Welcome to Armaggedon. May I take your order?
We have a featured appetizer this evening, it’s a delicately placed Hunter Douglas blind over the largest window. It cost entirely too much money when purchased, and now when you attempt to lower it after a crummy day, the cord pops right off and the blind is rendered unusable. It comes with a string of obscenities on the side.
Tonight’s special entree is swamp basement, layered with swirling cardboard and unidentified detritus on top of a flaking concrete surface. It is topped with mysterious hairballs and errant Candyland cards. The chef recommends the swamp basement be paired with a small sump pump and an assortment of buckets. It is best enjoyed in soggy sandals, so as allow your feet to freeze.
For dessert, might I recommend yet a second day of cancelled school, topped with a generous drizzle of ant infestation?
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When water tables attack
I’m taking a break. I am trying not to think about how hopeless this is.
There’s a drain in the basement. Rather than absorbing run-off, it appears to be the source of the flooding. The water table is so high, the water just keeps coming in.
A neighbor and I spent 3 hours pumping and bailing. Then my ex arrived and we worked another 2 hours with the shop vac and various pump set-ups. Eventually we gave up and are now just trying to put things up on shelves or remove entirely anything we can drag out of there. It already stinks to high heaven, and–oh yeah–isn’t covered under my homeowner’s insurance.
Here’s what it looked like after we brought the water level down a few inches. Notice that the sump pump must be immersed in order to work, so it’s a rousing game of Fill The Receptacles and pour, pour, pour to keep things going.
Hey, at least my ex is being really helpful. Possibly because I keep crying.
I forgot to knock wood
Add to the list of things never to say:
Oh, no, I’m not worried. We’ve never had flooding in this house.
Mother’s Day on Mount Ararat
Lo, daylight did break, except not really, because daylight didn’t so much “break” as it did “half-heartedly glow grey” behind all the rain. Monkey climbed into bed with me at 5:30.
“Ohhhhh, Buddy, nonono. Too early to get up.” My face may have been buried in the pillow. It may have come out “Ohhhhh, Buddy, mmphffgg. Ooo errmph et mph.”
He patted my hair. “I’ll just sleep a little right here,” he assured me. “Happy Mother’s Day!” And then he sprawled out in the middle of the bed and poked his icy cold feet into my crotch.
My day, indeed.
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Eye of newt
So it appears, from the lackluster response to the previous post, that y’all are just as underwhelmed about the whole “getting out there and meeting people” thing as I am. I was anticipating a bunch of inspiration and instead I sort of feel like… hey, so what if I die alone! Lots of people do that! And I am rather enjoying having deep discussions with my bedside lamp! It’s an excellent listener and that’s almost like having a mate!
Stop snickering at me. My lamp says you’re just jealous.
But you know, the thing that I worry about, is that I fear I’m becoming out of practice with the whole normal socialization thing. (Translation: I think I’m getting weird. Weirder than before, anyway.)
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This post will self-destruct in 5 seconds
(But not really.)
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to continue the theme of yesterday’s post, except in a less cynical vein. I’ve told you what men are doing wrong. (And I cannot BELIEVE I forgot to mention appropriate handle usage. Nothing containing “knight” or referring to your car or your salary or how hot you believe yourself to be. Okay, I feel better now.)
Today I turn the floor over to you. Write my personal ad. There are… *checking* 975 (!!) posts here to use as fodder. What would be an accurate representation of me that does NOT bring The Crazy sniffing around?
I do believe there shall be prizes involved. Oh, yes. On your mark… get set… TYPE!
Handy dating tips for the IQ impaired
Or, I’ve just about had it.
Or, Google will not keep your secrets.
Or, Men are from Mars, if by “Mars” you mean “Idiotworld.”
Or, And you thought these stories were weird.
Wow. I could really just write titles for this baby all night long, and never even get to the post. You do realize that it’s a very fine line that separates the absurd from the depressing, right? Picture me up high in the air, on the tightrope. I might even be wearing a tutu.
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Training update, now with more dysmorphia!
Lest you think I haven’t been training–just because I haven’t talked about it much–let me just tell you: I have been training. And lo, I have the callouses to prove it. My feet may never recover.
I’m feeling a nice surge of renewed commitment, because this week I crested the $4,500 mark. That’s pretty cool. Y’all are pretty! And generous! Except you… yes, you, in the back. You haven’t donated yet. What, you don’t love the boobies? The boobies are love. Support the boobies. (Need a reward for your donation? Go buy one of my 3-Day shirts and you’re making a donation and a fashion statement at the same time.)
In the meantime, I am struggling with my new body.
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We’d like to thank all the blurry people
So! The party, as I mentioned, was a complete success. A good time was had by all, as long as we’re not counting Monkey. Monkey had a good time unless he didn’t “get” what was being taught (40% of the time) or was “out” at a game being played (30% of the time) or he was remembering that in fact, he hasn’t even HAD his birthday party yet, and his birthday was ALL THE WAY BACK IN JANUARY MANY MOONS AGO (29% of the time).
But, if you were not Monkey, and you were hanging out at the Tae Kwon Do studio with us, you were having a blast. There is something charming and ridiculous and breathtaking about watching a roomful of girls learn how to kick and block and BE LOUD. Already, at 8, you can see that many of them are loathe to assert themselves. By the end of the class, we couldn’t shut them up. It was a thing of beauty.
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She raised almost $300
I owe you a real entry, I do, but I can’t do it right now.
The party was awesome. When I get my pictures off the camera, perhaps I will post a few. The samurai sword cake cutting was particularly impressive. I feel so inadequate, now, cutting cake with a regular knife…
Did you know that I am up to walking about 6 miles in an hour and a half pretty regularly, now? Did you know that walking 6+ miles with an 8-year-old takes closer to 3 hours and is, for some reason, MUCH more exhausting?
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