Overheard:
“If you had a penis on your chest, I’d bet it would make belly-flops in the pool a reallll bitch.”
Today began as a hellish “Clean the House” day and got so much worse.
First off, I was awoken by the sound of the phone ringing at 8:00 a.m. this morning. On a Saturday. Which sucks. I didn’t answer it, but I was awake so I got up and did my diary entry this morning. Then, the phone rang again at 8:45 A.M. I answer it.
“Uh, is Esteban around?”
“Yes, but he’s sleeping right now.” Because it’s fucking early on a weekend morning, asshole, so it better be life and death. And I also know that you’re the asshole who woke me up, too.
It turns out that the life or death issue was video cards. The guy had some questions about video cards. For computers, by the way, not for life support systems or Def-Con 4 equipment. Just a computer. Because he wanted ‘Tribes’ to run better.
That’s how the day began. Esteban did rise eventually and we began our day of work in the most uneventful way. I started to pre-spray the various chemicals in the bathroom and Esteban began to do his dishes. Esteban suggests that I burn a CD for us to listen to, so I let the bathroom marinate in its various Comety wonder and commence to create the End All Be All data cd of mp3 files.
Suddenly, from the kitchen I hear Esteban mutter, “Oy Vey”.
Now, Esteban, as far as I know, has not one ounce of Jewish in him. In fact, I’m fairly certain that this is the first time I’ve ever heard him utter this phrase and I’m not entirely certain where exactly he picked it up. Perhaps overheard while surfing past a Woody Allen movie? So I should have immediately known that something was up but I was zoning.
Then, “Weetabix, come here a minute.”
Now, please do not judge me for the fact that I did not immediately jump up and scurry over to my husband like a good little wife. You should realize that Esteban regularly calls me from wherever in the house, with urgency in his voice, for the most mundane of tasks. He’s called me up from the basement where I was doing the laundry so that I could get a new roll of toilet paper for him. Which was four feet away from him. And that may seem like an alarming distance but you should also realize that Esteban is a very tall man with tremendously long arms. I doubt that his ass would have even had to have risen much more than 6 inches off the seat to reach the ass wipe.
But I digress.
Instead of immediately jumping to his side, I reply, “What?”
Esteban repeated himself, this time with an edge of panic, “Weetabix, would you please come in here right away?”
This time I jump up and run to the kitchen to find him standing above the sink with a hand full of blood. He had been washing a glass and it broke with his hand inside of it. I try to staunch the bleeding with a towel (I’ve always wanted to use the word ‘staunch’ and now may die happily!), but Esteban won’t allow me to use our tea towels for his blood soakage. Why he suddenly cares about this I have no idea, since I do all of the laundry, but whatever.
“No, go get some paper towels!” he says as blood drips into the rinse water.
I rush to the cabinet to find some, but we’re out. “We’re out!” “There’s a roll in the office” I run back to the computer room and grab the towels and bring them back to him. Then I had him sit down while I got several Band-aids from the bathroom. He had an inch gash in the area between his thumb and forefinger. A curvy smile-like gash. It was horrible. However, Esteban refused medical attention, instead relying on the strength of our 3m Anti-Bacterial band-aids to solve his issues.
“Damn,” he said. “Now we’re screwed.”
Yes. We were screwed. There was no way that he could get his hands wet, so there was pretty much nothing he could do all day. So he left to go solve the “video card caller”s problem.
Great. Just great. I continue to work on the bathroom and laundry for a few hours until he returns. At this point, I’ve worked myself into a tizzy. I’m ticked because I hate our messy house. And I’m ticked because it’s mostly going to have to stay that way. I just don’t have the will power nor the determination to do the complete overhaul all by myself. So, I decide, I’ll do what I can today and then live with the rest, working on it during the week.
Esteban comes back and proceeds to then play on the computer. He says his hand is fine, just can’t get it in water. Well, then you can pick up the trash around the house, right? He grudgingly got up from his rousing death game and began to pick up the trash.
He was doing a great job, too, until he came to some old cut flowers. He had decided that they were vegetation so could go down the garbage disposal.
Yes. I realize that as you are reading this you are thinking “But Weetabix, you must never put fiberous materials down a garbage disposal or dire consequences may ensue!”.
And ensue they did. The sink became clogged. Esteban did not actually alert me of this. He grabbed the plunger and tried to unplug the sink. This involves plunging with one hand in one sink and placing the other hand firmly over the drain of the other sink so that a vacuum forms. Then he got his cut wet. Then it began to bleed. Then he called Esteban Sr. who came over to look at it. Then he called Roto-Rooter, who will charge us $75 to root it out or whatever they do.
I think we should call a priest instead. It’s fairly obvious that our sink is possessed. First the blood-letting, then the plague of rotting vegetation. That’s in the Bible, I think. Somewhere. Maybe in Leviticus.
I however, did make our bathroom sparkle. And now a word from our sponsor, Scrub Devil, by the makers of Dirt Devil. Folks, do you ever find yourself scrubbing your shower for hours to no avail? Do you gentlemen sprinkle strange urine fungus on the wall or floor? Well, let me tell you, Scrub Devil is your friend. It spins, it twirls, it delights your senses as it scrub scrub scrubs away your worries. And it’s cordless! So if you’ve ever bemoaned the lack of powertools in the home cleaning arena, get a Scrub Devil 2000. Available at participating retailers.
Actually, I don’t think they make it anymore, but it’s just a cheap imitation of the Scumbuster, which I’m sure is just as good.
Thus, after a much maligned afternoon, I made a pizza (from scratch! oooh!) and then we went to Baskin Robbins for a snack. You know, they don’t call it 33 Flavors anymore. When we were there, they were down to 12 flavors, and one I’m quite certain was that frost stuff from the inside of a freezer.
Mmmmm. Nothing like freezer-burn goodness to bring a pleasant end to a perfect day!
Would someone please explain to me why Drew Barrymore’s character constantly wears the fugly black/silver necklace thing throughout the entire movie “The Wedding Singer”? It’s never explained. Is it a collar given to her by her fiance? It’s pissing me off.
