We woke on Easter morning to discover the Mississippi River flowing through our basement. I joke. It wasn’t really the Mississippi. It was more like a murky, disease-infested creek. What a mess! It was Easter! Hath God no sympathy? No! No! He doesn’t! I believe he is punishing me for my lifetime of wrong-doing. I so should have been a nicer person. Karma: It’s a total bitch.
While I don’t fully believe God is punishing me, I am starting to question some things. First, this was totally my fault. I jinxed us. Things are going well (were), financially and life is good. I SHOULD NOT HAVE OPENED MY MOUTH. I should know better. If you speak of it, the shit will hit the fan. Literally.
Second, I realize and fully recognize there are way worse things than a flood in one’s basement. I am glad it was not worse. People are dying. There is disease, poverty, war and a million other horrible things happening in our world. I am thankful for all that I have. So, before you bethink me an awful person, let me just clarify that.
But, nobody wants to wake up to a flood, especially, on a holiday. We have a child! She had a basket to find! We made cinnamon buns from scratch the night before! We just had to bake them for 30 minutes and have a wonderful, sugar-filled morning breakfast which would pair fabulously with super-strong coffee. You want to know what those cinnamon buns tasted like post flood discovery? They tasted like bitter resentment. Screw you, house! Why do you have to do this to us now and ruin our holiday? Christ rose! You didn’t have to do this! At least not today!
I thought maybe the buns would make us feel better. False. We sat around, eating them, pondering what the hell we should do with the mess in our basement. We wanted to know what it was. We wondered what could have caused it. Bread said he suspected our water heater had given out. He mentioned, about a month ago, we needed a new one. This would have been awesome scenario as it would have been clean water. As I mentioned before, in our home, you can’t speak of something without making it fall apart. Last month, Bread said, “Oh! Our Lazy Susan is cracked. Be careful! I will have to fix it.” I shit you not, that night, as I was reading in bed at one in the morning there was a great crash from downstairs. I feared we were being burgled! No! It turns out Suze fell apart and our herbs, spices, oils and various other pounds of cooking miscellanea decided that was the time to fall. It scared the hell out of both of us. Bread was prancing about our home in just his underwear; it was something straight out of a sitcom.
Once he headed to the basement to handle the flood, it took Bread all of maybe five minutes to deduce it was not our water heater causing the flood. It was, in fact, a drain backup. Now, while there were no turds visible, there was really no way to deduce whether the stuff in our basement was clean or dirty water. My germophobia was on high-alert. Remove all shoes! Do not touch anything! Wash! Wash! Wash!
Eventually, the plumber showed up and declared it was, indeed, clean water. God bless Jesus! I could not handle actual human waste in my home anywhere outside of say, the toilet or perhaps my child’s pants. And, maybe sometimes Bread’s pants! But, I’m not in charge of that when it happens! Ha!
Okay, so the plumber told us it was clean water. Ground water is actually what he called it. We were able to carry on with our day. My mom came to pick up Bird earlier in the day so as she could still have a nice holiday. I went to pick her up while Bread began the clean up. The poor guy spent his entire Easter Sunday trying to clean up the disaster. He has been working 70 hour work weeks. This was his first full weekend off in probably a month. I felt bad. Did I mention how much my husband rocks?
After Bird was tucked in and coming off her chocolate- bunny- induced- sugar- high, I went to help Bread. I wasn’t too grossed out since the plumber informed us of the water being clean and all. And, why should my husband have to deal with that all on his own. Eventually, we called it a day, showered and went to bed hoping for a better day tomorrow. Meaning: the insurance people will be in and they can give us the okay to call folks to fix this.
We were deluded for believing the insurance people would help in any way, shape or form. After several phone calls, a meeting with an adjuster and lots of nasty words, we now know if they are not covering anything. I suppose this was just one of life’s lessons. We now have a new insurance provider, in case you were wondering about that.
We had to take matters into our own hands. We called a restoration company. They, in turn, informed us the water was not actually clean. It’s what they call “grey water.” This means, while it was not actually raw sewage, it was, by no means, clean because it has been in contact with actual raw sewage. Vomit. Barf. Oh, my God, why didn’t I wear a hazmat suit?
Upon reflecting on this, I gather when one’s occupation is a plumber, you probably see some nasty shit (pun intended). So, when you walk into someone’s home, it doesn’t smell and there are no actual floating logs, you probably do consider it clean. We, on the other hand, have a different standard. I am not, and never plan to be, used to this. I need to give kudos to all the plumbers out there. You rock and are, most certainly, underpaid. For the record, our plumber rocked. He was great and only charged us $250! It was Easter!
So, the restoration company recommended we replace the carpeting and pad in our basement. It did not take much arm twisting for this germ- obsessed person to agree to that. They said we could clean the carpet if we really wanted to. I do not. I have no sentimental attachment to this. Burn it. We ordered new carpet. Everything has been cleaned and sanitized. We will live. We decided that. We will try to make cinnamon buns again. Everything will be okay.
Bread declared over dinner last night that we’ve had our fair share of acts of God this year. He reminded me of the recent shit storms provided especially for me by my child. He said the Great Basement Flood of 2011 would obviously count as such. He seems to think that next it will be a locust invasion or, perhaps, bed bugs. Bed bugs! Are you crazy! You don’t talk about bed bugs! If we get bed bugs I’m moving out! Curse you! Did he not get the memo regarding our luck? We’re screwed.
Showing posts with label Bread. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bread. Show all posts
Monday, May 16, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
WE ARE THOSE PEOPLE!
I love to make fun of myself. I love when other people make fun of me (in theory). I love to make fun of other people (this is especially fun when those we’re laughing about make me feel normal). Now that we’ve covered all that is poking fun, we can move on. No, but seriously, I love a good laugh. So, when Saturday night found us heading to Jackie and P’s house, I knew there would be lots of making fun of others and myself and getting made fun of to be had. Phew!
I should say we are blessed to have great friends. Life is short; my husband works a ton of hours and I’m not wasting time hanging out with folks whose company we don’t enjoy. There are six of us who get together on a regular basis-us, Jackie, P, Malbs and Matt. There are a few other couples who occasionally join us and they are also great (I feel the need to state this for the record-we love you guys). Anyway, the six of us always have a good time. We are on the same wavelength. I love this. These people are the best friends ever. We girls were friends first and then our men became friends so now it’s just great when we all get together (insert cheesy, happy Lifetime Television music here).
We take turns gathering at each other’s homes with the exception of Matt and Malbs because they currently reside with his parents, having just returned from their year-ish in California. Did I mention Malbs is a saint for living with her mother-in-law? That would never happen for most folks. Anyway, we take turns hosting. We get together early so the kids can play (Jackie and P have Annabel who will be two in June). It is glorious when they play because it is every parent’s dream play date. There is no fighting. Nobody is crying. They laugh and they play and it’s perfectly lovely. Alas, I feel as though I’ve done something right as a parent. My child plays well with others! Mostly.
After we put the children to bed (usually late-ish so as they can thoroughly exhaust themselves), we break out the booze and the games. We love board games! This is why we are all friend soul mates! Things is the best! Recently, we discovered Scribblish and, of course there is Catch Phrase and Cranium. Nobody paid me to say these are great games, by the way. I just want to share the joy with others. Occasionally we play cards, namely Euchre. It’s fun. This is where the fun-poking begins. We have all kinds of jokes and things we go at each other for. It’s great! Almost anything is fair game!
This past Saturday was much of the same. Jackie had this drink she wanted me to try. She Googled to find a drink recipe. It was blue and had a ton of alcohol in it. I couldn’t even tell you what all went in there. The name of the drink? Adios Mother Fucker. Yep. I had one. One! I had a bit of a buzz. I’m proud because I had enough sense to only have one. Otherwise, it would have become Comatose Mother Fucker.
The laughs were coming. We were in full make fun of people mode. We were playing Things. We always start with this one. This game requires writing. For some reason, whenever I have a pen, I feel the need to write on Bread. I don’t know why. It’s not a lot. I used to try and give him a tattoo. He told me he did not like that so now I just draw a line. It’s my way of saying, “I respect your wish not to be drawn on and this here line is a reminder of that.” You know, what any logical human-being would do. Well, this time I was absent mindedly doodling on the back of his neck. I didn’t really think about it; it began as me playing with his hair. The next thing I know, I was scribbling. Well, the man lost his shit. He yelled at me like I was a child! I was being childish but still! Stunned silence from everyone. Because, I mean, what do you say when a grown man is chastising a grown woman (technically, I am a grown woman) for drawing on him? This is messed up in so many ways. He even called me Jessica! He never does that. I knew I was screwed. I choked on my beer and spit on the rolls! I ruined the midnight snack!
Mostly there was a lot of awkward silence. I mean, the friends didn’t really know what to say and I don’t blame them-the dude lost his shit. I was pretty much okay with it because I knew we would get over it. I was mostly just surprised because he doesn’t usually do that. At least not in public! I kid, I kid. So anyway, we moved on and Bread was embarrassed but we’re all still friends. I was mostly embarrassed because we have people we make fun of for that shit. Now we were those people! Shit! More fuel for their fires! At least he didn’t beat me!
That brings us to last night. Bird was drawing with a pen at the table. This is her new favorite thing to do. I think it makes her feel like an adult. I was trying to show her how to write her name. We worked on that for a few minutes, she lost interest and moved on. I came by to check on her and she wrote on me! Drew a line right on my shirt! Time out! Time out! Where did she learn this? I look at Bread, who inquires as to what has happened. I explain she wrote on me. He gives me the dad eyebrow raise-head-tilt and says, “Well, I can’t imagine where she learned that from.” Shit. He should have given me a timeout. Dude, sorry I spit on your rolls. I hope we can still be friends.
I should say we are blessed to have great friends. Life is short; my husband works a ton of hours and I’m not wasting time hanging out with folks whose company we don’t enjoy. There are six of us who get together on a regular basis-us, Jackie, P, Malbs and Matt. There are a few other couples who occasionally join us and they are also great (I feel the need to state this for the record-we love you guys). Anyway, the six of us always have a good time. We are on the same wavelength. I love this. These people are the best friends ever. We girls were friends first and then our men became friends so now it’s just great when we all get together (insert cheesy, happy Lifetime Television music here).
We take turns gathering at each other’s homes with the exception of Matt and Malbs because they currently reside with his parents, having just returned from their year-ish in California. Did I mention Malbs is a saint for living with her mother-in-law? That would never happen for most folks. Anyway, we take turns hosting. We get together early so the kids can play (Jackie and P have Annabel who will be two in June). It is glorious when they play because it is every parent’s dream play date. There is no fighting. Nobody is crying. They laugh and they play and it’s perfectly lovely. Alas, I feel as though I’ve done something right as a parent. My child plays well with others! Mostly.
After we put the children to bed (usually late-ish so as they can thoroughly exhaust themselves), we break out the booze and the games. We love board games! This is why we are all friend soul mates! Things is the best! Recently, we discovered Scribblish and, of course there is Catch Phrase and Cranium. Nobody paid me to say these are great games, by the way. I just want to share the joy with others. Occasionally we play cards, namely Euchre. It’s fun. This is where the fun-poking begins. We have all kinds of jokes and things we go at each other for. It’s great! Almost anything is fair game!
This past Saturday was much of the same. Jackie had this drink she wanted me to try. She Googled to find a drink recipe. It was blue and had a ton of alcohol in it. I couldn’t even tell you what all went in there. The name of the drink? Adios Mother Fucker. Yep. I had one. One! I had a bit of a buzz. I’m proud because I had enough sense to only have one. Otherwise, it would have become Comatose Mother Fucker.
The laughs were coming. We were in full make fun of people mode. We were playing Things. We always start with this one. This game requires writing. For some reason, whenever I have a pen, I feel the need to write on Bread. I don’t know why. It’s not a lot. I used to try and give him a tattoo. He told me he did not like that so now I just draw a line. It’s my way of saying, “I respect your wish not to be drawn on and this here line is a reminder of that.” You know, what any logical human-being would do. Well, this time I was absent mindedly doodling on the back of his neck. I didn’t really think about it; it began as me playing with his hair. The next thing I know, I was scribbling. Well, the man lost his shit. He yelled at me like I was a child! I was being childish but still! Stunned silence from everyone. Because, I mean, what do you say when a grown man is chastising a grown woman (technically, I am a grown woman) for drawing on him? This is messed up in so many ways. He even called me Jessica! He never does that. I knew I was screwed. I choked on my beer and spit on the rolls! I ruined the midnight snack!
Mostly there was a lot of awkward silence. I mean, the friends didn’t really know what to say and I don’t blame them-the dude lost his shit. I was pretty much okay with it because I knew we would get over it. I was mostly just surprised because he doesn’t usually do that. At least not in public! I kid, I kid. So anyway, we moved on and Bread was embarrassed but we’re all still friends. I was mostly embarrassed because we have people we make fun of for that shit. Now we were those people! Shit! More fuel for their fires! At least he didn’t beat me!
That brings us to last night. Bird was drawing with a pen at the table. This is her new favorite thing to do. I think it makes her feel like an adult. I was trying to show her how to write her name. We worked on that for a few minutes, she lost interest and moved on. I came by to check on her and she wrote on me! Drew a line right on my shirt! Time out! Time out! Where did she learn this? I look at Bread, who inquires as to what has happened. I explain she wrote on me. He gives me the dad eyebrow raise-head-tilt and says, “Well, I can’t imagine where she learned that from.” Shit. He should have given me a timeout. Dude, sorry I spit on your rolls. I hope we can still be friends.
Monday, December 20, 2010
The Animosity Coat
For my birthday two years ago, my dear friend, Matt, bought me this coat. He is a loyal Eddie Bauer employee. He recalled me mentioning that I wanted a new casual, warm coat and purchased this for me. To be honest, I liked it but I am not a huge Eddie fan. I’m not being rude, Matt knows this. They sell mom jeans! I can’t! I can’t! It’s bad enough that I get the mail in the morning while wearing my bathrobe. I cannot participate in the bathrobe and mom jeans!
Honestly, it’s the best coat ever. It’s huge; massive really. It’s like bringing an extra person. You have to have an extra chair when dining out. There’s no stuffing it on your seat next to you, no sir. I love it! I love it! I feel the need to repeat myself! I feel the need to repeat myself!
No, really, down is most definitely God’s answer to cold weather. I start salivating at the mention of cold temperatures in October because I cannot wait to put the down comforter on my bed. Bread hates this as our sleeping preferences differ. I like warm and cozy in the bed and freezing cold outside. I love to turn the heat down really low at night and turn our ceiling fan on. Bread wants a sheet with the heat cranked. I am frugal. That, my friends, is a terrible plan. Imagine the gas bill!
So, the coat is glorious. It’s like wrapping yourself up in a huge down blanket. It’s toasty and cozy. I never feel cold, even on the chilliest of Michigan days. It’s perfect for the days where the temperature is in the single digits with a vicious wind chill. I will say, because it’s so large, it’s not very practical to take it places where you have your coat and nowhere to put it while you shop, play or whatever.
Just as Bread loathes the down comforter, he loathes THE COAT. It wasn’t always this way. It happened last year around this time. We went to the mall. Bird was happy as she was allowed to play in the giant, germ-infested kid pit. Bread was happy because he could just sit and watch her. I was happy because I could shop in peace and I had someplace to leave my coat; it was cold outside so I needed to wear THE COAT that particular day.
I headed out on my way, found some items to try on and went to the dressing room with a huge pile. Of course I heard my cell beeping furiously from my bag but I wasn’t too worried about it. I was busy trying on clothes! What could be more important than me scoring a cute outfit to wear to my BFF’s rehearsal dinner? I can think of nothing.
Well, it turns out Bird crapped her pants. Bread was alone in the kid pit with her, her shit-filled pants, his coat and THE COAT. He was trying to get me to come and get THE COAT. He was pissed. I mean pissed. There was steam rapidly flowing from his entire self. He was livid.
I get that. I understand the frustration. But, I always answer my phone. Shouldn’t I get a free pass once? IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? Once. But, no, he was mad. I, being a mom and able to master several tasks at a time while balancing a stack of books upon my head, thought this not to be a big deal. Bread, however, felt the opposite. It was very traumatizing for him to try and juggle a toddler with shitty pants and a corpse of a jacket.
I believe he spent the rest of the day pissed at me. I know for certain he complained (being polite here) the entire drive home. He spoke of it being ridiculous and huge. He told me that half the time I don’t wear it and we have to reserve a seat in the car for it. He said he wanted to light it on fire. He ruined the coat for me. I didn’t wear it for the longest time. I couldn’t. I felt like wearing THE COAT was putting us on the brink of divorce.
He got over it. He didn’t speak about it. I eventually began wearing it again. He still scowls at it. I watch him look at me when we leave the house. I know he’s saying a silent prayer for me not to choose it. I try but, well, you know. So, this year, I bought him the best Christmas present of all-I got myself a new jacket, thus, guaranteeing us martial stability! It’s half the size! Who knew the answer to matrimonial issues was only a new coat away? Wait! I still feel off! I need a new bag, some shoes and perhaps some perfume. Then, I will feel great. Merry Christmas!
Honestly, it’s the best coat ever. It’s huge; massive really. It’s like bringing an extra person. You have to have an extra chair when dining out. There’s no stuffing it on your seat next to you, no sir. I love it! I love it! I feel the need to repeat myself! I feel the need to repeat myself!
No, really, down is most definitely God’s answer to cold weather. I start salivating at the mention of cold temperatures in October because I cannot wait to put the down comforter on my bed. Bread hates this as our sleeping preferences differ. I like warm and cozy in the bed and freezing cold outside. I love to turn the heat down really low at night and turn our ceiling fan on. Bread wants a sheet with the heat cranked. I am frugal. That, my friends, is a terrible plan. Imagine the gas bill!
So, the coat is glorious. It’s like wrapping yourself up in a huge down blanket. It’s toasty and cozy. I never feel cold, even on the chilliest of Michigan days. It’s perfect for the days where the temperature is in the single digits with a vicious wind chill. I will say, because it’s so large, it’s not very practical to take it places where you have your coat and nowhere to put it while you shop, play or whatever.
Just as Bread loathes the down comforter, he loathes THE COAT. It wasn’t always this way. It happened last year around this time. We went to the mall. Bird was happy as she was allowed to play in the giant, germ-infested kid pit. Bread was happy because he could just sit and watch her. I was happy because I could shop in peace and I had someplace to leave my coat; it was cold outside so I needed to wear THE COAT that particular day.
I headed out on my way, found some items to try on and went to the dressing room with a huge pile. Of course I heard my cell beeping furiously from my bag but I wasn’t too worried about it. I was busy trying on clothes! What could be more important than me scoring a cute outfit to wear to my BFF’s rehearsal dinner? I can think of nothing.
Well, it turns out Bird crapped her pants. Bread was alone in the kid pit with her, her shit-filled pants, his coat and THE COAT. He was trying to get me to come and get THE COAT. He was pissed. I mean pissed. There was steam rapidly flowing from his entire self. He was livid.
I get that. I understand the frustration. But, I always answer my phone. Shouldn’t I get a free pass once? IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? Once. But, no, he was mad. I, being a mom and able to master several tasks at a time while balancing a stack of books upon my head, thought this not to be a big deal. Bread, however, felt the opposite. It was very traumatizing for him to try and juggle a toddler with shitty pants and a corpse of a jacket.
I believe he spent the rest of the day pissed at me. I know for certain he complained (being polite here) the entire drive home. He spoke of it being ridiculous and huge. He told me that half the time I don’t wear it and we have to reserve a seat in the car for it. He said he wanted to light it on fire. He ruined the coat for me. I didn’t wear it for the longest time. I couldn’t. I felt like wearing THE COAT was putting us on the brink of divorce.
He got over it. He didn’t speak about it. I eventually began wearing it again. He still scowls at it. I watch him look at me when we leave the house. I know he’s saying a silent prayer for me not to choose it. I try but, well, you know. So, this year, I bought him the best Christmas present of all-I got myself a new jacket, thus, guaranteeing us martial stability! It’s half the size! Who knew the answer to matrimonial issues was only a new coat away? Wait! I still feel off! I need a new bag, some shoes and perhaps some perfume. Then, I will feel great. Merry Christmas!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Don't Ya Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me?
We are driving in the car when, Bread turns to me and says, “By the way…” Of course my brain starts going a mile a minute. Is he going to tell me we’ve won the lottery? He got a raise at work? He has scheduled a date night for us? Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. His question was actually this-“By the way, did you have gas last night while we were sleeping?”
Many things go through my head. I’m disappointed because he’s not telling me some grand news. I’m confused as to why he would ask this question. Where is this coming from? I’m wondering if I should be embarrassed because I was passing gas loudly in my sleep. That’s sexy! Way to go me! So I tell him no, not that I’m aware of and inquire as to why he was asking.
He proceeds to inform me he had a dream that he was at work, with one of his coworkers who was, well, pooping. He said it smelled repulsive. He then asked me if I ever recall smelling anything in a dream. Nope. Never.
That was pretty much the end of the conversation. But, thinking back, I don’t know if I should be proud or extremely embarrassed that my husband thinks it would be possible for me to create an odor (in my sleep nonetheless!) that would not only wake him, but cause him to dream about being in the same room with someone who was taking a shit. Impressive. In fact, I'm pretty sure there's someone beating down the door right now trying to steal my heart.
Many things go through my head. I’m disappointed because he’s not telling me some grand news. I’m confused as to why he would ask this question. Where is this coming from? I’m wondering if I should be embarrassed because I was passing gas loudly in my sleep. That’s sexy! Way to go me! So I tell him no, not that I’m aware of and inquire as to why he was asking.
He proceeds to inform me he had a dream that he was at work, with one of his coworkers who was, well, pooping. He said it smelled repulsive. He then asked me if I ever recall smelling anything in a dream. Nope. Never.
That was pretty much the end of the conversation. But, thinking back, I don’t know if I should be proud or extremely embarrassed that my husband thinks it would be possible for me to create an odor (in my sleep nonetheless!) that would not only wake him, but cause him to dream about being in the same room with someone who was taking a shit. Impressive. In fact, I'm pretty sure there's someone beating down the door right now trying to steal my heart.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Can't We All Just Get Along?
Since we moved into our house, five plus years ago, we’ve had a bit of a bird problem. They love to build nests in the vents on our roof. Bread can fix anything; he’s a super-handy dude. However, our roof is very steep so therefore, he is not going up there. We have intended to hire someone to fix the vents so the birds will be forced to live elsewhere but, well, we just never get around to it.
So, because of this problem, occasionally, we get birds in our house. They fall in and end up in the basement. This happened just last week. They enter through the hole in the wall that was brought to us by our dog when she was a puppy. I suppose it might be a good idea to fix said hole, but, I guess we don’t excel at repairing holes in our home. I’m totally giving all my readers the idea that I live in a pit…
Anyway, I knew there had to be a bird; there was debris on the floor. I brought my dogs with me. I don’t know why I thought they were going to help. Olive, the female and younger of the two (also the creator of the hole in the wall) is, put simply, dumb. She means well; she’s really sweet but she does not excel in the brain department. She wanted to play with the bird. She once caught a squirrel, spit it out and looked at it like, “Okay, now YOU chase me.” The other dog, Cole, the male, is 10 years old and cares only about eating, licking, the occasional walk (if he does not think it’s too hot out) and playing ball or Frisbee. Cole by far surpasses Olive in the brains department. I could probably direct him to go upstairs and select a matching outfit for Bird to wear.
Despite the debris, I thought the bird would be scared of me, with my two ferocious animals, and hide somewhere while I quickly threw in a load of laundry (critter removal is strictly handled by Bread around here-that’s a man’s job-it’s 1955 here-at least when it works in my favor). I was wrong about the bird. The little asshole tried to attack me! Flew at my head! I ran, screaming, from the basement with Cole at my heels. He looked at me like, “I’m over this shit. You don’t give me enough treats to deal with this.” He’s smart. Olive, on the other hand, stayed down stairs, doing God knows what. She finally gave in to my screaming for her and came upstairs. Needless to say, the basement was “shut down” until Bread came home from work.
That brings us to Sunday morning. I open my eyes. I realize it’s early because it’s still dark in our room. I look at the clock 5:58. Oh, hell no. Then I hear it. Peep. Peep. Peep. Peeppeeppeeppeeppeeppeep. Those fuckers have built a nest on our window sill, underneath our room air conditioner, again (they also did this last year). Apparently, they like to rise early. We do not. This is our house. If you want to reside with us, you must play by our rules. What terrible hosts we are! Bread gets out of bed, opens the window, and sticks himself half way out, pounds on the air conditioner and shouts, “Shut up you little bastards. It’s too early for this shit. Shut up! You’ll be sorry!” Keep in mind this is all while he is wearing ONLY his boxer shorts. Bread is a tall, thin guy. Those birds were definitely scared of Skeletor and his threats. I could tell. He gets back in bed with a sigh.
Me: “Thank you. Now let’s go back to sleep.”
Bread: “You do realize that they’re only going to be quiet for a few minutes.”
Birds: “Peep. Peep. Peeppeeppeeppeeppeeppeeppeep.”
Both of us: Hysterical laughter.
Bread: “Those bastards are being evicted today.”
Me: “No! There are babies. They won’t live! At least wait until they can fly.”
Bread: “You do realize they are dropping mass amounts of bird shit into our windowsill.”
Me: “Get rid of those sick, filthy animals.”
Bread: “That’s what I thought.”
This morning I woke up to complete silence. I felt bad. I still feel bad. I keep thinking about what we could have done differently. Maybe I should have posted a sign. Attention Birds: No Nest Building. Thank You, Management. We should have given them a warning or at least a notice. People get notices before they’re evicted, right? Those poor animals. I am going straight to hell.
So, because of this problem, occasionally, we get birds in our house. They fall in and end up in the basement. This happened just last week. They enter through the hole in the wall that was brought to us by our dog when she was a puppy. I suppose it might be a good idea to fix said hole, but, I guess we don’t excel at repairing holes in our home. I’m totally giving all my readers the idea that I live in a pit…
Anyway, I knew there had to be a bird; there was debris on the floor. I brought my dogs with me. I don’t know why I thought they were going to help. Olive, the female and younger of the two (also the creator of the hole in the wall) is, put simply, dumb. She means well; she’s really sweet but she does not excel in the brain department. She wanted to play with the bird. She once caught a squirrel, spit it out and looked at it like, “Okay, now YOU chase me.” The other dog, Cole, the male, is 10 years old and cares only about eating, licking, the occasional walk (if he does not think it’s too hot out) and playing ball or Frisbee. Cole by far surpasses Olive in the brains department. I could probably direct him to go upstairs and select a matching outfit for Bird to wear.
Despite the debris, I thought the bird would be scared of me, with my two ferocious animals, and hide somewhere while I quickly threw in a load of laundry (critter removal is strictly handled by Bread around here-that’s a man’s job-it’s 1955 here-at least when it works in my favor). I was wrong about the bird. The little asshole tried to attack me! Flew at my head! I ran, screaming, from the basement with Cole at my heels. He looked at me like, “I’m over this shit. You don’t give me enough treats to deal with this.” He’s smart. Olive, on the other hand, stayed down stairs, doing God knows what. She finally gave in to my screaming for her and came upstairs. Needless to say, the basement was “shut down” until Bread came home from work.
That brings us to Sunday morning. I open my eyes. I realize it’s early because it’s still dark in our room. I look at the clock 5:58. Oh, hell no. Then I hear it. Peep. Peep. Peep. Peeppeeppeeppeeppeeppeep. Those fuckers have built a nest on our window sill, underneath our room air conditioner, again (they also did this last year). Apparently, they like to rise early. We do not. This is our house. If you want to reside with us, you must play by our rules. What terrible hosts we are! Bread gets out of bed, opens the window, and sticks himself half way out, pounds on the air conditioner and shouts, “Shut up you little bastards. It’s too early for this shit. Shut up! You’ll be sorry!” Keep in mind this is all while he is wearing ONLY his boxer shorts. Bread is a tall, thin guy. Those birds were definitely scared of Skeletor and his threats. I could tell. He gets back in bed with a sigh.
Me: “Thank you. Now let’s go back to sleep.”
Bread: “You do realize that they’re only going to be quiet for a few minutes.”
Birds: “Peep. Peep. Peeppeeppeeppeeppeeppeeppeep.”
Both of us: Hysterical laughter.
Bread: “Those bastards are being evicted today.”
Me: “No! There are babies. They won’t live! At least wait until they can fly.”
Bread: “You do realize they are dropping mass amounts of bird shit into our windowsill.”
Me: “Get rid of those sick, filthy animals.”
Bread: “That’s what I thought.”
This morning I woke up to complete silence. I felt bad. I still feel bad. I keep thinking about what we could have done differently. Maybe I should have posted a sign. Attention Birds: No Nest Building. Thank You, Management. We should have given them a warning or at least a notice. People get notices before they’re evicted, right? Those poor animals. I am going straight to hell.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Jane Fonda Never Did This
Bread worked in the yard this past weekend. He has been understandably sore from this. He has a past of getting very upset when he is in discomfort, whether it is from a workout or from an illness. Usually, he gets crabby at me; as though I’m the reason he is sore or ill. This time has been decidedly better. I think he finally realized that this is not something I am responsible for. I can, however, be blamed for the plethora of reality television shows stocked in our DVR for a rainy day…
The other night, we were relaxing on the couch watching Biggest Loser, when I declared that I need a new triceps workout. My current one is just not cutting it these days. Bread, who wasn’t paying much attention to anything that was coming out of my mouth, told me that I should try “splitting up a stump” as a triceps maneuver. Riiiight. I’ll just get me an axe and perhaps take to falling trees out her in suburbia. “Hello? Yes, ‘Tis I, Jessie the Lumberjack. “ My response was, “Or, I could use my weights…” Men!
The other night, we were relaxing on the couch watching Biggest Loser, when I declared that I need a new triceps workout. My current one is just not cutting it these days. Bread, who wasn’t paying much attention to anything that was coming out of my mouth, told me that I should try “splitting up a stump” as a triceps maneuver. Riiiight. I’ll just get me an axe and perhaps take to falling trees out her in suburbia. “Hello? Yes, ‘Tis I, Jessie the Lumberjack. “ My response was, “Or, I could use my weights…” Men!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Let's Talk About the Dough
I have wanted to talk about my beloved husband since I started this here blog. It’s been a lot easier to talk about the insanity that is parenthood. The truth is: I’m not really sure where to begin. Are there words to describe a person who deals with all this crazy every day and, is not crazy himself?
We have nearly nine years of history; our first date was May 8, 2001. We didn’t like each other initially but many, many things changed. In the beginning, it didn’t seem like we would be together forever. I was only 22 and he was only 21 (I’m such a cougar). I had just broken up with someone and he had never really had a serious girlfriend. I liked him. He made me laugh and he was (and still is) boyishly cute. I didn’t really expect anything to happen between the two of us. But, he ended up asking me out several times, and soon we were dating.
A few months into our relationship, Bread declared that we might as well break up because he never wanted to get married and he definitely never wanted kids. This was rather confusing for me because we were having fun and I had never mentioned anything about marriage. Boys! Why do they have to complicate the uncomplicated? Since I am the insightful lady that I am, saw that he was only nervous because of how much he actually did like me. Don’t get me wrong, I was young and not exactly looking for marriage at the moment either; but, I thought we were having fun and did not need to worry about that at the moment.
Obviously, we worked it out. Bread got over his insecurities and eventually he was the one who wanted to get married. I’m all about women’s rights and such but I’m traditional; I wanted him to ask. He did! He asked! I said yes! No shit.
We were married for nearly three years when we had Bird. I am so glad we waited; I feel like we didn’t rush anything. Just like we aren’t rushing for baby number two (now you know). We have our happy little family; Bread, Jessie, Bird and our dogs: Cole and Olive.
What about Bread, you ask? Well, Bread is a man; I mean, he likes meat and potatoes (but, will honestly eat anything). He likes his meat rare (shudders). He works hard every day, physically and actually; he could never sit behind a desk. He comes home dirty. He loves cars (although, less over the years because he has a lazy spot and he doesn’t actually want to work on a car but would never just buy one-it’s complicated). He is funny. He will watch anything on TV. I mean, anything, he just zones out. He always cries during war movies. His wardrobe consists of polo shirts and khaki shorts in the summer and flannels, thermals and jeans in the winter (guys are lucky because they can wear the same stuff year after year and it never goes out of style. And, also, because they have wicked-fast metabolisms. Bastards). He is the best dad and husband. He takes care of Bird when I’m not around; he is not that guy who needs bribery or convincing to actually spend time with his own offspring. He knows how to take care of her. He loves his wifey (especially her excellent domestic skills) and her cookies (no, that is not code for boobs, pervert). In a nutshell, he is a man’s man. He is a loyal, dedicated family man. He also has boyish good looks. Have I mentioned the boyish good looks? He’s cute, BTW…
I also believe he is a saint. He puts up with my antics, schemes and, well, my all-around crazy. I think he loves all my personalities. I hope so. I plan to continue “busting his balls” for the next sixty years or so.
We have nearly nine years of history; our first date was May 8, 2001. We didn’t like each other initially but many, many things changed. In the beginning, it didn’t seem like we would be together forever. I was only 22 and he was only 21 (I’m such a cougar). I had just broken up with someone and he had never really had a serious girlfriend. I liked him. He made me laugh and he was (and still is) boyishly cute. I didn’t really expect anything to happen between the two of us. But, he ended up asking me out several times, and soon we were dating.
A few months into our relationship, Bread declared that we might as well break up because he never wanted to get married and he definitely never wanted kids. This was rather confusing for me because we were having fun and I had never mentioned anything about marriage. Boys! Why do they have to complicate the uncomplicated? Since I am the insightful lady that I am, saw that he was only nervous because of how much he actually did like me. Don’t get me wrong, I was young and not exactly looking for marriage at the moment either; but, I thought we were having fun and did not need to worry about that at the moment.
Obviously, we worked it out. Bread got over his insecurities and eventually he was the one who wanted to get married. I’m all about women’s rights and such but I’m traditional; I wanted him to ask. He did! He asked! I said yes! No shit.
We were married for nearly three years when we had Bird. I am so glad we waited; I feel like we didn’t rush anything. Just like we aren’t rushing for baby number two (now you know). We have our happy little family; Bread, Jessie, Bird and our dogs: Cole and Olive.
What about Bread, you ask? Well, Bread is a man; I mean, he likes meat and potatoes (but, will honestly eat anything). He likes his meat rare (shudders). He works hard every day, physically and actually; he could never sit behind a desk. He comes home dirty. He loves cars (although, less over the years because he has a lazy spot and he doesn’t actually want to work on a car but would never just buy one-it’s complicated). He is funny. He will watch anything on TV. I mean, anything, he just zones out. He always cries during war movies. His wardrobe consists of polo shirts and khaki shorts in the summer and flannels, thermals and jeans in the winter (guys are lucky because they can wear the same stuff year after year and it never goes out of style. And, also, because they have wicked-fast metabolisms. Bastards). He is the best dad and husband. He takes care of Bird when I’m not around; he is not that guy who needs bribery or convincing to actually spend time with his own offspring. He knows how to take care of her. He loves his wifey (especially her excellent domestic skills) and her cookies (no, that is not code for boobs, pervert). In a nutshell, he is a man’s man. He is a loyal, dedicated family man. He also has boyish good looks. Have I mentioned the boyish good looks? He’s cute, BTW…
I also believe he is a saint. He puts up with my antics, schemes and, well, my all-around crazy. I think he loves all my personalities. I hope so. I plan to continue “busting his balls” for the next sixty years or so.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)