the black hole! Unfortunately, the job was not in Michigan and thus I am not going home. Instead we will be heading a couple hundred miles further south. Janice Joplin says it's the asshole of the South...which is lovely because I've been calling Shreveport the armpit so at least we are anatomically on the same page.
I'm certain there is nothing like a move to a new place with new people to spark some interesting adventures. My screams are your laughs...enjoy it while you can...there's no telling how much longer I can fight off the straight jacket.
Here we go…
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