Category Archives: Humor
“I’m Bear Grylls Bitch!” – or – ‘The night the pipe burst’
It already sucks getting older and not sleeping through the night … if I’m not having to get up to pee – I’m having to let my manatee outside or just randomly waking up for no apparent reason at all.
Friday morning began beautifully. There was weekend excitement, a clear sky – and the scent of rain in the air!
I posted this. (Of course, because if I’m not photographing the mundane, I’m typing about it)
Well, it hasn’t rained yet – but I did get my share of water that night.
I was tired – turned off the TV about 9:30 pm and awoke an hour later.
Let the dog out, shuffled to the bathroom – went to flush – no flush. Took the top off of the tank and wiggled the little part you wiggle to fill the tank with water and then shuffled off to let the dog back in.
There was a strange sound … a very loud sound in the darkness.
I wondered if someone had their automatic sprinkler system set for 10:30 – odd.
Went back in the house and heard more loud noises – coming from my bedroom and bathroom.
Coming up from behind my toilet was water. A lot of water. I grabbed the closest towel, which happened to be a Pokemon towel from my sons past. Pikachu (an electric type Pokemon) dangerously thrown to the watery ground.
Now I’m fully awake. And after throwing flip-flops on I grabbed in the dark for a flashlight. (Note to self: Buy a flashlight)
I did come up with a small miners light – which I refused to wear on my head, so I carried it outside.
The corner of my house was leaking. When I say leaking, I mean, a mad rush of pressurized water was pouring out from under it – and down the siding from underneath my bathroom/bedroom area.
Now I’m no helpless maiden – I knew I had to turn the water off. There was a pipe with a lever right next to the flood … I put it in the ‘off’ position. Nothing. I trekked over to another set of pipes and flipped that to the ‘off’ position. Water subsided then stopped.
I learned the next day from the plumber that my first attempt turned the gas off. Good to know, good to know …
They look-alike to me!
I went inside and called my landlady’s cell phone – letting her know what happened. She said she would call a plumber.
Now – at 10:30 at night, I’m normally not in the market for water. But isn’t it odd when you suddenly don’t have something you take for granted, you suddenly MUST have it.
I wanted to brush my teeth before going back to sleep. (I’m pretty obsessive about brushing my teeth – I go a little overboard)
I was relieved to find a small bottle in the fridge.
This was to be my ration – and I sparingly used some to brush my teeth and wash my hands.
Morning came and I had a little bottled water bird bath and then posted this:
That’s how I felt.
Situation dire. I had planned to clean like crazy – and here I was – merely surviving on my precious depleting bottle of water.
The plumber came pretty early.
He took a look in my bathroom – then outside – then advised me it was an easy fix. The tube thingy connecting the toilet to the pipe under the house had broken off.
Fun part was getting to be the one turning the water back on when he was laying on his back with his legs sticking out under the house.
“Okay! You can turn it off now!” I didn’t dally – I’m not sadistic. But it was satisfying that someone could see that I was not exaggerating about the amount of water that blasted out the night before.
He was soaked.
It seriously had sounded like someone was power washing the outside of the house – THAT loud.
Here’s the damage it did, after the brief time it was on when he was underneath:
The floor of the bathroom was a little paddling pool – under the house was dripping, and the strength of the spray had dislodged insulation and whatever that mesh stuff is.
Water back on, plumber thanked – I went about my normal routine.
And now – should I have a gas leak, I’ll know just where to turn that off. Although, once it’s off and I’m without gas, I’ll probably suddenly want to bake something.
Musings from the Laundromat: The Parenting Paradigm edition
I’ve figured it out.
The parenting paradigm. This progression of unconditional love and support to ‘If he leaves a dirty dish in the sink one more time, I shall end him’.
I’ll preface all of this with, if my son needed me to die today in order to live – I would not ask a question except “Where do I have to go for this to happen?”
If he needed a body part and I had to saw if off myself – okay … probably that would be hard to do – but I’d let people hold me down and do it without any anesthesia.
My son is my most favorite person – my raison d’être.
Then he got older. And more capable. And more independent.
Which is great! But as I strained to lug two laundry bags inside today, and realized that 3/4 of it was his – and that he is not even here … well.
Know how we panic then experience such emotion when an animal is killed in a movie, but not so much a human?
Yes you do.
I’ve figured it all out.
Once someone is capable of taking care of themselves but won’t – then it’s on them.
A small child – innocent animal – they can’t do it. They depend on us. Count on us. Love us with pure abandon.
Which, is why I broke down and cleaned out Nic’s hamster last night. Poor thing.
I remember how he begged to have her for his birthday – we stood in the pet store, his 19-year-old hands sweaty with birthday money and he pledged that THIS animal would be different. After all, he was a MAN now.
When I returned home from work Friday, he had left for the weekend – and little remnants of his visit were everywhere. Curiously, none of them cedar chips – which invariably end up on the kitchen floor during a cage cleaning.
Our current situation is this – he works Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday in a neighboring State. Then he comes home Monday night and goes to our local college Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. I think. There may be one more day in there. Anyway, he stays with my mom while he’s working. The excuse was ‘to save gas’ although, I think that was the beginning of another necessary paradigm shift – the spreading wings part.
It’s working out for me. I get the weekends alone and still get to see him during the week in-between video games/calls to his girlfriend and Skypes. So basically when he’s hungry and rooting around in the kitchen, or bored because he’s had his fill of online entertainment. It’s working out for my mom for sure – she get’s grandma time. And it’s working out for Nic. So it’s win-win-win really.
But before he left this time, I asked him to please clean his hamster and before he came home this time, I had asked him to please keep the house as clean as it was.
Neither happened.
So Friday night after telling him I was confused and was he coming home that night? Due to the fact that his TV was on, hamster wasn’t done, trash was overflowing and dishes were on the counter. (And I wasn’t being sarcastic) this chat happened.
it started with me telling him I would clean out the hamster this weekend. Yeah I know, pushover. But remember, we are pulled to caring for the defenseless.
Back to the Parenting Paradigm.
So the more the young is capable of doing, and the older the young get – the more it feels like you’ve got a non-paying roommate that does nothing to contribute to the house and yet enjoys all the benefits of living there.
Nature knows what it’s doing. Because we were all like that to some degree and I’m certain its on purpose. So that when the time comes for the young to leave the nest – us parents willing to saw body parts off won’t be so devastated.
I enjoy my quiet weekends. But I’m not ready for silent weeknights just yet.
I cleaned out the hamster last night by the way … after I gave Butters a bath and cleaned the house – because none of those things were capable of doing themselves.
And the laundry hasn’t learned to fold itself yet – so I’m headed to the dryers and hoping you all had a wonderful weekend.
Wednesday’s Wicked Itch
It started at approximately 2 pm.
All was well in the office – I was working away when I announced, “Something bit me!”
*scratch scratch scratch*
Just above my elbow on my right arm, an itchy spot.
After more scratching and audible discomfort, a theory from a co-worker “Maybe it was a chigger.”
A chigger??
A what??!
*scratch scratch scratch*
Google.
Very audible incredulous gasp.
“Do we even HAVE those?!?!? Gawd!! They look like shell-less hermit crab/tick/spiders!”
The probability that we have these is VERY slim considering a) the giggles that ensued after my question and b) the lack of vegetation in the desert.
But now I was even more itchy.
I floated the idea that perhaps it was psychosomatic. Just looking at that freaking picture made me want to scratch.
Suffice it to say, I’m highly suggestible and prone to empathetic reactions to my environment and yes, my imagination.
I’ll get that fear ‘whoosh’ sensation when someone is looking off of something like a rooftop or a cliff in a movie.
I find myself panicking and holding my breath when I’m watching someone else underwater or in a confined space.
I acknowledge this – I was leaving room for the itch to be in my head.
Which, coincidentally, is where it ended up.
It would not quit!
By 3:30 I was scratching my face, arms, tear ducts, eyelashes, ears and head.
By 3:31 I was wishing I could scratch the inside of my nose and wash the back of my eyeballs.
“I’m going to get some Benadryl.”
I’ve heard that Benadryl helps allergic reactions – not that I would know.
I am not allergic to anything.
I could roll in grass if I wanted to – during Spring, after eating peanuts, shell-fish, gluten and dairy while any hair adorned creature sat directly on my face and not have a reaction!
(Except for maybe, “Please get off of my face.”)
“Did you eat something different??”
No, I assured everyone that my boring weekday sandwich and chips were consumed and nothing out of the ordinary reached my mouth.
“Sometimes when you get older you develop allergies.” A female co-worker quipped.
So now I’m feeling old and itchy.
I scratched over to the gas station, ready to lay down big money for a mini-pack of Benadryl.
They did not have Benadryl.
Groan. *scratch scratch scratch*
They did have a box of generic “Allergy” pills that turned out to be overpriced, bright pink and useless.
I’m talking, seriously BRIGHT pink – I don’t think I’ve ever SEEN such pink.
Until the end of the day when I examined parts of my body.
I’m still scratching and am ready to remove my skin, turn it inside out and grate it with a rock at this point.
And on my elbow? A small bite bump.
Whatever got me – I am allergic to it.
If only I knew what it was.
It might turn out to be Wednesdays.
Cicada belts and Butter whines
I had the Happy Day’s theme song playing in my head this morning – not for any nostalgic reasons – and I re-worked the lyrics to a little something like this:
“One o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock F@&%!”
The first time I was summoned from sleep by my whining manatee was one a.m. precisely.
I slowly peeled my eyes open to the dim sight of Butters a mere inch away from my head.
She’s pretty patient when it comes to waiting for me to struggle out of bed and shuffle towards the front door.
Pretty patient for such a whining, antsy, slumber saboteur.
At the door I heard the most annoying noise.
Loud – squealing – chirping.
I’m trying NOT to wake up completely, so I’m only using a portion of my faculties on purpose – I did manage to wonder if maybe a cicada was right outside?
Did I want it inside? No.
Did I have the energy to care? No.
Then I thought it sounded like a small car malfunctioning fan belt.
Did I want a small car inside? No.
Did I have the energy to care? No.
Out the dog went without the introduction of either cicada, or small car into my humble abode.
Back to bed I went, without any concern for the open front door.
Next time I’ll just hang little welcome signs up for any scorpions or sun spiders and any other nocturnal creepy crawly hard shelled nightmares.
Ooo! Here we have a sun spider actually eating a cicada.
As far as I know, the only creature that entered the house after I stomped back to my bed was of the 4 legged variety.
I know this because approximately an hour later, said 4 legged creature wanted back outside.
1. Whine.
2. Stare.
3. Come within inch of human.
4. Whine again.
5. Repeat.
Almost e v e r y hour on the hour.
This morning – as Butters somehow managed her 5:30 a.m. wake up call after her restless night, I discovered the source of both the noise, and what must have bugging my insomni-pup.
The neighbors.
Not directly them this time – but their air conditioning unit.
As I stood on the porch with my coffee I heard the screech and whine of a slipping belt coming from it.
Wonderful.
I hope it doesn’t break completely – as the Fonz and I wouldn’t want them not being ‘cool’.
Correction!: Okay, OKAY!!! As a testament to how tired I am – I will tell you that I only NOW realized, after publishing, that the song in my head was not the Happy Days theme song at all – but this one. Jeez.
I’m not changing it though – because then I’ll lose my whole Fonz/Cool thing. Ayyyy!
I need sleep.
Musings From The Laundromat
“To Delete or not to Delete, that is the question.”
Wonder if Shakespeare had the internet if he would have erased any of his works. Maybe a poem he re-read in the morning and thought ‘That is crap – what was I thinking?’ (That is crapeth?) But because someone took the trouble to type set and print and distribute, he couldn’t do a take back.
You know who I think would post something and have writers remorse?
Poe.
I can imagine him having a particularly morose day and ingesting a bit of opium and pouring his heart out about unrequited cousin love. Then waking up the next morning to the caw of a raven (Do ravens caw? I think they caw. You’d think they’d crow.) anyway, waking up and slapping his forehead and groaning “Nevermore.”
I bet he’d delete.
What I’m getting to, via the scenic route, is that I contemplated taking my last post down.
I guess I wasn’t using large enough capitals when I said that I would never have done it. (Take ALL the medicine.) One tweet to me said ‘glad you didn’t kill yourself’ and I actually giggled – then thought, wait – did people not read ALL of my words?
It’s not a funny topic. I’m not making light of it. And believe me, I was disturbed by how easily the thought came to be – and if I’m going to be disturbed, I’m bringing you along for the ride.
Because that’s what I do.
I will not delete.
There are diaries I threw away from my days of debauchery that I so wish I hadn’t. I’m not making that mistake again. Authentic – unedited – Me. That’s what you get.
I share the Good, the Bad and the Ugly with you.
Only when it is my story to tell.
Trust me when I say, if I felt comfortable naming names of some people in my life, and completely removing my moral filter, there are posts that I could write that would go viral and change lives – and not for the better.
Which is why I don’t write them.
Great segue to my next random thought.
My Prince of 14 months finally traveled to my country very recently – however, not to my Kingdom.
That was a shot to the heart.
(Now I have Bon Jovi singing in my head)
I have eased some of the pain with lots and lots of ice cream. Which is such a stereotypical ‘girl-with-broken-heart’ thing to do. Yet SO unlike me.
I have never been a big ice cream fan. But my son and I got into a little phase of banana splits recently and I got hooked. I think mostly it’s all the whipped cream and nuts I put on top.
Maybe I should just have a ginormous bowl of whipped cream and nuts? Or skip it and just go straight for the cream directly from the can.
I spent quality time yesterday with two bowls of rocky road ice cream (with copious amounts of whipped cream and nuts on top of course) and watched a couple of movies.
Last weekend my son found a blu-ray player that was a steal and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.
(He’s still not here much by the way – I’ve mentioned him twice, which would give the impression he’s been around, having banana splits and buying electronics and whatnot. He returned late last night and I only have two nights with him before he leaves the nest again for another week.)
SO back to the fuss. To be honest, I couldn’t see much of a difference. Although, to be fair and even more honest, my eyesight isn’t what it used to be and HD and non-HD look pretty similar to me.
I rented these:
First let me mention that this deal Nic got on the blu-ray DVD player didn’t include a remote.
Next let me mention that not all ‘Universal’ remotes are universal.
I spent the better part of an hour trying to program one to the Sony BDP S360 with no success.
I almost threw in the towel and lamented the $4.75 I had spent on the rentals. Then decided not to throw any towels and spent another half of an hour googling my little ‘want-to-watch-a -movie-and-don’t-want-to-have-wasted-this-money’ heart out until I found a code.
(I do this as a public service – if you have a Sony blu-ray HD DVD Player – and if you have a cable remote – try 21516 for Comcast and 1516 for Suddenlink. It worked.) Thank GAWD!
The Wolf of Wall Street was okay – probably all the hype elevated my expectations to an unreasonable height. Leonardo is aging well though.
This Is 40 was okay as well. I love the actors in anything they’re in.
When they said the part about the time between 40 and 60 being the best years of your life – I did a cursory glance around my empty living room and thought, well, I’m 5 years in and have 15 years to catch up.
American Hustle I did not watch. The laundromat and DVD return box needed to be one trip – god forbid I exit the house twice on a Sunday.
Besides, my boy is home and laundry is done and the couch across from me won’t be empty today.
I’m staying put and enjoying what will be one of the best days of my week – and maybe sharing some of my ice cream.
Deleting trips away from loved ones is ‘to be’.
_____________________________________
*late breaking news – after publishing, and excitedly showing Nic the salmon and pie I planned for our dinner, my boy announced he has plans for the day and night. 
#@&*!!
I’m refraining from heading to the freezer … but let’s face it, it’s inevitable.
Empty couch and ice cream are in my very near future.
Debauchery Soup 