Tuesday, November 30, 2010

So Random I Ran out of Witty Terms for Random

I had started a post about the stuff that I was thankful for (my family, friends and Coke Zero) but you people already *KNOW* that. And I was bored with it. And even though Maya Angelou told me recently in my Good Housekeeping that gratitude lists saved her life (and she won a writing award AND was on Oprah!) it sort of bored me and depressed me that I ran out of ideas after "vacuuming" and "vicodin" - soooooo.....

On to more random stuff! WHEE!

Like laminate flooring. Seriously. That's what *WE* bought on black Friday. What, gifts for the kids? Isn't nice flooring a gift for US ALL?

And then we tried to install it. And not for the first time, Your Favorite Writer wished she were the sort of lady who could hire it done. And not just because The Man refused to work with his shirt off as I requested. (What good is it to marry someone that you find SUPER hot if they won't disrobe and act like a silly male model at your request?! I KNOW! I call bullshit on that.)(And I am so not complimenting him so he'll buy me dinner. Mainly because THAT tactic doesn't work. And because it's true. You married YOUR husband because he proposed in a hot air balloon. Swell. I married MINE because I'd like to stuff tens in his pants. That's just how I roll.)(If you're confused, refer to my Puerto Rico pictures. Seriously.)

You'd think that Flooring People would have mentioned making sure the floor was level. You'd also think that we might have remembered that there is a huge dip in the floor because the Green Counter and Carpet People didn't insist on that shit being FIXED when they built our house. But the Flooring People failed us, just as our memories did. And now my floor is half laid. And half not. And we have to tear most of it up to pour some sort of *MAAAAGICAL* goup on the floor that will make it all level and special so our laminate will lock without us cursing and stomping on it and threatening it with hammers.

SWEET.

And I also would advise you NOT to let Pandora play Metallica's "Fade to Black" when you're installing flooring because, really, you do NOT need a song about giving up on life when you're already primed to take a hammer to anything in your way.

On a different note, I thought (again) about how I need to start carrying a notebook around with me like a REAL writer (or James Hettfield)(if you don't know who he is, see also: above Metallica reference) does, but I've tried that before and then I forget what I'm reminding myself to write about and I end up with pages full of cryptic notes that confuse me. Things like "Tibetan sand painting" next to "stoplight sunset" - which could obviously refer to some sort of weird stream of consciousness poem, or me having hallucinated while on vicodin. Again.

And on YET another random note, my dirty dirty Ford Exploder (aka the Crappy American SUV) visited its home-away-from-home, the repair shop, again yesterday. Something that had caused it to go "CLUNK!!!" whenever I turned left was replaced at *great financial cost* causing me to have to do something I'd RATHER GET A DENTAL CLEANING than do. Our budget. Because really? I can't keep fixing the car that was the main reason for Ford overhauling its entire production line. I mean, I'm glad *MY* car could contribute, however annoyingly, to Ford's economic recovery and all, but I am tired of driving something that could possibly blow up and/or kill me at any time.

It all depends on what the numbers tell me. And the numbers will likely tell me I'd better hope Craigslist has a bargain on a 10 year old minivan. And not that Audi with the red leather that MOMMY wants.

But at least it'll beat laying floor. Maybe.

Comments, questions, what's new witchu?

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