The Seven Dwarfs, Little Bunny Foo Foo, and Happily Ever After


It’s only Wednesday and my brain thinks it’s Friday. I’m sitting here writing this blog and some old dudes dressed like soldiers from the ‘Merican Revolution are on on a local TV show talking about reenacting battles. Old dudes who can’t remember what day of the week it is, are running around with muskets and bayonets. Sounds like a recipe for disaster to me. Take a page outta my book and sit your ass down on the couch and watch some Judge Judy instead. Or read this shitty blog… both pass the time and don’t kill anybody.

Like those guys on TV, I am old and I have to take pills for my oldness. I was getting my meds out of their respective bottles last night, and dropping said pills all over the fucking floor. Hubs came in and helpfully informed me that pills don’t work when you throw them on the floor. I told you he was a good doctor. He also cheerfully suggested that I buy one of those plastic pillboxes. He knows I hate those stupid boxes with the stupid compartments labeled with the stupid days of the week. What asshole invented THAT?! I want something cool like a Pez dispenser for my oldness meds. The heads of my Pez Med Dispensers (patent pending, bitches… don’t even think about stealing this awesome idea) would be The Seven Dwarfs for obvious reasons. Sleepy would be Ambien, Grumpy would be my antidepressant, that fat dwarf would be my reflux meds and so on.

Speaking of grumpy shit , me and hubs discovered water on the floor in our mudroom where the water heater and other essential heating and cooling apparatus resides. This room is also filled with junk and looks like something from that Hoarders show on TV. Hubs peered in the door to the mudroom and decided from 20 ft away and across mounds of junk, that the water must be coming from a leak in the huge and very expensive water heater. I told him to go to work and do something he is good at because this was a job for a W O M A N (sing it with me sistahs). I had to clean that whole damn room out to get the to root of this water problem. I hauled all the Christmas decorations, bins of who knows what and shelving out of there, and was left with a room that was a mouse toilet. Those little fuckers came into MY house and shit all over before being caught in glue traps or scampering back into the woods. Where is little Bunny Foo Foo when you need him? Probably taking a nap and now I probably now have the hunta virus and will be dead by Friday because of that damn bunny not doing his job. Asshole. Anyway, the water was NOT the from a leaky water heater, praise Jesus, it was the water softener which is rented and not my problem. I said Hey, Culligan Man, and he is fixing that damn leak for FREE.

The Culligan Man arrived this morning and promptly shut off my water which is bad because I can’t take a shower. I decided to work on fixing my fucking router that is blinking orange at me. The first thing that happens is that my computer asks me a god damned security question. What is up with these stupid ass security questions for every damn account you have? Do they fill a room with assholes to come up with the most obscure and ridiculous questions possible to drive you mad? As a matter of fact, I think they hire these peeps from the loony bin. One of my friends told me that she answers “clamfart” to all of those questions… why the hell didn’t *I* think of that? What celebrity do you look like? Clamfart. First street you lived on? Clamfart. What is your favorite cartoon character? Clamfart. I’m stealing that word and calling my router Clamfart. I expect at least two calls from my neighbors complaining that their kids are gonna see that dirty word. Tell your damn kids that Snow White’s nickname was Clamfart and you will live happily ever after.

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The Beast in my Walls


Whatever the hell is living in the walls of my house is back from vacation.

I’ve heard his long, sharp talons above my head the last two nights. It’s like Freddy Krueger because every time I start to fall asleep, he starts up with the racket. I know it’s not just me and that I’ve somehow developed some auditory hallucinations because I belted Hubs awake to hear it too.

People have told me it probably squirrels. That’s total bullshit unless it’s a really smart squirrel that has an army equipped with jackhammers. I’m telling you, friends and neighbors, it’s loud and it’s proud.

Last night that fucker started up his noise around 11:30. This time I was by god Boy Scout prepared. I jammed my slippers on my feet, grabbed the flashlight, and ran outside to see if I could catch the little beady-eyed fucker on my roof or something. All I got for my pre-midnight dash was wet slippers. No sign of him. By the noise he makes I’d think there was a 12 ft hole in my siding, but no… he’s like a ghost. He appears and disappears. He could at least man up and stay and fight.

So I went back inside and listened some more. It sounded like the fucking varmit Olympics up there. I went to get the sledgehammer to fix my little problem, but hubs objected. Leave it to him to be all rational and shit. I climbed back in the bed and listened to that varmint for a while more and decided that it couldn’t be a rodent, because it was too loud. I came up with a list of possible offenders:

  • Baby Sasquatch
  • Enormous Raccoon
  • Mutant Possum
  • Mountain Lion
  • Mike Tyson

I’m going with mountain lion because if I have to have an invader, I think a mountain lion would be a worthy opponent. The noises seem on target from my extensive two minute research on mountain lions. Besides, I think Mike Tyson is in prison somewhere and Sasquatch lives in the northwest, or they would be serious contenders.

I think I’d better figure out which beast it is up there before my ceiling caves in… is that covered by insurance? If it is, that bastard can chew away. I need new carpet.

 

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A Tim Gunn Moment


So yesterday I spent the entire day working in that damn yard, getting it ready for winter. Like I give two shits if everything green just up and died. For my efforts, I have shoulders that feel like I’ve been lifting fire trucks and humvees. The good news is that I didn’t seem to get into any poison ivy for once, so you don’t have to listen to me bitch about that for the next three weeks.

Hubs and I had a “project” to do this weekend. Our stupid garage door opener decided to die a swift and unpredicted death last week. I called around and most places wanted $100 to $150 in labor to put up a new one. I called hubs to ask his opinion because I usually don’t mess with anything electrical. If I wanted to get electrocuted I’d just murder someone and get the chair. There are a number of potential murder victims on my list, just in case you are wondering. Anyhow, hubs seemed to think that paying someone $100 or so just to put the damn thing up was too much money. Cheapskate.

We went to Home Depot to get the new opener. Let me tell you, that guy in the garage door opener aisle knew NOTHING about garage doors openers. Hubs would ask a question about the installation process and our particular set up and that guy kept unhelpfully reading the shit that was on the box to us. That asshole has no idea that he is now on my To Murder List for wasting my fucking time. My eyeballs also got really tired, not from reading the box, but from rolling them to the ceiling every time that guy opened his ignorant yap.

So on Saturday, hubs got up, and went where all manual laborers go to breakfast, Starbucks. After his intake of his embarrassingly metrosexual coffee, he came home to take off his dainty underthings and find his dusty Y chromosome to put to use. He even changed out of his Bolivian Sheep Herding shirt for this adventure into manhood. As he walked through the kitchen to the garage, I actually smelled a dude with purpose. He was out in the garage for about 20 seconds before he needed a band aid. After I kissed his boo boo he got back to work.

Fast forward about six god damn hours of sweat and muttering to himself, and to my surprise, the garage door opener was up! I congratulated him on this manly feat and for my minimal involvement. I asked if it worked and got a glare that set my hair on fire. Of course not, that part wasn’t done yet, so I skedaddled back into the house as fast as I could to sit on the couch, drink beer, fart, belch, and watch some more college football. About six more hours passed and by god, the garage door opener worked! I’m sure my neighbors are just as happy as I am because now they don’t have to look at that mess in my garage anymore.

I think I like role reversals most of the time. This was one of those times. Actually, I wonder if we are a gay couple and just don’t know it. I don’t know if I’m more manly or he is more girly, but in the words of Tim Gunn, we make it work.

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