Thursday, November 12, 2009
sanity = (24 hrs) / (shitty day at work) * (rushing home to take care of kids) * (Carrie working uber OT because she's having a shitty day at work) * (Megan getting ear infections and Olivia being her shiny self)...Got that? Yeah, I don't even have time to count the gray hairs on my head.
Some good news on the home front...I got the attic insulated last week. Fun times indeed. However it was further proof that the previous owners had some screws loose. Ed Gein would have been right at home up there. We found a ton of old upholstery tools, as well as anything else weird that might be in an attic. Glad we got it done by winter.
I'm still working on the storm windows. I know, been doing that since September. Maybe this weekend...I actually have nothing planned.
And while I'm on the subject of things that suck, how about Mike McCarthy and Ted Thompson? I'm not saying anything, I'm just sayin...na na na na, nana na na, hey hey hey, goodbye.
All I got this morning...Peace,
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Now if Carrie really loved me, she would have grabbed some for me. But no, she decided to make me walk the plank. That's right, I had to go to the store and get it for my self...
Now I could have just gone to Pick n Save which is five minutes away. But there's a problem. At some point I would have to walk up to a checkout and pay for it in front of two people (and my luck it would be someone I know, or a hot chick who would laugh and tell the rest of the staff so they could all laugh at me everytime I walk in.) So, no...I decided to drive 20 minutes out of my way to the local WalMart. Why? Self-checkout. Those damned things that never work and are so annoying, but they're my only salvation.
So I decided to go in the evening to lessen the chance of there being a lot of people there. Apparently WalMart is pretty busy at 8pm on a Sunday night. WTF?
I made my way to the pharmacy isles...it's not in the first isle I look in...nor the second...nope, it's five isles down, in the feminine product isles. Right above the douche and next to the pads. I can feel every last drop of testosterone leave my body and trickle down my leg into a puddle and there's a huge yellow streak down my back passing over the tail between my legs and pointing to said puddle.
Worse...there's like a bunch of options. I had to look at the packages to figure out which one didn't need to be inserted like a suppository. Total failure.
Finally I made it out of the land of the vag with the goods. Went with the WalMart store brand to save some face (not paying $8 when the same stuff in the plain box is $4...I didn't think I needed a comfort applicator.)
So I make a beeline to the checkout. Isn't it convenient the WalMart only has the self-checkouts on one side of the store, and they happen to be on the opposite side from the pharmacy. I wait while three old people stare at the amazing lasers which adorn the scanners (probably burning their retinas in the process) before it's my turn. Finally, after an excruciating wait, I walk up to the station. I grabbed a Diet Pepsi to try to calm my nerves.
I scanned the cream...aaaaannnnnnnnnttttttttt!!!!! the damned checkout buzzes this noise which could only mean, "Warning, Man purchasing Yeast Infection Cream...please pull out your phone cameras for the next viral video..." What is this? I am moments from absconding from the scene when this damned thing doesn't scan...I'm half expecting the woman who is stationed in that little booth and watches the checkouts to walk up to her microphone and announce to the whole damned Super Effin WalMart, "Price check for yeast infection cream...for a man."
This is crunch time...ten seconds left in the 4th for the Superbowl, bottom of the ninth in the World Series...I go to scan the box again......SUCCESS! And to top it off, I think it was on sale! I throw it in the bag (for my own protection) and pay as fast as I can. I dart past the old codger manning the carts and pray the theft detection buzzer doesn't go off in a false alarm and make it to my car. I have survived Dr. Mengele. Completed Hercules' tasks! Climbed Mt. Everest without a sherpa. I am alive and still have both testicles.
Yup, so I'm home now. Hopefully this damned cream works. Otherwise I know for a fact my wife will be laughing hysterically.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
I have no intentions of even trying to down a bowl of cereal before departing. It's going to be whatever looks semi-edible when I stop at the gas station. Might even splurge and go to the McD's for a couple biscuits. Yeah...that's always good. Definitely not going to be good on the waist and certainly gonna slow down my metabolism with all that delightful grease, but man, that sounds good...maybe I'll get a medium diet coke...or even a large. That would be a splurge.
Yesterday at this same time, I was getting ready to go do the same thing (work, not McDonalds) and I felt like Noah...not that kid on Disney, but the biblical bastard who was apparently good at making things. We had four inches of rain in approximately 3 hours yesterday morning. My yard was a swamp. Fortunately the lil'Olds trudged through the standing water like a champ (probably something I shouldn't have done after putting $1000 into it in the past few weeks)...
Alright, I am off to cubicle land....which is funny because tomorrow I will got to work, too! Not on the clock, of course, it's our grand opening/open house/summer picnic thingy...people get to tour our shiny new $17 mil building and revel in all that is Green Certified (like the toilets that you pull the handle up for #1 and down for #2...complicated...they had to send out an email to the whole company on that!) My only reprieve is that there will be beer there...
Friday, July 24, 2009
A sign pointing southbound travelers onto Business Highway 51 in Rothschild and Schofield bears an incorrect spelling for every word except “exit.”
David Vieth, director of the bureau of highway operations for the Wisconsin Department of Transportation, said the mistake was made by Decker Supply Company of Madison, which printed the sign.
The sign for exit 185 on southbound Highway 51 reads “Buisness 51 Rothschield Schofeild.”
“How do I politely say it shows some incompetence on someone’s part?” said Rothschild Village President Neal Torney.
So anyone who has ever worked with me or spent enough time with me knows that my biggest pet peeve is spelling (close second is ROAST BEEF). So when I was driving to work, I was surprised I didn't catch this major FAIL along side the road. Of course, the correct spelling should be:
Now I know that times are hard, and sometimes good help is hard to find, but WTF!!!???!!! Even my spell check covers "Rothschild" and "Business" and if you're spelling "field" wrong then I advise you seriously consider your career path.
I so hope that CNN or FOX News catches this and makes all Wisconsinites look stupid. That would be great (catch the sarcasm?). Now the bigger question is, will the state incur any more expenses to fix this SNAFU? Probably. And the dropout who eff'd it up will probably get fired and be living off of the government cheese for another year while he builds another meth lab in his VW Microbus.
OK, enough venting.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
While Carrie and Olivia play mom & big sister, I have been trying to get ahead on things...and failing. For example...With the addition of the 4th lady to the house (I include Stella in this count) the shear volume of waste going through our toilet is astounding. And a work stoppage that would make the AFL-CIO was bound to happen. It did...about 8:30 Sunday night.
I finally had some time to catch up on reading materials. When I finished, I noticed that gravity had ceased to work in our bathroom and things were coming up rather than going down. I reached for the only tool known to man to actually be able to fix this conundrum to Newton's Law - a plunger.
I worked that beast for probably an hour when I finally came to the conclusion that this is going to be an all nighter. Before the sunlight waned, I ran to the local Wal-Mart to grab a super plunger. Yes, I went for the accordian shaped blue monster in hopes that the larger bore would cover the opening to the netherworld below and release the troll that was blocking m bridge. Another hour...still to flow.
So I resorted to plan C. Now plan C is no where near as well known as his famous brother, plan B. Kind of like Tito to Michael (too early?) So I went into the basement and grabbed the plumber snake. You're probably wondering why I waited nearly three hours before going for the snake. Well...lets just say we won't "go there."
So I did my best to empty the cocophony of solids, liquids, gases, and plasmas inhabiting the bowl and reached in with the snake. Another hour of struggle and strife (and scratched porcelain) and...finally...SNAP! I broke the effin snake. Seriously! WTF? So now I've gone through two plungers and a snake.
So I relied on plan D. Plan D is probably lesser known than Randy Jackson (not the one on American Idol) in the world of poo, but more known for countless hours of waste...Google. I fired up my trusty ol' computer and searched "poo, blockage, plan C failed." Apparently, there was another option, hot water and dish soap. This concoction supposedly will losen up and allow the blockage to slip it's Earthly bounds and travel to the underworld. Alas, this too failed. Miserably. So now I'm bailing hot, soapy, poopy water. And I have a wife and daughter who need to go...bad. And it's now 11pm. Eff me.
So I decided that We're skipping plans F through X. We'll reserve plan Z (explosives and explitives) for the final solution. We're gonna take this bitch from the back side. Yes, I need to remove the toilet and go from the bottom.
By this time Carrie is begging me to end my misforutnes and come to bed. Which is funny, because she's one of the people who needs to go. But like any good father, I trudge on, hoping for some sort of resolution, or at least the rapture. I procure the necessary tools and begin the removal process. This is when I notice that my previous use of plan E (namely the hot water) had melted the wax ring that connects the toilet to the banes of Hades into a goo of wax, poo, and dirt. It's now midnight, and even if this blockage is resolved, I am still gonna need this ring replaced.
Anyways, I continued on with my quest like Frodo. Finally, I located the blockage. I could not identify it, but I am sure that researchers would have spent decades decyphering the DaPoopi Code. After some handy work with a screw driver, the blockage was no more. Plan Y worked. But I still need a wax ring.
So I got in the car and drove back to Wal-Mart. It was 1:30 in the morning. And I smelled like poo. It's hard to be humiliated at Wal-Mart, especially at 1:30am. But when you smell more than the combined total of people who inhabit the den of savings, you tend to rethink your future political aspirations. And the bastards decided to put the plumbing supplies all the way in back. Crap...
After another joyride to Wally World, I returned home, replaced the ring, and re-installed the potty. Finally, after eight hours of labor, the toilet worked. Hail the sunshine! It was a glorious moment. We now had a functional load master. My family could void and deficate in assurance that all would work properly and we won't need to worry about plagues that only Medival grunts would be concerned of.
So that was my Sunday...another day of domesticating the wild Gordo.
Monday, June 29, 2009