The Stitch

So, yesterday the Briguy comes in the house all pant-y and breathless. For a brief second I think he's looking for some Pre-Thanksgiving grab-n-grope action - but, alas, he's all pant-y and breathless - NOT because of me - but because he's working with power tools. . .

His chainsaw, to be exact. And, as he put it, "Whee-hew! That REALLY gets the blood pumping!"

He went on to explain that he just finished leveling the first of the "cruddy trees" that need to come down for my 24-hour Little House Marathon. He tore into one of the lopsided locust trees, and as soon as he heard the start of the SNAPCRACKLEGETTHEHELLOUTOFTHEWAYPOP noise, he said the endorphins kicked in and he saw the Tree of Death come hurtling to earth - causing him to RUN LIKE THE DICKENS to get out of the way.

"It was awesome." he panted.

I went out to survey the damage, and, indeed, saw a Godzilla-sized tree laid out horizontally across my lawn.

"Is that where you were aiming?" I asked and pointed at the tree.

"Nah," he answered and pointed the opposite direction. "This one was just practice though. I'll aim the next one." And he winked at me.

As hard as I tried, I just couldn't give a firm endorsement of this project. Trees like to land on people and houses and dogs. I asked him, "Couldya please leave the rest of these for the tree guy who is coming TOMORROW?"

"I just saved us $75!" He explained with great pride in his voice.

I sighed, realizing the battle was lost, and told him, "Next time TELL ME when you're leveling trees! If that tree had landed on YOU, I never would have known and it would have been DAYS before the dog dragged you to the porch!"

But, man being man, he couldn't NOT destroy that which was in front of him. There was just one thing standing between his wife and Pure Prairie Bliss, and By Gertie, he was gonna cut it down and kill it.

I watched secretly from the porch. And I videotaped it for insurance evidence. . . . just in case they tried to accuse me of evil doing, I wanted everyone to know that he was doing this all on his own.

Now, I love this man with all my heart. He's a wonderful father, and a fabulous husband, and there's nothing he can't do. But there are moments . . . . moments like these:

ZING-za-za-zingzingzing. . . putterputterputter. . . He stands back and waits for the tree to fall.

ZING-za-za-zingzingzing. . . putterputterputter. . . He stands back and waits for the tree to fall.

ZING-za-za-zingzingzing. . . putterputterputter. . . He stands back and waits for the tree to fall.

ZING-za-za-zingzingzing. . . putterputterputter. . . He stands back and waits for the tree to fall.

ZING-za-za-zingzingzing. . . putterputterputter. . . He stands back and waits for the tree to fall.

ZING-za-za-zingzingzing. . . putterputterputter. . . He stands back and waits for the tree to fall.

ZING-za-za-zingzingzing. . . putterputterputter. . . He stands back and waits for the tree to fall.

ZING-za-za-CRACKCRACKCRACK---------

and everything at this moment shut down to super-slow-motion-and-I-watched-my-normally-very-cool-collected-and-calm-husband- TOTALLY-SPAZZY-FREAK-look-up-at-the treetop-and-realized-that-the-GODZILLA-SIZED- DOG/HOUSE/HUSBAND- CRUSHING-TREE-was-making-the-very-loud-CRACKCRACKCRACK-sound- and-without-further-ado-my-chin-hit-the-floor-as-I-watched-the-damn-fool-man-

RUN, TRIPPING THROUGH THE SHRUBBERY WITH THE CHAINSAW STILL RUNNING AND ZINZINGZING-ING IN HIS HANDS.

Now, granted, he only ran a step or two before shutting it off - but it didn't stop me from totally losing the Heatherness Cool.

"SHUT IT OFF!" I screamed and announced that the chainsaw game was offically called on the grounds of NOT SHUTTING IT DOWN FAST ENOUGH!!!!!! He agreed as he pant-pant-panted his way into the house.

Later I told him that the evidence was indisputable. I had it all on videotape and there was no way he could deny ANY of it.

He sighed to himself and told me that in those split seconds, as he heard the tree cracking and preparing to crash down upon him, his first instinct was NOT to shut the chainsaw off, but instead was to start using the chainsaw to tear up all the shrubbery that was causing him to trip as he ran away from the collapsing tree.

Why can't he just run with scissors like the rest of the world?

Peace, till next

Yeah, I think I'm going to take it all off. My hair, that is.

About once every 5 years or so, I get tired of the headaches from the weight of my locks, and I head out to the salon and have it all cut off. The last time I did a BIG chop was a little over two years ago - and I think I had 14 inches taken off. I had it cut to just below my chin.

My hair right now, from root to tip, is 20". But most of the world never even gets to see my hair.

If I take the time to do my hair, it takes an hour to blow it dry, and another half hour to curl it. It takes a lot more time than I want to spend doing it.

I'm simply not cut out to be one of those high maintenance chickadees. I just don't enjoy spending that much time in front of a mirror. I'm either loved, or I'm not - and if I AM loved, I don't want it to be because of my hair and makeup. I want it to be because of my enormous breasts.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Normally what I do with my hair is either stack it in a pile on top of my head, damp and let it air dry, or I put it into two braids and "Swiss Miss" it by wapping them around my head. Either way, it's become more of an effort than I am willing to invest on a regular basis. I want something quick, easy and perky.

However, every time I have gotten my hair cut, I have regretted it - and it's because I see all these fabulous shorty hairstyles out there, and when I have them put on my head, they look awful.

There was the Mary Stuart Masterson incident from the early 90s. Erin and I both decided to get that "Some Kind of Wonderful" cut. Erin looked hot. I looked like a boy. Again - it came down to the fact that she has girly breasts. I do not.

And if we go back even further in time, there was the shortSHORTOMG IT IS TOO SHORT cut from the 1970s. I went roller skating after this haircut, and they gave me BOY ROLLER SKATES. Girl skates were white, boy skates were black and they handed me BLACK ROLLER SKATES.

Two little girls rolled up to me and asked me if I was a boy or a girl.

You have no idea the trauma.

Sometimes I have very bad taste in hairdos and it's only AFTER my sisters pee themselves laughing, that I realize the error of my ways.

Peace, till next

Oh, the joys of living in a home that was built before the Civil War.

Take a trip back down memory lane and try to remember one of my early new-home experience ramblings - the one about my dream bathroom. The one about how my dream bathroom had a really bad smell that would come and go - and how when it came, it wasn't just bad, it was worse than screaming rabid skunks.

Yeah, you remember that post. I do too.
Eventually the smell went away. But then it came back. And it left again for a very, very long time. But then it came back with an angry vengeance about three weeks ago. (Just in time for our Halloween party, in fact.) Since it kind of went away and "healed itself" before, we figured it would do the same this time too.

People told us, "It's a trap problem. In old bathrooms they didn't put in traps - and that's the problem." Or "You just got some sticks and junk stuck in your vent pipe. Jam a pole down there and loosen stuff up. It'll get better."

We gave it a few days. And when it didn't go away, I begged Brian to try the jam-a-pole-down-the-vent-pipe thing. He did, and Casper the Stench decided to go haunt somebody else's bathroom.

But then he came back with an announcment that he liked our home just fine and would be staying a while.

Finally I reached my breaking point and demanded that we tap into savings and call a plumber already. I dialed the number of a nationally-recognized company after I saw their ad for FREE ESTIMATES! I should have known something was up when the receptionist asked me how we would be paying: Cash, check or credit card?

Me: Uhhhh, yeah, ummm, the estimate is free, right? I mean, we don't have to hire you guys if you tell us that the repair is going to cost forty gazillion dollars and our dog too. Right????

She: I'll just put you down as 'credit card.'

Plumber guy shows up. I give him the grand tour of our torn-apart home and show him the Exorcist Bathroom. As I open the door, our very own Linda Blair of stench knocks him flat on his ass.

Plumber: Wow! That's a problem!
Me: Yeah. What's causing it?
Plumber: Let's take a look! Errrr - where's yer husband?
Me: I can show you where everything is and answer any questions you may have. He'll be here soon enough.

Plumber buy wanders around the bathroom and sees water in the toilet. He flushes.

Plumber: That's yer problem. That water smells bad.
Me: No. That's not the problem. Our water smells nice. Something ELSE smells bad.
Plumber: Not THAT water. That's OLD water.
Me: No it's not. We flushed this toilet just yesterday.
Plumber: Huh. You sure 'bout that? Because I think this water mighta been kinda old. And old water sometimes makes a funny smell.
Me: Yes, I'm positive. We flushed it yesterday.
Plumber: Well, I think it was the water makin' the smell. . . .

(ENTER BRIAN)

Briguy: Hey! Find the problem?
Plumber: I was just telling yer wife that I thought it was the toilet water. Looked a little old. . . .
Briguy: Nah, I flushed it yesterday.
Plumber: OK, then it's definitely not the toilet. Where're the pipes? We can check them out next.

Apparently since my answers were female, they didn't count. I left the room and the "worky-technical-talk" to the burly manfolk so I could get back to wearing aprons and baking pies.

They wandered upstairs, downstairs, even down-er-stairs, up again, outside, flashlights on, flashlights off, and they narrowed the problem down to a hole in our vent pipe. It's no surprise, since the vent pipe appears to be older than a cro-magnon toenail.

Plumber pulls out his cell, dials, gets boss on phone.

We can hear EVERYTHING bossman is saying.

Bossman: Yeah, give him an estimate of around $3,100.
Plumber: OK, and then you and I can do it together, deal?
Bossman: Yep. Deal.

Remember - Brian and I heard that whole conversation, clear as day.

Plumber hangs up cellphone, looks at the Man Of The House and says,

"It'll be $3,600 to fix it. Oh, and for today, since I found the problem, it's going to be another $83. Hang on and I'll get you a receipt."

Plumber heads out to truck, and I say, "Free estimate, my a$$! What is this?! $83 for finding the problem? We KNEW what the problem was - the bathroom smells like crap! Is it only a FREE ESTIMATE! if they CAN'T figure out what the problem is???"

Brian, caught between a plumber and a psycho apron-wearing wife, sighed and held his head in his hands.

We paid the plumber, with the realization that it's not HIS fault that his boss is making him charge us for our FREE ESTIMATE! I called Plumber HQ immediately to find out why they were charging us for a FREE ESTIMATE!. Receptionist lady told me that she'd have bossman call us when he gets back. Which, by the way, won't be for two weeks.

Of course. AFTER the check clears.

At this point, Neither Brian or I were willing to shell out thirty six hundred dollars to this company. We didn't care if it cost us FIVE thousand dollars - we just weren't going to pay THIS company our hard-earned $$.

Handsome Hubby said he thought he could do the job for a lot less. I assumed he was talking $50 less - give or take a few tens.

Brian, my handy-dandy-DIY genius hubby, hopped online and read about how to fix vent pipes. He made a shopping list and purchased $60 in materials. He borrowed one tool from our neighbor: a portable band saw, which retails for $226 at Home Depot.

So, tools and supplies (if Brian bought a portable band saw): $286.

So, this got me thinking seriously that I was in the wrong line of work here.

Think about it - If, on top of the $286 in tools and supplies, you generously designate $314 (per job) for insurance, licensing and misc. overhead, that comes to a total, so far, of $600. Which leaves three thousand dollars. . . .

The job, from beginning to end, including the amount of time it took Brian to walk down to the neighbor's and admire his new flux capacitor (or whatever it is that People Who Like Tools talk about), took Brian three hours. And Brian is a man who has fixed a broken vent pipe . . . let's see. . . NEVER times.

So that means Brian should have been paid one thousand dollars an hour. And a PROFESSIONAL, who has done this MANY times, could probably do it even faster.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but there are relatively few careers on this earth that allow you to make one thousand dollars an hour. Only one of those jobs is legal: being a founding member of the Rolling Stones - and that's only marginally legal.

Don't get me wrong - I'm certainly not knocking plumbers - I know that they do some seriously HARD work - and it's certainly not a cushy sweetie-sweet flowery job - nor can it be much fun.

I have all the respect in the world for people who tackle jobs like this - it's REAL WORK. However, if the average hourly salary for plumbers really IS over a grand an hour, sign me up, sistah. I'll happily deal with OPC (other people's crap) for that much dough.

Peace, till next

Three months ago:

He: Yeah, a pond. For kayaking and other delicious fun. Let's get one.

She: Okay. Count me in.
******
Pond Guy: That'll be a couple grand for dozer fees. Oh, and we'll have to take out those pretty willow trees. They'll suck yer pond drier than a popcorn fart.

She: Over my dead body. I love those trees. Nobody will be cutting down any of my willows.

He: What if we MOVE the pond? Please? No trees will be harmed. Well. Except the crappy ones.

She: Okay. You can kill the crappy trees. But not my willows.

He: Got it. Done.

Pond guy disappears, never to be seen or heard from again. We think the willows got him

Flash forward to a few days ago. The satellite TV dudes show up and start zapping pictures with a combo satellite-detecting/brain-frying machine.

She: (Afraid of brain fryers, tells Brian) Whatever it takes, baby. Make it happen.

Satellite Dudes: (after brain-frying-fear girl leaves) ZAPZAPZAP Yeah. Gonna have to take out those trees. Can't get crap with those trees in the way.

He: Hmmm. I don't think she'll go for that. She's got this "thing" for nature and trees and stuff.

Satellite Dudes: Bummer, man. Bummer.

Later . . .

He: Oh. Yeah. Satellite TV. They have to take out our trees in order for us to be able to receive the satellite signal.

She: Yeah, okay?

He: Ummm. Isn't that, you know, bad?

She: Why would it be, you know, bad?

He: So, let me get this right, it's NOT ok to cut down trees for a pond, but it's ok for Little House on the Prairie?

She: (NELLIE GLARE)

He: Yeah, okay, gotcha.

It turns out in the end, that the trees that have to come down are all trees that we were going to be taking down anyway - NOT my willows. They're box elder trees, and they not only attract box elder bugs, but they rot from the inside out and like to fall on houses and dogs and children. And besides, our box elder trees are growing sideways. Not upways.

What's that you say?

OK, Whatever. So I'm a hypocrite. There are worse things, I suppose.

Like finding out your pile of river gold is actually fool's gold.
Or finding out the evil neighborhood girl is only FAKE paralyzed (but it's ok, because you push her wheelchair down a big hill and the evil girl lands in the swamp)
Or when Carrie falls down a mine shaft because she was chasing butterflies.
Or when you accidentally turn Pa's hair green.
Or when Carrie falls asleep in a hot air balloon and floats away.
Or when all the money Pa inherited is SPENT and then you find out (too late) that it's confederate money.
Or when all the little blind children get lost in a dirt storm. . . .

You get the picture. And soon, I will too, in FULL color.

Peace, till next

We have signed up for our phone company's version of a "three-for-one" deal being offered by our local cable company - who refuses to extend their services to our dead end road. Basically the local cable company is offering high speed internet, cable tv and phone service for a low price - but ONLY if you live within the village limits. They won't stretch the cable to our house, because we're one curve out of their "convenience zone.".

So, our phone company is totally jumping all over the cable company's laziness and picking up people like ME as their new customers.

Oh, how I love it when competition reaches out and touches someone.

On Saturday morning, the pearly white phone truck will roll into our dirveway and hook up two of our television sets to a heavenly satellite dish, and we will receive SIXTY channels of programming to replace our measly THREE fuzzy, blurry current channels.

No more watching the Poop Guy's hour-long infomercial about healthy turds on Sunday afternoons.

And BEST OF ALL, this means that I will get to watch ALL-DAY marathons of Little House on the Prairie.

Peace, till next

Is anyone else out there REALLY sick of SPAMMERS and rip-off artists? Yeah, me too.

Dear Paypal Scam Artist,

Nice try.

Well, not really. Your email is truly the most pathetic attempt at fraud I've *ever* seen.

The WORLD really needs to pass some sort of law that will make "dumbassedness" a painful affliction that makes people REGRET their actions.

If that day ever comes, you will probably find yourself on the floor, twitching in a puddle of drool, curses streaming freely from your mouth.

If you're going to try to scam people out of their credit card information, do not - I REPEAT - do NOT send emails that contain the following sentence:

"One of our Costumer Service Employees has alredy tryed to telephonically reach you."

Dude. WOW.

Take my advice: you need to find a new career, because SCAM ARTIST doesn't seem to be your gig.

And if you're going to threaten to terminate my account, make sure you spell "indefinitly" correctly.

Peace, till next