I'm Supposed to be Drunk Right Now.

I'm not, which is dreadfully unfortunate, but the marital unit got called into work, and we have a general agreement that there will be at least one sober adult in the house at all times until the little is capable of getting herself outside in the event of a fire.  I don't remember making that agreement, but it probably is a good idea.

So, I'm not drunk, I can't sleep, and it's 3 in the morning.  I know, I can blog!  I know a few people have been worried that I died or something, so this seems like a great time to clear that up.  I didn't.  I've just been lazy.  No...  I really haven't even been lazy.  I've just been really antisocial lately, even for me.  It's a combination of other projects (which my husband made fun of me for, so I won't talk about them right now) and the bathroom guys.

The bathroom guys are at least two hours late every day, and twice they neglected to show up at all.  There's no call, no "Hey, we'll be late tomorrow," they just don't show up.  It's really irritating because it means Pie and I are stuck here waiting.  Too much time at home is negatively impacting her behavior and by the time they do get here, I'm ready to punch someone.  Supposedly, the bathroom will be done on Friday.  George is hopeful, and I don't have the heart to tell him I'm pretty sure they mean next Friday.  Or two Fridays from now.  They did get the floor tiles put down, though.  No grout, just the tiles.  It's also become increasingly apparent that George and I have very different visions of the end result.

Pie has this Disney Princess CD player.  I keep it in the kitchen, since I usually just listen to music on one of the computers, but I don't have a computer in the kitchen.  (Yes, I do have a computer in every other room I routinely spend time in.  In my defense, they're mostly spare parts computers.)  Anyway, it has a microphone and everything!  I'm too lazy to go take a picture, but that's what Google images are for, right?

Since my parents bought it for her two Christmases ago, this thing has been nothing more than a source of humiliating moments for me.  I love to sing.  This would be an excellent time to mention that my singing is both godawful and ear shatteringly loud. After a decade, George is used to it, but I really feel for Pie, especially in the car.  Surprisingly, she actually seems to like it.  I can't wait to hear her opinion when she's a teenager!  If all my restraint goes out the car window, the kitchen is at least ten times worse.  There's something about a pink CD player and a microphone that makes it impossible for me NOT to sing.  It also compels me to sing the cheesiest stuff I can find!

The guy in my attic still won't let me live down the time he had to come down stairs to ask me to bring my countertop karaoke to a more reasonable level.  That's fine, I deserve it, but I also feel the need to point out that he was the creeper who stood there watching for at least two songs before saying something.  If he's going to keep calling me Fieval, I'm going to start calling him Peeping Tom.  It doesn't really help that George thinks this is awesome and encourages him.

Anyway, the bathroom guys were supposed to be here at noon.  When I started dinner (at quarter after four) I'd simply assumed they weren't coming for the day.  I didn't give it a second thought when I popped in a CD full of cheesy 80's music and started the chicken.  I was belting lyrics out at an excruciating volume when something caught in my peripheral vision.  Hey!  It was the bathroom guys!  They decided to show up after all!  Since I can't imagine standing at someone's backdoor and just watching them, I figured they'd just got there.  I just turned it down, holstered the microphone (along with my raging disappointment) and went on making the salad.  I didn't think anything else of it until they packed up for the evening.

"See you tomorrow, Tonsils!"

George looked at me, looked at them, looked back at me and started cracking up.  The other guy starting singing.  I just rolled my eyes.  Seriously?  It's not like this hasn't happened before.  They can try all they want, my chops are unbustable!  It was only after they left that George told me they've been calling me that all week.  Nice.