When I was little, my mom got this idea that I needed a pen pal. I'm not entirely sure what the point of this exercise was--all of my pen pals came from slightly distant towns in other parts of Ohio, so it wasn't a cultural experience. My writing skills were already on par for my age level, so it wasn't an attempt at improvement. I think it was a sneaky way to try to make me make friends. I didn't particularly want a pen pal, but it beat the push-me-into-activities-I-didn't-want-to-be-in phase, so I went with it.
My pen pals hated me. They tried, they really did. I'd get frequent and lengthy letters on brightly colored Lisa Frank stationary, detailing life on the other side of the state. I didn't try as hard. Most of the time, I really did mean to write back, I just never got around to it and when I did, I was never sure what I was supposed share and what I wasn't. I'd end up returning short, awkward little blurbs on whatever scrap of paper I could find. I had nice paper and stickers and all that, but I was saving for something special. I'm not sure what, but when the time came, I would know. Most of my pen pals got sick of me pretty quickly and my mom would set off on the arduous task of finding someone in the neighborhood with a niece or grandchild who was willing to be my friend.
As much as I didn't really care about having a pen pal, I still remember every single one of them and while I don't necessarily wonder what any of them are up to, I do like to make up weird little where they're at stories in my head from time to time. That's probably one of those creepy things I should keep to myself, but what's this blog for if not oversharing? (And neglecting.) Also, nothing special ever happened and I think my mom eventually gave my box of stickers to her daycare kids. It's okay. I have new stickers and they're better anyway.
And while my intentions are always good, I'm still terrible about mailing things.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Monday, August 8, 2011
Kitties!
I've actually been meaning to write about this for a month but I'm lazy or busy or just not in the mood. Take your pick.
A long, long time ago (before Pie was born) I had a cat. I found him on my porch and named him Maurice. George said we couldn't keep him, but I could get him medical attention and foster him until we found a home. The vet said he was going to die. Both George and the vet lied because he didn't die and he never left our home.
Maurice was awesome. He hated everyone who wasn't me or my one friend. Actually, I think he just hated George and I made that assumption based on the fact that George and Friend were the only people I (and Maurice by extension) had contact with. He may have loved other people for all I know.
Anyway, when Pie was born, he got insanely jealous. He didn't pee in crib or bite her like a normal cat, instead he waited until I was trying to get her stupid carrier through the door with an armful of grocery bags and disappeared. I was heartbroken.
We posted signs and left food outside and the lady at the pound yelled at me for calling too much. The problem is that people in my neighborhood are irresponsible and let their unaltered cats roam free and screw like, well, cats. Maurice was solid black with no distinguishable markings and looked like any number of the neighborhood strays. And the food drew them in droves. And the pound is too busy with stray dogs to worry much about the cats. Eventually, everyone but me gave up hope.
Despite his deeply rooted dislike of animals, George offered to get me a new cat. Touching as that was, I was still waiting for Maurice to come home.
Two years (and three days) later, he did. He just showed up in all his feline arrogance like nothing ever happened. Everyone was shocked. Aside from a raging case of fleas and one oozing wound, he was no worse for wear. I have no idea what he did for two years, but apparently he took care of himself quite well. Even the vet (the one who told me he was going to die) was impressed.
He stuck around long enough to heal, eat twenty pounds of cat food, and decide he still didn't like Pie. Then, just like before, he bolted. This time, he hasn't come back.
But people in my neighborhood are still irresponsible.
Sometime near the end of June the result of said irresponsibility ended up in the bushes in front of my house. Pie's been asking for a cat and it's not like we don't have enough mouths to feed, so George and I decided if we could catch one, she could keep it. The only problem was that there were two. Oh no!
I ended up catching both.
We told Pie she could choose one, then we'd have to find a home for the other. Pie was having none that and decided we were keeping both cats. George is a sucker who has no problem letting a three year old dictate our household. I'm a sucker who couldn't stand seeing how distressed the cats became when separated for any amount of time. It took forty-five minutes for us to accept we had two kittens.
Pie named them Hiccup and Astrid and decided that when Maurice comes home, we'll change his name to Toothless. I share her optimism that he'll come home, although I have my doubts that a seven year old cat will be very accepting of a name change. She can try. Maybe after all his years of roaming, he's forgotten he has one altogether. The darker one is Hiccup and the lighter one is Astrid. Astrid is actually a boy and Hiccup is a girl, but Pie gets really upset about that, so we don't acknowledge it.
Anyway, they're not that little anymore, but all my newer pictures are on the other computer. They're awesome and healthy and so much fun! I'm really glad we kept them both because not only do they entertain each other, they entertain me. Mostly, they just play and attack each other and do generally amusing cat things, but they get really agitated when it comes to treats. I have to put them in separate rooms for fear of one of them losing an eye. They also hate the dog. Porthos couldn't be any less interested in them. Astrid just runs away whenever she comes near, but Hiccup one puffs up and spits. I knew cats can spit, but I'd never actually seen it happen. And they like me best!
I'm allergic to cats. Which is why I'm sitting in the car, blogging at four in the morning.
A long, long time ago (before Pie was born) I had a cat. I found him on my porch and named him Maurice. George said we couldn't keep him, but I could get him medical attention and foster him until we found a home. The vet said he was going to die. Both George and the vet lied because he didn't die and he never left our home.
Maurice was awesome. He hated everyone who wasn't me or my one friend. Actually, I think he just hated George and I made that assumption based on the fact that George and Friend were the only people I (and Maurice by extension) had contact with. He may have loved other people for all I know.
Anyway, when Pie was born, he got insanely jealous. He didn't pee in crib or bite her like a normal cat, instead he waited until I was trying to get her stupid carrier through the door with an armful of grocery bags and disappeared. I was heartbroken.
We posted signs and left food outside and the lady at the pound yelled at me for calling too much. The problem is that people in my neighborhood are irresponsible and let their unaltered cats roam free and screw like, well, cats. Maurice was solid black with no distinguishable markings and looked like any number of the neighborhood strays. And the food drew them in droves. And the pound is too busy with stray dogs to worry much about the cats. Eventually, everyone but me gave up hope.
Despite his deeply rooted dislike of animals, George offered to get me a new cat. Touching as that was, I was still waiting for Maurice to come home.
Two years (and three days) later, he did. He just showed up in all his feline arrogance like nothing ever happened. Everyone was shocked. Aside from a raging case of fleas and one oozing wound, he was no worse for wear. I have no idea what he did for two years, but apparently he took care of himself quite well. Even the vet (the one who told me he was going to die) was impressed.
He stuck around long enough to heal, eat twenty pounds of cat food, and decide he still didn't like Pie. Then, just like before, he bolted. This time, he hasn't come back.
But people in my neighborhood are still irresponsible.
Sometime near the end of June the result of said irresponsibility ended up in the bushes in front of my house. Pie's been asking for a cat and it's not like we don't have enough mouths to feed, so George and I decided if we could catch one, she could keep it. The only problem was that there were two. Oh no!
I ended up catching both.
We told Pie she could choose one, then we'd have to find a home for the other. Pie was having none that and decided we were keeping both cats. George is a sucker who has no problem letting a three year old dictate our household. I'm a sucker who couldn't stand seeing how distressed the cats became when separated for any amount of time. It took forty-five minutes for us to accept we had two kittens.
Pie named them Hiccup and Astrid and decided that when Maurice comes home, we'll change his name to Toothless. I share her optimism that he'll come home, although I have my doubts that a seven year old cat will be very accepting of a name change. She can try. Maybe after all his years of roaming, he's forgotten he has one altogether. The darker one is Hiccup and the lighter one is Astrid. Astrid is actually a boy and Hiccup is a girl, but Pie gets really upset about that, so we don't acknowledge it.
Anyway, they're not that little anymore, but all my newer pictures are on the other computer. They're awesome and healthy and so much fun! I'm really glad we kept them both because not only do they entertain each other, they entertain me. Mostly, they just play and attack each other and do generally amusing cat things, but they get really agitated when it comes to treats. I have to put them in separate rooms for fear of one of them losing an eye. They also hate the dog. Porthos couldn't be any less interested in them. Astrid just runs away whenever she comes near, but Hiccup one puffs up and spits. I knew cats can spit, but I'd never actually seen it happen. And they like me best!
I'm allergic to cats. Which is why I'm sitting in the car, blogging at four in the morning.
In other news, Pie cut off her hair. It looks great, but she's devastated. Cutting off your hair is an awfully silly way to express that you don't want short hair, but then, I don't know that I'll ever understand how Pie's mind works. I have pictures of that too, but I'll save them (along with the full story) for the next time I can't stand being in the house.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
It's Been a Good Week
It's been miserably hot lately. Like, 90's hot, and the only break in the godawful heat comes in the form of ridiculous downpours. Someone's car was stuck in front of my house for almost an hour yesterday morning because the street was so flooded.
With it being so disgustingly hot and wet and sticky, there's not much to do. We tried going to the park, but I'm pretty sure Pie would have walked away from the slide with second degree burns on her legs. We tried the pool, but unfortunately everyone else did too. I'm still feeling rather antisocial and that was a bit much for me to deal with. Last week, we alternated between the library, the mall, and the McDonald's playland, but the library is the only one of those places that I'm fond of, so finding alternative entertainment in an air conditioned environment became a bit of a mission for me.
I found it in the form of $1 movies! Apparently, lots movie theaters offer family films for $1 in the summer. How neat! I vaguely remember something like this from my own childhood, but when it comes to my childhood memories, it's sometimes hard to tell what really happened and what I've just convinced myself happened.
Anyway, the movies are pretty early in the day, but that's almost a good thing because it forces me to be awake and out of bed and dressed before 10. I should probably keep that up. There are a ton of choices, too. If the local theater is playing something I don't want to see, it's almost guaranteed that there's another one within a reasonable driving distance that's playing something better. I also love to drive, which means my husband and I have very different ideas of what constitutes a "reasonable driving distance".
This week we saw How to Train Your Dragon (twice, because I absolutely love that movie!) and MegaMind. We saw three movies for less than the regular cost of one! I can't even wrap my mind around it. That has to be the most awesome thing ever.
We also went to the drive-in (which, unfortunately, is not $1) on Monday. I love the drive-in and we try to go at least twice a month. We also buy snacks because they play this depressing commercial before the movie about how all the drive-in's are closing and if we want to keep ours we need to patronize the concession stand. It's hard to make me feel guilt, but man, that commercial does it every time!
Anyway, we saw X-Men: First Class, which I really enjoyed, and George saw Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, which he didn't care for. I was exhausted from getting up early and fell asleep before it started, so I don't really have any further commentary on that. Pie pretty much slept through both movies, but she got a Tangled bucket (from the popcorn) so she was happy.
So basically, I've spent the whole week at the movies, in the car, or both. It's been awesome! I almost hope it stays hot.
With it being so disgustingly hot and wet and sticky, there's not much to do. We tried going to the park, but I'm pretty sure Pie would have walked away from the slide with second degree burns on her legs. We tried the pool, but unfortunately everyone else did too. I'm still feeling rather antisocial and that was a bit much for me to deal with. Last week, we alternated between the library, the mall, and the McDonald's playland, but the library is the only one of those places that I'm fond of, so finding alternative entertainment in an air conditioned environment became a bit of a mission for me.
I found it in the form of $1 movies! Apparently, lots movie theaters offer family films for $1 in the summer. How neat! I vaguely remember something like this from my own childhood, but when it comes to my childhood memories, it's sometimes hard to tell what really happened and what I've just convinced myself happened.
Anyway, the movies are pretty early in the day, but that's almost a good thing because it forces me to be awake and out of bed and dressed before 10. I should probably keep that up. There are a ton of choices, too. If the local theater is playing something I don't want to see, it's almost guaranteed that there's another one within a reasonable driving distance that's playing something better. I also love to drive, which means my husband and I have very different ideas of what constitutes a "reasonable driving distance".
This week we saw How to Train Your Dragon (twice, because I absolutely love that movie!) and MegaMind. We saw three movies for less than the regular cost of one! I can't even wrap my mind around it. That has to be the most awesome thing ever.
We also went to the drive-in (which, unfortunately, is not $1) on Monday. I love the drive-in and we try to go at least twice a month. We also buy snacks because they play this depressing commercial before the movie about how all the drive-in's are closing and if we want to keep ours we need to patronize the concession stand. It's hard to make me feel guilt, but man, that commercial does it every time!
Anyway, we saw X-Men: First Class, which I really enjoyed, and George saw Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, which he didn't care for. I was exhausted from getting up early and fell asleep before it started, so I don't really have any further commentary on that. Pie pretty much slept through both movies, but she got a Tangled bucket (from the popcorn) so she was happy.
So basically, I've spent the whole week at the movies, in the car, or both. It's been awesome! I almost hope it stays hot.
Friday, May 20, 2011
My Can Opener is a Piece of Shit
It doesn't work properly, so the can always ends up with little skipped sections in varying spots so that the lid is still attached. I need to buy a new one, but I'm dumb forgetful, so instead I end up taking a fork or butter knife or whatever to wedge the lid the rest of the way off.
That didn't work out so well today. I hurt myself!
That didn't work out so well today. I hurt myself!
Ouch!
I'm not really sure how it happened, but as I was prying the lid up, the can slipped and the part of the lid that I'd succeeded in detaching attacked me. It didn't really hurt (that came later) but it freaked me the hell out and I ran around my kitchen shaking my hand and spewing obscenities.
Then, the pain kicked in. Yes, it's as painful as it looks. But I'm a champ and pictures needed to be taken!
After that, I figured I should probably clean it or something. I'm not very prepared, so the best I could do was dish detergent and rubbing alcohol. It was horrible. We didn't have any bandaids either, but it was still bleeding pretty badly, so I got creative!
Hooray!
Yep. I wrapped it with toilet paper. I was going to tape it in place, but I'm even less prepared than I thought, because I don't have any tape, either. So, I wrapped it tightly with a piece of ribbon (I chose red, because it's pretty) and tied it all in place. That actually turned out to be a great idea because the tighter I pulled the ribbon, the better it felt.
Unfortunately, I didn't have too much time to be proud of myself because almost immediately after, George came home and wanted to know why there was blood all over the kitchen. I showed him my innovative bandaid alternative, but he insisted on seeing the wound to make sure my thumb wasn't going to fall off or anything. He was not nearly as impressed as I was, but he decided it would probably be fine.
At one point, I wrapped the whole thing in a condom so it would stay dry while I showered. I wish I'd have taken pictures of that, but I didn't think of it.
My goal for tomorrow is to go to the store and buy a new can opener. A good one that will work for longer than two days. I have a feeling I won't forget this time.
Friday, April 29, 2011
House-sitting Sucks
I'm home. Finally. And I slept in my bed and I can get online without wanting to throw the computer at the wall and I'm in a relatively good mood. So, that's good news.
This is why I hate house-sitting:
1. I was attacked by spiders.
I don't mean one or two, I mean those menacing little fuckers were everywhere. That's unusual. My parents have never had a spider problem, so I'm going to assume it's because I was there. I guess it could have been the flooding rain that happened the night before, but I doubt it. I think they just knew it was a good time to strike.
Almost immediately after arrival, I spotted one in the garage. A huge, furry black thing. Panic inducing, yes, but I didn't think a whole lot of it, as it is a garage and we did get all that rain. George offered to kill it. I tried to talk him into catching it and releasing it somewhere far away, but not at home, but he refused. (I guess this is a good time to mention, I can't kill things. It's because I'm batshit crazy and have watched too many kids' movies. I want the spiders to live, I just want them to do it somewhere I never have to see them.) He didn't kill it, either. While we werearguing about discussing the matter, the beastly little thing slipped down a crack in the floor. Okay, great. Got the big scare out of the way before I was alone, with only Pie for protection.
Except not. Not even an hour after my parents left, there was another one, running across the kitchen floor. Ew. Mental note not to open the cupboard it ran into. Shit, it's the cereal cupboard! My parents don't keep a lot of food in the house, and cereal is one of the few items that's always on hand. Mental note to go buy new cereal.
Ten minutes after that, there was another one. This one stopped and looked at me with its horrible spider eyes. I grabbed the phone book. I couldn't get too close, but I was fairly certain I could toss the phone book onto it before it could escape. It kept looking at me. It pulled in all its gross little legs. I raised my arms. It looked at me some more. I prepared to throw. Ugh! The beady little eyes! I called Pie downstairs and had her put a glass over it.
Similar things kept happening. At one point, I was walking up the stairs to take a shower, and stopped just in time to avoid walking face first into one that was just hanging. Just hanging, taunting me. More beady little eyes, mocking and laughing. I could attack you if I felt like it. Fuck you, spider! I needed a breather after that.
I didn't sleep much. I'd drift off, only to feel all those awful little legs all over me. I tried to call George, but he just told me I was being paranoid and to go to bed. That wasn't very helpful.
2. I was forced to deal with adult responsibilities.
As if the spiders weren't enough, all the rain caused some sort house problem I was not prepared to deal with. Before they left, my dad realized there was something wrong with their sump pump. Uh huh. I don't even know what a sump pump is. My dad, while awesome, is outrageously cheap. It doesn't matter if he doesn't know how to fix it, he's going to try. (I can't really say anything, I seem to have inherited the same trait.) Only, it didn't work. And no one knew it didn't work until sometime after Pie's bath, when water backed up all over the laundry room. Well, shit. What do I do now?
I tried calling my dad, but they were in a remote cabin somewhere with no phone reception. I couldn't run the water at all or it started backing up again. There's no drain in the laundry room, so that just meant gross standing water all over the floor. Pie found that idea highly appealing.
"Look, Mumma! Puddles!"
I called a plumber. I figured my dad would be pissed, but my mom would be rational about it. Luckily, I'd taken the coffee can I've been saving my cruise money in to my parents' house last week. I meant to deposit the money in the bank, but time got away from me and it was still there, and I had enough to pay the plumber without having to leave. The plumber got the problem fixed, and my dad (begrudgingly) admitted that the plumber was necessary. I was really going to be pissed if I spent my cruise fund on my parents' plumber.
3. My parents' animals are distressing.
Then, there was the cat ordeal. My parents' cat is awesome. He started as my brother's cat, but wound up becoming my parents' when my brother's first apartment didn't allow pets. He can have pets now, but the cat is a seasoned killer and tries to take out my brother's girlfriend's dog every chance it gets. That's at least half of why he's awesome. My brother's girlfriend's dog is a real asshole.
Hoodrat (yeah, my brother named it Hoodrat) likes to hang out outside. And kill things. And bring them home. It's usually just mice, but once he dragged a goose back. That was impressive. Another time, he took out a raccoon. Oh, and the day of my brother's graduation party, half the guests had already arrived before we realized they were being greeted by a decapitated rabbit head. That's nice.
Finding his little gifts is no longer much of a surprise. Finding them alive is. I was completely unprepared to open the door only to have him chase a flash of brown past me. What the...? Then, the dog joined in. The dog, Jazzie, is super sweet, but dumb beyond reason. In her quest to find out what was going on, she knocked me down. I'm me, so that means I hit my head on something (a cupboard, in this instance) but I was able to determine the source of the commotion. Hoodrat found a baby rabbit and chased it into the house. Spectacular! I caught him, first. The rabbit had run into the laundry room (which was, thankfully, dry at this point) and the dog would more or less leave it alone if the cat wasn't egging her on. I put the cat in the spare room, and set about finding the rabbit.
My mom is a preschool teacher, and the laundry room doubles as storage for her walls upon walls of teaching materials. I had to pull all that shit out just to find the thing. In the midst of all of this, Pie is having a field day.
"Mumma, Mumma, Mumma! There's a tiny rabbit! A tiny little rabbit! Can I see it? Can I see it? Pleeease!!! Oh! Puppets! Books! Can I play with Gramma's things? Please? Please! Why? Whywhywhy? WHY? But I NEEEEED it!"
Pie really knows how to be the ray of sunshine when I'm already annoyed.
Once I found the rabbit, it was pretty uneventful. He didn't have any noticeable wounds, but was too terrified to move, so I sort of scooped him into a shoe box and put him in the woods out back. I hope he lives.
4. I had horrifically limited internet access.
I won't even get too far into the horrible computer situation, but something wasn't right.
My dad refuses to let anyone who isn't him use his computer. To be fair, I wouldn't either. His computer is a shining example of pure badassery. But he takes it super seriously, and it won't respond to my thumbprint. Yeah. He normally makes sure there's a spare set up for me, but he just sold the spare, and informed me (the night before they left) I was out of luck. What? I refuse to be out of luck, so I made George drag my big, bulky spare to their house. I'd need to find a network card, but my dad has enough spare parts that that wasn't a huge issue.
It took two attempts before I found one that worked, and things began to look up. Except later that night, something went awry with the internet. Most pages wouldn't load, and even if they did, there was a good chance I couldn't comment. On that note, I'd like to say a belated happy birthday to my lovely friend J-Pan. I didn't forget, my comment wouldn't stick. (Unfortunately, my dog ate the fondant Tom Selleck I made you. I plan to try again, but I feel terrible that it wasn't there for your birthday.) It wasn't just the computer, either. I couldn't connect to Netflix on the TV. I reset everything, but to no avail. Something was just determined to fuck with me. I was busy enough with Pie and all the freaking animals not to notice (much) during the day time, but at night, when I couldn't sleep and really needed entertainment, it was awful.
5. My parents' animals continued to be distressing.
Then, on the last day, the fish died. It was alive when I went to bed, and when I woke up, it was just dead. Seriously? It was just a goldfish, but it's death brought down a rain of tears from Pie. Plus, it wasn't a family pet, it was the fish from my mom's classroom. The only reason it was even there is because the center is closed this week (hence the mid-week getaway) and she was charged with keeping it alive. That's a fail.
The fish was old, and this was probably coming anyway, but did it have to happen on my watch? Now I feel responsible for the disappointment of a room full of three year olds when my mom goes back to work on Monday without a fish. Or, I guess she could replace it. You know what? I'm over it. I'm over all of this.
So basically, it's been a few shitty days, but I'm home and my husband is awesome and I plan to spend the entire day doing absolutely nothing.
I'm also feeling a bit more social lately, and I realize I've been awful at keeping up with people. I'll work on that. Plus, my dad has promised me a spare laptop while we wait for Samsung to send us a new DC adapter for mine. Wondering why I couldn't use that while I was there? Yeah, me too.
Oh, and again, to my fantastic friend J-Pan, hope your birthday was the happiest!
Ooh! I almost forgot! As I was falling asleep last night, my dad called. He wanted to know why there were glasses with spiders under them all over the house. It was the most satisfying part of the last three days.
This is why I hate house-sitting:
1. I was attacked by spiders.
I don't mean one or two, I mean those menacing little fuckers were everywhere. That's unusual. My parents have never had a spider problem, so I'm going to assume it's because I was there. I guess it could have been the flooding rain that happened the night before, but I doubt it. I think they just knew it was a good time to strike.
Almost immediately after arrival, I spotted one in the garage. A huge, furry black thing. Panic inducing, yes, but I didn't think a whole lot of it, as it is a garage and we did get all that rain. George offered to kill it. I tried to talk him into catching it and releasing it somewhere far away, but not at home, but he refused. (I guess this is a good time to mention, I can't kill things. It's because I'm batshit crazy and have watched too many kids' movies. I want the spiders to live, I just want them to do it somewhere I never have to see them.) He didn't kill it, either. While we were
Except not. Not even an hour after my parents left, there was another one, running across the kitchen floor. Ew. Mental note not to open the cupboard it ran into. Shit, it's the cereal cupboard! My parents don't keep a lot of food in the house, and cereal is one of the few items that's always on hand. Mental note to go buy new cereal.
Ten minutes after that, there was another one. This one stopped and looked at me with its horrible spider eyes. I grabbed the phone book. I couldn't get too close, but I was fairly certain I could toss the phone book onto it before it could escape. It kept looking at me. It pulled in all its gross little legs. I raised my arms. It looked at me some more. I prepared to throw. Ugh! The beady little eyes! I called Pie downstairs and had her put a glass over it.
Similar things kept happening. At one point, I was walking up the stairs to take a shower, and stopped just in time to avoid walking face first into one that was just hanging. Just hanging, taunting me. More beady little eyes, mocking and laughing. I could attack you if I felt like it. Fuck you, spider! I needed a breather after that.
I didn't sleep much. I'd drift off, only to feel all those awful little legs all over me. I tried to call George, but he just told me I was being paranoid and to go to bed. That wasn't very helpful.
2. I was forced to deal with adult responsibilities.
As if the spiders weren't enough, all the rain caused some sort house problem I was not prepared to deal with. Before they left, my dad realized there was something wrong with their sump pump. Uh huh. I don't even know what a sump pump is. My dad, while awesome, is outrageously cheap. It doesn't matter if he doesn't know how to fix it, he's going to try. (I can't really say anything, I seem to have inherited the same trait.) Only, it didn't work. And no one knew it didn't work until sometime after Pie's bath, when water backed up all over the laundry room. Well, shit. What do I do now?
I tried calling my dad, but they were in a remote cabin somewhere with no phone reception. I couldn't run the water at all or it started backing up again. There's no drain in the laundry room, so that just meant gross standing water all over the floor. Pie found that idea highly appealing.
"Look, Mumma! Puddles!"
I called a plumber. I figured my dad would be pissed, but my mom would be rational about it. Luckily, I'd taken the coffee can I've been saving my cruise money in to my parents' house last week. I meant to deposit the money in the bank, but time got away from me and it was still there, and I had enough to pay the plumber without having to leave. The plumber got the problem fixed, and my dad (begrudgingly) admitted that the plumber was necessary. I was really going to be pissed if I spent my cruise fund on my parents' plumber.
3. My parents' animals are distressing.
Then, there was the cat ordeal. My parents' cat is awesome. He started as my brother's cat, but wound up becoming my parents' when my brother's first apartment didn't allow pets. He can have pets now, but the cat is a seasoned killer and tries to take out my brother's girlfriend's dog every chance it gets. That's at least half of why he's awesome. My brother's girlfriend's dog is a real asshole.
Hoodrat (yeah, my brother named it Hoodrat) likes to hang out outside. And kill things. And bring them home. It's usually just mice, but once he dragged a goose back. That was impressive. Another time, he took out a raccoon. Oh, and the day of my brother's graduation party, half the guests had already arrived before we realized they were being greeted by a decapitated rabbit head. That's nice.
Finding his little gifts is no longer much of a surprise. Finding them alive is. I was completely unprepared to open the door only to have him chase a flash of brown past me. What the...? Then, the dog joined in. The dog, Jazzie, is super sweet, but dumb beyond reason. In her quest to find out what was going on, she knocked me down. I'm me, so that means I hit my head on something (a cupboard, in this instance) but I was able to determine the source of the commotion. Hoodrat found a baby rabbit and chased it into the house. Spectacular! I caught him, first. The rabbit had run into the laundry room (which was, thankfully, dry at this point) and the dog would more or less leave it alone if the cat wasn't egging her on. I put the cat in the spare room, and set about finding the rabbit.
My mom is a preschool teacher, and the laundry room doubles as storage for her walls upon walls of teaching materials. I had to pull all that shit out just to find the thing. In the midst of all of this, Pie is having a field day.
"Mumma, Mumma, Mumma! There's a tiny rabbit! A tiny little rabbit! Can I see it? Can I see it? Pleeease!!! Oh! Puppets! Books! Can I play with Gramma's things? Please? Please! Why? Whywhywhy? WHY? But I NEEEEED it!"
Pie really knows how to be the ray of sunshine when I'm already annoyed.
Once I found the rabbit, it was pretty uneventful. He didn't have any noticeable wounds, but was too terrified to move, so I sort of scooped him into a shoe box and put him in the woods out back. I hope he lives.
4. I had horrifically limited internet access.
I won't even get too far into the horrible computer situation, but something wasn't right.
My dad refuses to let anyone who isn't him use his computer. To be fair, I wouldn't either. His computer is a shining example of pure badassery. But he takes it super seriously, and it won't respond to my thumbprint. Yeah. He normally makes sure there's a spare set up for me, but he just sold the spare, and informed me (the night before they left) I was out of luck. What? I refuse to be out of luck, so I made George drag my big, bulky spare to their house. I'd need to find a network card, but my dad has enough spare parts that that wasn't a huge issue.
It took two attempts before I found one that worked, and things began to look up. Except later that night, something went awry with the internet. Most pages wouldn't load, and even if they did, there was a good chance I couldn't comment. On that note, I'd like to say a belated happy birthday to my lovely friend J-Pan. I didn't forget, my comment wouldn't stick. (Unfortunately, my dog ate the fondant Tom Selleck I made you. I plan to try again, but I feel terrible that it wasn't there for your birthday.) It wasn't just the computer, either. I couldn't connect to Netflix on the TV. I reset everything, but to no avail. Something was just determined to fuck with me. I was busy enough with Pie and all the freaking animals not to notice (much) during the day time, but at night, when I couldn't sleep and really needed entertainment, it was awful.
5. My parents' animals continued to be distressing.
Then, on the last day, the fish died. It was alive when I went to bed, and when I woke up, it was just dead. Seriously? It was just a goldfish, but it's death brought down a rain of tears from Pie. Plus, it wasn't a family pet, it was the fish from my mom's classroom. The only reason it was even there is because the center is closed this week (hence the mid-week getaway) and she was charged with keeping it alive. That's a fail.
The fish was old, and this was probably coming anyway, but did it have to happen on my watch? Now I feel responsible for the disappointment of a room full of three year olds when my mom goes back to work on Monday without a fish. Or, I guess she could replace it. You know what? I'm over it. I'm over all of this.
So basically, it's been a few shitty days, but I'm home and my husband is awesome and I plan to spend the entire day doing absolutely nothing.
I'm also feeling a bit more social lately, and I realize I've been awful at keeping up with people. I'll work on that. Plus, my dad has promised me a spare laptop while we wait for Samsung to send us a new DC adapter for mine. Wondering why I couldn't use that while I was there? Yeah, me too.
Oh, and again, to my fantastic friend J-Pan, hope your birthday was the happiest!
Ooh! I almost forgot! As I was falling asleep last night, my dad called. He wanted to know why there were glasses with spiders under them all over the house. It was the most satisfying part of the last three days.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
I Miss My Bird
When I was a toddler, my parents got a bird. A parrot, actually. I searched Google images to try to figure out what kind it was, but I can't remember what it looked liked, so that didn't really help. Anyway, my parrot's name was Dr. Pepper. Dr. Pepper was awesome and made me happy.
Then, when I was about to turn four, my brother was born. My brother did not make Dr. Pepper happy, so he tried to kill my brother by taking nosedives at his tender infant head. My parents got rid of him. The bird, not my brother. I was heartbroken and convinced they made the wrong choice. Sometimes I still am.
Then, when I was about to turn four, my brother was born. My brother did not make Dr. Pepper happy, so he tried to kill my brother by taking nosedives at his tender infant head. My parents got rid of him. The bird, not my brother. I was heartbroken and convinced they made the wrong choice. Sometimes I still am.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Expectations Lead to Disappointment
I'd do well to remember that. Then again, I suppose I should have known better than to expect much from a day that begins with electrocution. Ouch.
I won't bore you lovely folks with the depressing details of my shitty day, but the electrocution part is slightly amusing. I've learned (the hard way) that I can't run the George Foreman grill at the same time as the coffee maker. If I do, it blows a fuse and we all know what happens when I blow fuses.
So, I reached out to unplug the coffee maker, and I'm not really sure where I went wrong here, but I got electrocuted. I realized what was happening immediately, but I couldn't let go. I guess it made a noise because George came running in to see if I was okay. I was fine, it didn't hurt so much as scare the ever living shit out of me, and the whole thing probably only lasted a few seconds.
But the real bitch of it? The fucking fuse blew anyway. At that point, any expectations should have gone straight out the window. Not for me, though. I held out hope. And bit by bit, that hope was crushed. What a shitty day.
I won't bore you lovely folks with the depressing details of my shitty day, but the electrocution part is slightly amusing. I've learned (the hard way) that I can't run the George Foreman grill at the same time as the coffee maker. If I do, it blows a fuse and we all know what happens when I blow fuses.
So, I reached out to unplug the coffee maker, and I'm not really sure where I went wrong here, but I got electrocuted. I realized what was happening immediately, but I couldn't let go. I guess it made a noise because George came running in to see if I was okay. I was fine, it didn't hurt so much as scare the ever living shit out of me, and the whole thing probably only lasted a few seconds.
But the real bitch of it? The fucking fuse blew anyway. At that point, any expectations should have gone straight out the window. Not for me, though. I held out hope. And bit by bit, that hope was crushed. What a shitty day.
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