tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36225121759332130502024-03-13T10:51:31.029-04:00A Holly With FolliesFarms are hard things to have. Tag along while we try to rebuild 30 acres of disrepair. Stick around for humor, failure, housebuilding, country life and cursing.Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.comBlogger231125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-26254142183170536092020-07-22T13:01:00.000-04:002020-07-22T13:01:30.219-04:00I'm back! Who lost there job due to Covid- 19? Who is trying to hack it as a writer because I have shit else going for me!? I am. So here I am trying to revamp a blog from like, a million years ago.<br />
<br />
In the time we have spend apart I have, built my own house, become a camera women, had my dog die, wrote a fantasy novel, gained a best friend and watched my husbands medical problems get worse. I'm pretty sure the past two specialists we've seen spent medical school poking erasers up their noses. Not that I am bitter or anything.*<br />
<br />
So I am starting this blog again so when perspective literary people ask if I have a website I can point them to my blog where I like swear a fuck ton and shit. Okay maybe this isn't such a hot idea but I am not willing to build a brand new website and juggle all the other shit I have to do. So if anyone is still reading it would be great if you could leave a comment or two about how great a writer I am and how you would totally buy my book if I could just find someone to publish it. <br />
<br />
<br />
*Fuck you Dr. Riggs. Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-31073525167567806632014-01-13T21:18:00.000-05:002014-01-13T21:29:12.848-05:00My Mobile Home Caught on Fire.<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
On Saturday the 4<sup>th</sup> my
mobile home caught on fire. I mean like really a whole lot on fire.
It was my husbands birthday that day too. Here are some bullet
points. Because I know you have questions.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<ol>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Me and Scott are fine, well if you
count breathing in a bunch of toxic burning mobile home parts fine.
We have inhalers.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The dog and cat are both fine as
well and all the outdoor cats are present and accounted for as well.
</div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Most of our clothing made it
intact, as well as most of my books, but we lost nearly everything
in the kitchen and part of living room.
</div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yes, we had insurance.
</div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I don't want to sound like, uh, I
am pressuring you here, but if you would like to help out in anyway
you may notice that buy my prints button I have... it's the one with
the rooster.
</div>
</li>
</ol>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
Here is what happened.
The wood stove which we had JUST CLEANED and replaced the chimney,
caught fire and burned to the ground. That ignited the propane tank
right beside the trailer, and caught the whole damn thing on fire.
Scott used ever portable fire extinguisher we had to you know, try to
stop my fiery death trap from claiming all of our shit. I was out
taking the dog for a walk when I looked up and saw that my mobile
home was a whole more on fire then I remembered it. So I ran all the
way back to the house UPHILL tried to turn on our super no freeze
yard water spigot thing and it was all like, ha ha lol no water for
you sucker.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course then I freaked out
and panicked because all my shit was still in there. Scott had been
able to get out his laptop, three guitars the Internet and Emoticon
(the cat) before all hell broke loose.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Let me tell you something
right here right now.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When there is a fire, you
will forget everything you have ever learned about fire safety.
Everything. All of it.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The first thing I did upon
realizing getting water was super not going to happen at all ever was
freak out that my shit was in that burning metal rectangle. So I dove
back into the front door to be met by a rolling wave of heat and then
I felt it hit my face and I panicked and inhaled and grabbed my phone
and ran out again. Like you do.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course then I ran back
around the building to where the fire was because I realized that if
it didn't want to lose everything I was going to have to do
SOMETHING. At this point I realized two things, one the propane tank
was setting my wall on fire, and two one of my windows was melting.
So in a fit is desperation I ran back around to the front of the
house and grabbed a snow shovel. And then I proceeded to shovel snow
on to a BURNING PROPANE TANK that was surrounded by other propane
tanks.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I figured if I was going to
die I was going to go with my computers.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At some point I heard sirens
and then the firefighters pulled up and asked them to “please help
me save all my shit.” Then they went into my house and did fireman
things while I stood in the yard with the one guy who didn't have on
of those mask things on. He asked how the fire started. I told him. I
told him that I had tried to keep it contained by shoveling snow on
to the propane tank. Then he gave me a look. Then I told him “like
you wouldn't have.” Then he nodded and then we both stared at my
burning shit. Then I told him I needed a hug. We hugged.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because sometimes you just
need a <i>goddamned</i> hug.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then the ambulances arrived
and I got to go on my first ambulance ride because it hurt to breath
air. I mean like really a lot hurt. From the hospital I managed to
contact my aunt to come get my pets and then she came and got us and
took us to her house and fed us soup and whiskey and I decided to
nominate her for sainthood.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I got back to the place
we had a nice 12 foot long hole in the wall where out kitchen/living
room was. So now we are taking out what was left and preparing to
tear down the trailer and put in a small cabin to live in while the house is being built.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I am very tired as I have
been going balls to the wall to you know, have a place to live again
that is not my aunt's spare bedroom. Luckily almost all of out
clothing and books were okay, but most of my electronics look like
they have been through a smoker and we lost a lot of artwork and
plates and bullshit like that. Oh and the microwave melted.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It's more of a Salvidor Dali
microwave now. </div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-88781149982329242972014-01-01T09:28:00.000-05:002014-01-01T09:28:39.547-05:00Going to the Vet, the Angry Cat Edition.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So after about a week of putting
various drops and goop into my cats eyeballs it was time to take her
back into the vet for a checkup of her <strike>horrible mangled eyes</strike>
eye ulcers. Of course she was not okay with this at all ever. Which
she expressed by refusing to go into her carrier. So I had Scott try
to put her in while I held the crate but he only got her torso in
before she caught on that this just might be another plot to take her
to the vet and then all hell broke loose and she started making this
sound like she was about to fuck our shit up. And of course she is
like, super strong from her life outside where she would chase down
and kill FULL GROWN RABBITS so then I panicked and turned the carrier
straight up hoping gravity would help us out. However it turns out
that gravity was giving us the finger that day because all this
accomplished was that she turned into a helicopter made out of tail
and fur and claws.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A cat-ass-copter if you will.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I started laughing because this was the
funniest thing I had seen in a while and then I saw one of her front
paws slap down on the outside of the door and then she managed to
pull herself out of the thing entirely and tried to make a run for it
and Scott had to tackle her.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So the horrible sounds of her laying
the smack down resumed and it took both of us pushing on her ass to
shove her into the crate and I slammed the door shut after her and
latched it before she could turn around and checked to make sure both
my hands were still attached and this wasn't going to be like that
scene from Kill Bill where she totally cut that others chicks head
off but she doesn't realize it at first. Except with my hands. And a
cat.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anyway we drive to the vet clinic and I
listen to Emoticon trying to add in her own angry lyrics to the music
on the radio and then we get there and the vet comes out and hands
the receptionist the tiniest cutest puppy ever and asks her to hold
it because apparently he won't stop crying and then all our hearts
melt at once and the puppy is super happy because OMG ATTENTION.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then we head on in and he puts dye in
her eyeballs and asks us if we have seen any improvement and then I
say no not really and then Emoticon refuses to open her third eyelid
AGAIN and I am all like we are paying money for this open your damn
eyes except I didn't say it out loud and I am pretty sure she gave
the vet the finger.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then he says that if we wanted we
could take her to a specialist who happens to be in Gaithersburg
Maryland. Just to clarify, we live in WEST VIRGINA. So then I am all
like, well, she was a <i>free</i> cat... and then he said that really
though the best thing we could do was keep treating them but that he
was pretty sure the left eye was shot but we might be able to improve
the right eye.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which was pretty much the same thing he
said the last time we went through all this.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then I was like, I don't think we can
ever take her off these medications again can we? Because we tried
that and her right eye was totally fine and then everything went back
to being awful as soon as we stopped and now we are playing save the
cats eyeballs again. And then he said we were going to have to wait
and see what happened this go around which probably means I have a
new indoor cat now.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then we fixed another appointment date
and then we went to the counter to pay and the cutest puppy in the
whole world was there again with it's working eyes and everything and
then we paid and then we went back to the car and I felt bad for the
cat and thought about how I didn't want any of this to happen and
also about that fact that we pretty much gave each other the cats
eyeballs for Christmas this year.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But in a totally non-creepy way.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I mean there is totally nothing weird
about giving the gift of eyeballs right? <i>Right?</i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You know what? I'll just stop typing
before I make this worse.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-18831675772643219792013-12-28T09:21:00.000-05:002013-12-28T09:21:31.618-05:00Truck Breaks and Junkyard Adventures.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So the next part of our ongoing saga of
fixing the damn truck breaks sometime in my lifetime involved
bleeding the breaks. Did I say bleeding the breaks? I meant failure.
First off this was like the first warm day we have had in weeks.
However the first warm day in weeks does not mean that all the snow
had melted so my first task was shoveling snow out from around the
truck in the areas we might need to lay down on.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nes15b7DE8I/Ur7dTyQ5wJI/AAAAAAAAAi4/Z3WXPoDhLBY/s1600/Truck+Breaks+Junkyard+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nes15b7DE8I/Ur7dTyQ5wJI/AAAAAAAAAi4/Z3WXPoDhLBY/s400/Truck+Breaks+Junkyard+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yay. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Second task involved Scott filling up
the master cylinder with break fluid and having me very gently pump
the breaks so we could test that break hub thing that was a right
bitch to get on. So I did that and then of course it leaked like a
motherfucker and I had to stop and then Scott crawled under the damn
truck and poked at it and then swore a whole bunch. Because of course
the lines from the master cylinder would be the ones leaking. You
know the lines that get break fluid to the breaks? Those lines? Yeah
they were leaking. I realize to the uninitiated this is all gibberish
so here have a picture.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Hj0ZefMRvtA/Ur7d7PQinKI/AAAAAAAAAjA/bfIUdxUbshQ/s1600/Truck+Breaks+Junkyard+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Hj0ZefMRvtA/Ur7d7PQinKI/AAAAAAAAAjA/bfIUdxUbshQ/s400/Truck+Breaks+Junkyard+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then we pull the line off and clean
it up and try to put it back on. Which went about as well as you
would expect. At one point both me and Scott were under the truck,
facing different directions with him holding the line and me trying
to thread the bolt on. Of course this didn't work at all ever and
finally he tried to rebend the line and then knocked the other top
line from the master cylinder off and then we swore a whole lot. Of
course at this point I suggested just using JB weld to stick the damn
bolts in PERMANENTLY and Scott was all like that just might work but
we both kinda knew it wasn't going to work. There was only one
option.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We were going to have to pull the damn
break hub thing off again.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So Scott pulled the damn stupid
motherfucking break hub thing off and in the cold clammy light of a
winters day we could clearly see that the top holes, the ones we had
been struggling with, were completely bare of threads. It was never
going to work. No matter how hard we had fought and swore and cursed
and begged the cold uncaring gods of auto repair, it was never going
to work. We were going to have to find another break hub thing. Which
of course is a part they no longer make anymore.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which meant we were going to a
junkyard.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So we grabbed our shit and some tools
and I put medicated goop in the cats eyeballs and then we got in the
car and drove. The first scrapyard we stopped at had a nice neat
office and was staffed by a nice blond women who had clearly never
left the eighties. There was a plastic sign on the counter saying not
to place auto parts on it which kind of confused me because I was
never really under the impression that junkyards were all that picky
about there counters but whatever the fuck. So I just held the part
up where she could see it like some sort of fucked up metal peace
offering and we asked about it while the damn thing peed break fluid
down my arm. So then she was all like, anything that old we just
scrap and gave us the name of another place we could try and then we
got back in the car and I spotted the greatest thing ever on the way
out.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F3HjLfd5yw0/Ur7eKNHZwzI/AAAAAAAAAjI/EJPdwTtuXqg/s1600/Truck+Breaks+Chicken+Interlude3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F3HjLfd5yw0/Ur7eKNHZwzI/AAAAAAAAAjI/EJPdwTtuXqg/s400/Truck+Breaks+Chicken+Interlude3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The greatest thing ever.
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Our next stop was an auto parts store
where we learned that the part that I was calling the break hub thing
and Scott was calling the break distributer was actually called the
<i>break proportioner.</i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Annnd
also they didn't have one. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The last place we stopped at was a true
to life scrapyard made entirely of mud. We pulled up to a gray dim
looking metal building that was your typical half garage half office.
Upon entering we were greeted by a vague older looking man. You know
the kind of guy who gives you the impression there is no mental
activity going on behind those eyes. “You got any cans?” He asked
in a wheezy voice. I glance behind me at my 1999 canless Toyota
Avalon. <i>Which was the only vehicle in the parking lot.</i> I
looked around to make sure I hadn't been sucked into <em><span style="font-style: normal;">Cormac
McCarthy's</span></em> The Road.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Scott explained that we needed a part.
The guy explained we would have to go back into the office. In the
office we were greeted by a dark haired women sitting behind a desk
talking to a older guy who apparently had nothing better to do then
sit in a scrapyard office and talk up a receptionist. In the back
another older looking women was washing down tables. For some bizarre
reason the whole place smelled like cookies.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You gonna help them customers!?”
Shouted the lady from the back, still washing down shit.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So we explain what we need to the two
people sitting at the desk who look like we are interruptions into
their flirting/drug dealing and then they tell us to go out back and
look for Gary. We go out back. Out back turned out to be a wasteland
of muddy cars. Many of which had been crushed and flattened into huge
pancake like stacks that rose up around the borders of the wasteland
like a very ineffective fence. Mud and snow mixed together under the
tires of huge car moving machinery. We stopped next to a green
building that smelled like pure ethanol and watched the giant car
magnet thing move car frames around like they were made of tinfoil.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Finally a guy driving a huge piece of
machinery pulled up beside us and yelled something out the window I
couldn't hear and then Scott held up the part like it was a magic
talisman and they mined something about Chevy and then he yelled some
directions over the engine and we were off. What followed next was
the most surreal adventure ever. One isle over I could hear the giant
car magnet dropping shit while we wound our way through cars that
looked like they had been flung down from on high by an giant car
magnet. The first truck we checked was completely on it's side,
wheels and bed long gone. Even though it had the part, the break
proportioner was too rusted and shot to use.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We picked our way out of there and into
the nest row over. Which is when I discovered that the “snow” was
merely a thin blanket of white over a foot deep hole and I had to do
that thing where you jerk forward and then grab you own shoe to keep
the earth from ripping it off.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I was pretty over the junkyard by that
point. Of course the next truck's break proportioner was shot too.
Defeated, unwilling to try another avenue and possibly lose a shoe
for good this time we trudged back to the office. Once inside we
explained that we didn't find one while the lady in the back shouted
more advice about customer service. We smiled and backed out the
door, back past the wandering can man and got into our car, still
holding the greasy useless break proportioner.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We never did fine Gary.
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-13176772752598800212013-12-24T09:15:00.000-05:002013-12-24T09:15:13.258-05:00Marry Christmahanahkwanzika Everybody!
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Well it's that time of year again.
Before we know it New Years will be here. So, um, it's been a year.
You saw my triumphs and my failures and my sorrows and my success and
I guess I just want to say....</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9w1uZaPrkmk/UrmWQxEFaFI/AAAAAAAAAio/TKV78wfl3wk/s1600/Xmas+Card+2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9w1uZaPrkmk/UrmWQxEFaFI/AAAAAAAAAio/TKV78wfl3wk/s400/Xmas+Card+2013.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Merry Christmahanahkwanzika everyone.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Marry Christmahanahkwanzika.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
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</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-25344193285223481832013-12-20T09:34:00.000-05:002013-12-20T09:34:15.576-05:00The Vet, the Cat and Some Drool.
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The next part in the ongoing saga of my
cats eyeballs involved making her another vet appointment and
dragging her ass to it. Of course I knew she was going to have to go
back at some point but I was dragging my feet on it because I still
had medication for her and I had to go to work and holy shit how is
it December already I have to give gifts to people <i>this month</i>.
Fortunately the decision to call the vet clinic got made for me when
I found blood in her fur.
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<br />
</div>
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There I was sitting calmly at my desk
working on my Christmas card, music playing out of my head phones
with a cup of tea beside me. Outside snow was coming down and I was
enjoying watching it from my warm chair. Emoticon jumps up, and asks
to be petted. I put my hand on her head and rub her thick soft fur. A
thunderous purr starts up in her chest and I run my hand down her
spine. She puts her butt in my face and then I see a few streaks of
blood on her butt.
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<br />
</div>
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Freaking out ensued.
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<br />
</div>
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Of course this would happen when I have
to leave for work for two days for a job that can't be missed. So I
freak out some more and check the litter box and find out that there
is blood on the litter around some poop and then I spend some time
making sure the cat is not about to drop dead and then I tell the
farm sitter and then I leave for work the next morning and resist the
urge to text him like fifty times asking how the cats asshole is
doing.
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<br />
</div>
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That might have been a bit much.
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<br />
</div>
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So then I get home and then I make an
appointment and tell the receptionist that I found blood on her butt
and I was kinda freaked and oh by the way her eyeballs are turning
into big fat messes again and then they give me an appointment for
later that afternoon. So at the appropriate time I shove Emoticon
into a carrier and put on all the layers ever cause it's like 15
degrees outside without wind chill and then we get in the car and she
starts meowing. Because she was just thrilled.
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<br />
</div>
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Yowlingly thrilled.
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<br />
</div>
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Of course going to the vet always makes
me super nervous because what if this trip is where she is diagnosed
with super cat eyeball tumors or catdealthitis or something? So we
get to the waiting room and I try not to think about all the horrible
things that could be wrong and instead I watched these two pug dogs
come in that were dressed in Christmas sweaters.
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<br />
</div>
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Pug dogs. In <i>Christmas sweaters</i>.
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<br />
</div>
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It was god damned adorable. Even if
their breathing sounded like they were farting out of there short
little faces. Of course while I was smiling at the pure cuteness on
legs I kept hearing these ominous thuds on the door across from us.
Then a vet tech came and got one of the pugs and as she was leaving I
saw a long tail sticking out from under the mystery door,
accompanied by the sounds of a dogs toenails scrabbling on the floor.
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<br />
</div>
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Then the pug comes back and they are
paying to leave and the pugs are walking around and breathing like
deflating balloons and then without warning the door across from me
bursts open and the biggest dog I have ever seen in my entire life
comes rushing out of the door straight at us and then I was all like,
“Holy crap I thought that thing was a small bear” and then the
owner laughed while the giant fucking dog snorfled my hand and then
it effortlessly wheeled around and put two paws up on the reception
desk and looked the lady behind the desk magnificently in the eye
before the owner could get him down. He came crashing to the floor
and then he set eyes on the pugs.
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<br />
</div>
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There was a moment when the two bloated
sausages with legs and festive sweaters considered the <strike>small
horse</strike><span style="text-decoration: none;"> </span>big ass
dog before they both decided they could take each other and the
barking started. I have heard dogs whose barks were said to start at
their toes. This dog's bark started under the floor somewhere.
Possibly he just stored it in the basement wrapped around the
plumbing until he needed it.
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<br />
</div>
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“I'll just put him in the car and
then pay.” The owner said calmly hauling his wheeling barking dog
out the glass door. No one moved to stop him. Quiet came back to the
waiting room and then the tech appeared and called us into a room
and then I tried not to think about Catdealthitis and the vet comes
in and puts dye in her eyeballs and then she shuts her third eyelid
and then he tries to get her to look at him and then I try to get her
to look at him and then she glares at us.
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<br />
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I couldn't really blame her at that
point.
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<br />
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Then he talks us through this round of
what he thinks her fucking eye ulcers are doing and then he looks at
her and says that the mystery blood was probably parasites and gave
her A dewormer pill which she promptly spat back onto the techs hand
because Emoticon had clearly said fuck it by this point.
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<br />
</div>
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So after the great pill puke-a-thon he
tells about this new med that he wants to put her on. He went on to
say that it was not as vital as the other two but we could give it a
shot to stop the discomfort and hopefully aid in the healing. The
only catch here was that it might cause her to foam at the mouth.
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<br />
</div>
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Cue that record scratching sound.
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<br />
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I was all like, WTF? And he was all
like, one in ten cats might have a bad reaction to it so most likely
she will be fine and then he breezed out of the room and we collected
our meds and paid the slightly frazzled desk lady and then we went
home.
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<br />
</div>
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Scott started on dinner and then I gave
her her first med and then was all like we might as well give this
new one a shot. So I held her and told her she was an awesome kitty
and put in the drops while she thought swear words at me and then I
went into the kitchen to wash my hands and then Scott asked me a
question and I answered it and then I poked my head back into the
living room to see my cat doing her damnedest rabies impression.
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<br />
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There was drool coming out of that cats
mouth like someone had poured a fucking bottle of bubble bath into a
five jet hot tub.
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<br />
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I had to clean the floor twice. <i>Twice.</i>
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<br />
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Then I promised her that I wouldn't
give her that one anymore and hoped that the vet would agree with me
next week at our next appointment while she looked like she had just
burst a pipe in her face.
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<br />
</div>
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Which was all the excitement I really
needed for one evening, really.
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<br />
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<br />
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-47013873705984506932013-12-16T09:52:00.000-05:002013-12-16T09:52:10.932-05:00The Warranty on my Cats Eyeballs Must Have Expired.
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Unfortunately while Emoticon was
enjoying the freedom of being a <strike>wild tiger in the jungle</strike>
being on outdoor cat her eyeballs were busy going to shit again.
Because I clearly haven't paid the vets office enough money yet. So I
made the decision to pull her back inside and bombard her eyeballs
with drops again because I love her and she loves me and when I am
working she sleeps on my desk and it's the cutest thing ever in the
whole world ever.
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<br />
</div>
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Although I might be a little biased on
that one.
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anyway after a few days of putting
drops in her bad eye while she tried to hide under furniture from me
Scott noticed that her good eye was also looking cloudy again and
then I went outside and yelled at the sky except it was too cold for
that really so I just told Scott that the warranty on my cats
eyeballs must have expired.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course all this would be going on
during a ice storm when I also have to get my ass to work and make
money so I have not yet been able to make a vet appointment but that
is the next thing that has to happen because I don't believe in
investing money outside of my cat. Apparently.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Also I don't know how it got to be
December all ready but I would like to have a do over of November.
And not just because I would enjoy doing Thanksgiving again but also
because I had goals for November and it's gone now. The goals? Still
here.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anywho so now I am back to having an
indoor cat that knocks things off my desk and gets cat hair all up in
my keyboard and makes my living room extra festive by coating it in a
layer of snow like white cat fur and now I am afraid to put up my
Thriftmas Tree because I am kind of afraid of what she would do to
it.
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Also this time around I decided I
wasn't crating her anymore and so far she has avoided destroying the
house although I don't know what I am going to do when summer comes
and she tries to bust through another window screen to sweet, sweet
freedom. I suppose I will have to cross that bridge when I come to
it. And hopefully it's not one of those rope bridges from Indiana
Jones where everybody goes all crazy pants and then we have to cut
the bridge in two and somebody gets eaten by crocodiles. Except we
don't even have crocodiles here so it would have to be bears.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Metaphorical bears.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
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Hopefully the vet will have a good idea
of where to go from here in the medication is working as a place
holder but not helping long term problem I am seeing and that we
won't have to cross any metaphorical bridges at the vets office
because no one there deserves to get eaten by bears. Or crocodiles.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Especially not the cat.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
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I mean that would be pretty hard to
explain to Scott. I'm sure <i>you guys</i> would understand if my cat
got eaten by metaphorical bears.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Pretty sure.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
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Mostly sure.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-90885469556251170272013-12-11T10:49:00.000-05:002013-12-11T10:49:05.496-05:00Truck Breaks: a New and Better Caliper.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course Scott had to go to town first
thing in the morning to get the parts for the emergency breaks
because the auto parts store had only had in the new caliper we
needed yesterday evening and just not putting any emergency break
parts on the wheels in not going to work because I live in the
fucking mountains.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course the previous owner lived in
the fucking mountains too and figured he didn't need no fancy
emergency breaks. Although he installed one hell of a motherfucking
sound system. I mean this sound system had speakers so big there were
first sized holes cut for them into the dashboard that we could never
actually fix until we just replaced the dash during the wiring
harness debacle.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Cause you know, priorities.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course we are attached to keeping
our bodies in one working unit so we drank our motivation tea grabbed
the parts and headed on over to work on the breaks for what felt like
the fifty millonth time. Of course the new caliper went on with no
problem which only served to highlight how Wrongity Mc Wrong the
other miscast caliper was and how we probably should have realized
that sooner but whatever it's on now and then got out the emergency
break parts.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-042oR2hR90g/Uqh_brbAmRI/AAAAAAAAAh4/e8CRm0cCPHI/s1600/Truck+B+2+PIC+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-042oR2hR90g/Uqh_brbAmRI/AAAAAAAAAh4/e8CRm0cCPHI/s400/Truck+B+2+PIC+1.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> This thing. So fresh. So new.
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course we have to take off one of
the pads to get this damn thing on there because ha ha of course we
do let's take more springs off and put them on AGAIN ha ha hah hah ha
that didn't suck at all the last time and then we shove the bar in
place and then we look at the illustration and then the bar again and then we
are all like, wait there is a spring that goes on here. But the
package didn't contain a spring. And neither did our bag of
replacement springs. Because that would have made sense.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sooo after a few moments of scratching
our heads and poking things our eyes fell upon the old springs that
we had taken off that were still sitting on the ground because
throwing things away is for rich people. And then I was all like, why
don't we use one of the old springs? They still spring right?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then I grabbed one of the
motherfucking springs and tried to shove it over the end of the
emergency break bar and it totally didn't fit. Then I was all like,
well it was a good idea but then Scott was all like all we have to do
is bend it into an oval, then it will totally work!
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--qpH3QBXEOg/Uqh_7QWyOoI/AAAAAAAAAiA/IdOqM7rDvhY/s1600/Truck+2+PIC+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--qpH3QBXEOg/Uqh_7QWyOoI/AAAAAAAAAiA/IdOqM7rDvhY/s400/Truck+2+PIC+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pictured: Totally working. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So after we squashed it with the hammer
we then bent it around with the pliers until we had the shape we
needed and shoved it into the truck like champions. Of course then we
had to do the same thing to the other side before we could stand back
and admire our new and improved drum break assembly.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tcq6IUPrcD0/UqiHwlXCgZI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/JngGVOiJnlA/s1600/Truck+2+PIC+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tcq6IUPrcD0/UqiHwlXCgZI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/JngGVOiJnlA/s400/Truck+2+PIC+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then all we had to do was put the bolts
back into the caliper. Which was a motherfucking adventure because
one of them was stripped now and we had to rethread the hole and by
'we' I mean 'Scott.' Of course we had a bunch of rethreading tools
but the key was finding the right one that matched the fucking bolt
so Scott went on a super magical treasure hunt in the shed until he
found the right one and put new threads onto the old hole and then
all we had to do was put the bolt back on.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aEKJT7Vjwt0/UqiIIXxkikI/AAAAAAAAAiY/9CxsCibCTxs/s1600/Truck+2+PIC+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aEKJT7Vjwt0/UqiIIXxkikI/AAAAAAAAAiY/9CxsCibCTxs/s400/Truck+2+PIC+4.jpg" width="387" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This is about how that went.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course it went on after that.
Because you know, threatening things with knifes is a key step to any
auto repair job.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Integral, really.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Or at least when you do auto repair
with me.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-619041673449288332013-12-07T10:20:00.001-05:002013-12-07T10:20:42.673-05:00Truck Breaks and the Joy of Missing Parts.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Today it warmed up to a balmy 50
degrees. So we decided it was time to work on the truck breaks. Since
you know, we had already ran all new break lines and then discovered
the bleeder valves were shot and now we have to replace a whole bunch
of shit that is integral to the breaks breaking. You know so the
truck won't go careening over a cliff anytime soon because my state
doesn't believe in guard rails.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course there was the obligatory
gathering of tools and safety glasses and the will to do this task
and then I reflected on the fact that when it warms up the snow melts
and then everything gets soggy and how that was super no fun and then
we got started.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The first task was to put the break pad
things onto the drum breaks. Which involves putting a shit ton of
springs on them. Like, a shit ton. Like all the springs. Of course
this was a pain in the ass because even though half the springs were
old and rusty they were deceptively strong. I found myself grabbing
them with my pliers and making sounds like
ERRUUUUUGGGHHHHHHGGAAAAHHHHH and HUURRRHHHHHHHGGAAAAHHHHHH and trying
not to pee a little because those springs were motherfuckers.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course the super extra fun bit was
that the break pads and the thing-that-I-don't-know-what-it-is-called
wouldn't stay in place without these springs. So as I was giving
myself a hernia trying to hook the springs on to various metal bits
the pads and the thing would be shifting around and trying to fall
off the hub like this was a super secret dance party.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For break parts.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A <i>break dance</i> party, if you
will.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'll stop now. Here have a picture.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dkMDAKRbaxQ/UqM69Egte7I/AAAAAAAAAhU/3n0GQ1ArXL0/s1600/PIC+1+breaks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dkMDAKRbaxQ/UqM69Egte7I/AAAAAAAAAhU/3n0GQ1ArXL0/s400/PIC+1+breaks.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So after we got that on we felt really
good about ourselves and then we went and drank the tea of getting
shit done and we moved over to the other side where we discovered the
bag of <i>brand new</i> springs we should have put on the other side,
including a lock for the parking break piece that we totally had not
put on.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was also about then that we realized
that we were missing a part for the emergency break. Whoops, did I
say missing a part? I meant we were missing all of it. The entire
emergency break assembly for the drum break was just gone. On both
sides. Meaning somebody at some point looked at the emergency break
hardware and was like, whelp, don't need this. Of course we would
only figure this out halfway through the other side because the
instructions were just so clear.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pJ7BKxGSkUA/UqM7y9qjf5I/AAAAAAAAAhc/MVNe5OQurjQ/s1600/PIC+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pJ7BKxGSkUA/UqM7y9qjf5I/AAAAAAAAAhc/MVNe5OQurjQ/s400/PIC+2.jpg" width="345" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So, so clear.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So once we bled and swore and wept all
over side two we went back to side one to repeat the process all over
again, this time with new springs and the bit that keeps the parking
break piece from falling out of the hub and destroying something
important like my sanity.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Since we could do no more to the drum
breaks because the previous owner thought emergency breaks were
optional pieces we decided to return to our old friend the drivers
side caliper. Which was in retrospect a bad idea. Our previous
attempts to attach the caliper had failed magnificently due to the
metal plate the caliper went on being bent. So we attempted to unbend
it. With anger.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XkuJq7C7c6g/UqM8juZ7nnI/AAAAAAAAAho/FVTXiv0kC9Q/s1600/Pic+3+Truck+Breaks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XkuJq7C7c6g/UqM8juZ7nnI/AAAAAAAAAho/FVTXiv0kC9Q/s400/Pic+3+Truck+Breaks.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Needless to say it didn't really work.
What followed next was a montage of swearing and prying things and
beating on the caliper with hammers. None of it worked. Finally one
of us had the bright idea to compare it to the caliper that we had
already installed and make sure it was the same part.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It totally wasn't the same part.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which is incidentally where we gave up
for the day.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So Scott went to town to buy auto parts
and then by the time he got back it was dark because winter is an
asshole like that so tomorrow we will continue on our noble quest to
put that motherfucking caliper on the damn hub which I would like to
accomplish sometime in my lifetime.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You know, just to set a loose goal
there.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Kill me.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-90059840103283744672013-12-02T09:22:00.001-05:002013-12-02T09:22:06.704-05:00Rebuilding the Engine: the Triathlon.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So as you may lovingly recall, we had
three days to repair the car by installing both valve cover gaskets.
Which are located in the engine. Since day one and two were spent
ordering parts and trying to fix the breaks on the truck the only
thing we were able to do that evening was pull apart the top layer of
shit under the hood, and unhook and label hoses and wires. So when
the cold watery winters light crept back over my little farm on day
three the clock began.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
See, we had to be at work the next day.
And when I say that, I mean there was no way we could miss this job.
At all ever. It could not happen. But of course we can't drive the
car all the way to the big city with it spewing oil all over the back
half of the engine and the muffler.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So that morning we got up to be greeted
by it being 30 degrees outside and snowing.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because ha ha of course it was.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So we do our morning chores and gird
our loins and I play that fine game called what's the warmest clothes
I am willing to get covered in engine cleaner and motor oil and then
we head outside into the <strike>arctic wasteland</strike><span style="text-decoration: none;">
driveway pull the hood open and began. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
The first thing
we had to do was install the new gasket onto the piece we had pulled
out and cleaned. This actually went pretty well, to lure us into a
false sense of security. We pulled the old dry rotted gasket out and
put in the new one, feeling like champions. Then of course, shit got
real. Getting to the first gasket was easy, it was right in the front
of the engine. All we had to do was unbolt the top plate thing and
boom access.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Getting to the
second gasket was a motherfucking adventure.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
See each gasket
lives in these metal rectangles that house the valves. So it get to
the gaskets we had to take the cover/lid/whateverit'scalled off. The
first one was right smack in front of the engine. That second one was
in the very back of the engine under a whole bunch of crap. I mean
like a shit ton of crap.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
So we had to
take off that big metal part on top of the engine that is the part
that looks like an engine. Like, if I took a bunch of random parts
from the car and laid them out in the driveway and asked you to pick
which one went to the engine, you would pick this thing. Of course it
had like eleventy billion wires going to it and hoses and bolts that
connected it to shit.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
So Scott who was
labeling everything ever under that hood was busy taking wires and
hoses off and writing on them and I took it upon myself to remove the
bolts holding this Uber Engine piece to this bracket. Which sucked
all the ass ever.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
First off I was
doing this because I have tiny girl hands* because there was almost
no room behind the Uber Engine piece where the firewall is. And of
course the firewall is a literal thing that separates you from
everything under the hood so if the car explodes into a flaming ball
your legs don't get melted off. So needless to say I can't damage the
firewall.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Also since the
high for the day was 35 motherfucking degrees there was the added
adventure of not dropping bolts down into the black abyss that lives
under the hood. Which is super fun when your fingers are aching and
getting kinda numb.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
So once we got
this Uber Engine piece off and taped over the holes that do magic
things to make the car run that were now exposed, we could then start
on getting to that gasket. Which turned into a big shit fest. Since
there was still a fuck ton of shit on top of the valve cover.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Okay, have you
ever seen one of those movies where the camera speeds alone a tangled
path and shows you, the viewer the whole route that the protagonist
needs to traverse? So like, it starts with our intrepid heroes and
then the camera pulls back and then you see they still need to get
past the dark and creepy forest and over the ravine and then across
the iron bridge and crawl into a storm drain to get into the castle?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
This was just
like that, except made out of auto parts.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
So we proceeded
to unhook a whole bunch of shit and then we tried to unhook the
wiring harness and it just laughed at us and we kept having to run
back into the house to watch how to repair videos. Which was kinda
helpful except all the parts we were having trouble with came off in
the video without a hitch while rays of golden light fell upon the
mechanic and everything was perfect. Needless to say there was a lot
of swearing.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
So after what
seemed like forever we were finally able to pull the damn valve thing
out and clean it. Which of course was super fun because getting your
hands covered in cleaning fluid when it is snowing sideways and you
are working in your driveway on some sawhorses you are using as a
table is just the greatest thing ever.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="text-decoration: none;">Of
course at this point it was already like 3pm and we are starting to
freak out a little because the car is like, really not together at
all and it will be dark in like two hours. So we put in the new
gasket and then try to shove the thing back into the car and back
under the damn wiring harness and then it doesn't want to go and
finally we manage to shove it back in there and then we have to take
a break because it's fucking cold outside. Like, I walked into an
eighty degree </span><strike>house</strike><span style="text-decoration: none;">
mobile home and it didn't feel hot enough. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
So we drank tea
and looked at the clock and then grimly at each other and I wanted to
yell something epic and moving and give an encouraging speech like
that one from Braveheart but I was too damn tired and sore and cold
so I just swore softly under my breath and then started to freak out
a little bit.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Going back
outside was like stepping straight into a freezer made out of car
parts. So we get back up there and began to put the engine back
together. This was a little easier for me because I had seen it come
apart so I just stuck stuff back together based on the labels.
However I did learn an important lesson called “it's totally
possible to take the top half of an engine apart and put it back
together without having any idea what the parts do or what they are
called.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
It's like the
worst 3D puzzle ever, basically.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
A puzzle that
spits coolant and oil all over you.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="text-decoration: none;">Anyway
by this point we are starting to act like the failure fairy has shown
up and blessed us both with her wand of having shit go wrong because
all those things we fought and swore and bloodied our hands up to get
off now have to go back on and our fingers are freezing and it's</span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><i>
still</i></span><span style="text-decoration: none;"> fucking snowing.
</span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
This part is
what I lovingly referred to as the death march stage.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="text-decoration: none;">See
at some point it dawned on me, while I was frantically putting bolts
back on that everything in the engine compartment is vital to the car
running. I realize to someone who knows cars that stating that
sounds super stupid. You know like pointing out that the sky is blue
and that you can heat food using a microwave. However this simple
statement takes on a whole new meaning when you are staring down at
the partially dismantled engine of your car and realize that if you
don't reconnect everything </span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><i>just
right</i></span><span style="text-decoration: none;"> the car will not
run and you will be fucked. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
So as the light
leached out of a gray featureless sky we reconnected hoses and wires
and put plates and brackets back on and then we had to pull out a
work light and head lamps and it got really really ball shittingly
cold and then at last, at long last there was nothing left to connect
or clean and we stared back down at a complete engine compartment.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
So then Scott
got in the drivers seat and turned the key and the car STARTED and
ran it was a the most beautiful thing in the world and then he got
out and we stood there in the cold and dark with the snowflakes
coming down and watched the car running and I felt like this was it,
this was the moment I was going to savor that we had done something I
thought we could not do, and that our crazy plan had worked and even
though I was freezing cold I was going to take this moment right now
and appreciate the shit out of that engine.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
That is until
all that coolant started burning off.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
It was a smell,
is what I am saying.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
But in the end
we made it to work, and that's what matters.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
I'm probably
sure I smelled just lovely when I got there.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
*This is a lie.
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-58351712475156887072013-11-29T10:27:00.001-05:002013-11-29T10:27:48.904-05:00I Need a Teleporter: Both Vehicles are Broken Now.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So we were driving to work the other
day happily unaware that shit was sneaking up on us like a tiny
assassin made out of bad luck and car repair. Unfortunately we became
aware of it when the check engine light came on. So Scott got out of
the car at a gas station and did things under the hood that I did not
understand and then he checked the oil level and it was like super
dry and then he was all like fuck we have an oil leak. And I was all
like that would explain the burning ass smell when we start the car.
Because who drives around with there car smelling like burning
mechanical ass without doing anything about it?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We do.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So in addition to the truck being up on
blocks we now have a problem with the car. Which if you are counting
along at home means that the only thing we now have running is the
backhoe. Which is not street legal and I'm pretty sure that we can't
drive that to work. Fairly sure.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course this whole thing got more
complicated because this is my life and nothing can ever be simple.
Because of our work schedules we had three days off to fix the car.
Sounds like plenty of time right?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ha ha no.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because Day One of crazy vehicle repair
time we had just got home from an overnight job and it was like, 5am.
So the only thing we managed to get done was driving our tired zombie
asses to the auto parts store where of course they only had parts for
the truck and had to order the parts for the car. Also we made the
decision to get all of the parts at once for both vehicles because I
have come to accept that money isn't a thing I get to have anymore.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Goodbye paycheck, may the wind be ever
at your back.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anyway we got the parts back home and
then went and tried to stay awake until bedtime because that is
something that adults do for some reason. At this point we decided to
work on the truck breaks on Day Two because we had all those parts
and it was already sitting there and then when we got the car parts
we could work on it later on in the afternoon.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What this really translated to was that
we spent most of the day fighting the truck breaks.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So first we got out the parts for the
front breaks on the truck. Now these are disc breaks and we have done
a bunch of disc break work before and were all like this should go
pretty fast. Which if you are familiar with this blog means that
everything went to hell in a poop basket.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
To explain, the part that we had to
replace is this metal shell called the break caliper that holds the
break pads. So when you step on the break the caliper squeezes the
pads into this round dish called the break rotor. Basically when you
break the caliper gives the rotor the biggest hug ever. This also
means that when you go to replace the caliper you have to shove the
pads into it and then put it over the rotor like a taco. A metal
filled taco.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Except one of the calipers didn't want
to go on. At all. Ever. So we fought with it. We pried and swore and
used the hammer. We took turns swearing at it while we beat on it
with various things in the vicinity. About then Scott got fed up and
we put the other side which went on perfectly just to make us think
we were crazy.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was about then that we discovered
what the problem was. The thingajig the caliper bolts onto was bent.
I don't just mean a little bent, like oh we could straighten this up
with a hammer, no I mean like bent to shit to the point that when we
gave up and went to get the car parts the guys at the AutoZone told
us our best bet outside of going to a junk yard was to heat it up
with a torch and bend it back. Of course this would mean that we
would be weakening the metal so when the fucker breaks it is going to
break right at that point and then I pointed out that I was a
terribly unlucky person and the auto guys who had watched us buy
parts for two cars at the same time kinda had to agree.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course it was like too damn late in
the day when we went to the auto parts store because breaks are
assholes like that. So then we got all the parts we needed for the
car and drove home, and then we noticed it was getting dark. We also
noticed that we had one day left to do this. So we strapped on
headlamps, got out a work light and began to take the engine apart.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Did I mention we have to replace the
gaskets in the engine? And that we have to take the engine apart to
do it?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We had to take the engine apart.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So this involved us standing in the
driveway with a work light and headlamps, labeling every wire, tube
and hose on the damn thing in order to get it back together the next
day. Of course it was windy as fuck too. So we get all our shit
together and I ask what I can do to help and then Scott tells me to
get a rag and to pull off some such hose and then I get some pliers
and take the little metal thing that holds the tube on and pull it
down the tube and then I grab the rubber firmly and pull and
instantly a whole shit motherfucking ton of fluid comes out of there
like a goddamned fire hose and I freak out and shove the whole thing
back in and then I am like what do I do?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then Scott is like, just take it
off and then I pull it out again and this fucking liquid goes fucking
EVERYWHERE and Scott is all like holy shit that was overfilled and
then we freak out and stuff paper towels in the hole in a dim attempt
to stop the deluge and then I look down into the car and everything
is dripping and then Scott is all like, we'll have to clean that
tomorrow and I'm like fuck this is gonna make the car smell <i>great</i>
when we start it up again.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then we go back to unhooking things
and labeling them and I don't have any more hoses spew gunk all over
me and then it gets windy as fuck because ha ha the weather hates my
guts. Finally we are getting pretty tired and my knees are trying to
murder me and I am limping around because leaning way over the front
of the car is something they don't like to do, apparently and then
finally, finally we can pull off one of things we need to replace and
clean.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At this point we are joined by Tom Tom
Tiger our kitty. He proceeded to demand attention. We try to explain
that we are covered in black gunk from the motor we are scrubbing
down and that he will have to wait. He stalks off.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So there I am busy scrubbing down the
inside of this integral car thing, wondering if it is possible for my
fingers to get any colder, when I hear a squeak. I look down, and in
the weak beam of my shitty Wal-mart headlamp I see Tommy has caught a
mouse. Which is alive. Which he lovingly gave to me.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
By putting it on my foot.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We quit pretty much right after that.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So tomorrow we have to install the new
gaskets and then put the freakin <i>engine back together</i> and then
get ready for work the next day. Should be a piece of cake right?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Right?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Fuck.
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-61016389266719981082013-11-25T10:03:00.000-05:002013-11-25T10:03:02.433-05:00Drum Brakes are Terrible. Terrible I Tell You.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A few days ago Scott decided that he
wanted to get ready to bleed the breaks on the truck since we had
already given our blood sweat and tears to replace the break lines.
So he got ready to go out into winter while I made a few excuses to
stay inside until the last possible second. Luckily for my staying
inside as long as possible plan, Scott came back inside about twenty
minutes later and announced that he had snapped off one of the
bleeder valves and the rest of them were stuck.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now for those of you who don't
understand what all that gibberish underneath your car is, bleeder
valves are these little thingamajigs that when unscrewed a little bit
shoot break fluid out of them like a leaky sink. Which allows you to
get the air out of the break system. Because if you don't get all the
air out of the break lines you'll die.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So no pressure or anything.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So of course when you snap the fucking
thing off two things happen. One break fluid oozes out and two, you
get fucked. I mean like really fucked.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Not just regular fucked.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because that thing that the bleeder
valve connects too, now you have to replace that too. Because nothing
is ever easy. Anyway, instead of bleeding the break, we now had to
put the truck up on blocks like this is the country and pull the
break assembly apart.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Oh joy of joys.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So we trooped outside and I gathered up
cinder blocks and bits of boards and other shit that one needs to
properly place a vehicle up on blocks in the lawn while Scott broke
the tire loose and jacked the truck up. Mainly because I can't be
trusted with Jacks. Things happened man. Things happened. Things.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anyway we pull the tire off and find
that the bleeder valves on an 85 Chevy are on the caliper. Which if
you recall is the part I think I could replace in my sleep if I had
too. Pleased we pulled the calipers off the two front tires like the
caliper wizards we are. I decided not to compose a spur of the moment
song about Caliper Wizards because Scott does not understand my
innate musical talent* and we moved on to the back tires.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which is when Scott told me that the
rear tires have drum breaks and everything went to hell from there.
This was my first time seeing drum breaks. They sucked. Like really.
Like someone who loves Steampunk had decided to make some fucking
breaks. So the break part, the break pad if you will sits inside this
fucking circle and when you hit the breaks the pad shoves into the
inside of the circle and stops the truck. Or something like that. I
am not really sure. What I am sure about is that getting all those
bits apart is super shitty.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Like really shitty.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So we pull the large circle thing off,
and then we discover the pad bits are held on with springs. Springs
that wanted to stay where they are thank you very much. So we fought
the damn springs off and then tried to get the thing the bleeder
valve was on removed and then we came to the conclusion that that
thing was part of the axle somehow.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which if you are following along at
home, means we are like, what are we up to now? Double fucked? Triple
fucked? I'm not really sure how fucks compile. I mean this was never
really covered in math class. Although it damn well should have been.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Back to the point, it was getting kinda
dark because winter plus mountains plus living under a ridge equals a
four thirty sunset so we gave up, pushed the tires under the truck
cleaned up our tools and went to go eat meat from the crazy meat van.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Hooker</i> Meat. **
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
*This is a lie. I have no musical
ability whatsoever. At all. None. Zippo. Nada. Nothing. Just to clear
that up.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
** Probably.
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-43052305422842092102013-11-21T10:31:00.002-05:002013-11-22T09:53:17.228-05:00I Fixed the Toilet. I am a Toilet Champion. <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I was deep in the midst of cleaning the
other day when I got a nasty surprise. I was doing my usual method of
cleaning a shitty mobile home from the eighties which involves taking
everything that had accumulated in the living room throwing away the
trash and then putting whatever is left into the no mans land that is
the tacked on toilet bathroom area in the bedroom that is missing the
dividing wall because rednecks.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It's a system I have.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I didn't say it was a <i>good </i>system.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I was back there doing shit when I
happened to glance over at the toilet and realize that the entire
area and plywood under it is soaking wet. Of course after just
replacing the ENTIRE FUCKING FLOOR because of a leaky water heater I
went into defcon panic mode three and proceeded to loose my shit all
the way back into the kitchen where I grabbed Scott and made him look
at it because that is just the cross husbands have to bear.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So he gets flashlights and pokes around
and announces that the bolts that hold the tank onto the bowl part
are leaking. So then he tells me he is going to go up to the shed and
see if he has any rubber washers that would fit those and then he
walks up to the black holes of insanity that our are poorly organized
sheds. Then I get the bright idea that because of the older mobile
home we <strike>abandoned to the wolves</strike> are using as storage
we have a spare toilet.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A spare toilet with bolts on it that
is.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I tell Scott of my plan and he
points out that toilet is even older then this toilet but I can take
a wrench over there and see because it is not like he is making any
progress here. So then I grab a head lamp and some tools and some cat
eye medication because I have taken to dosing Emoticon's eyes
whenever I see her and then I go over there.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course the cats are there and feed
them and put drops in Emoticon's eyeball and then she tells me she
hates me and then I go inside and see about getting that
motherfucking toilet apart. I figured that this bit was going to be,
like super shitty because the bolts were like 40% rust and were
probably bent on becoming one with the porcelain like metallic
budists. Luckily for my plan but not for my sanity the bolts <i>weren't
even motherfucking tight</i>.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ha ha lol. Whatever.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I pull those fuckers off and see
that the rubber seal on them is still intact and then I am all like,
score. So I take them back up to the shed and clean them up and tell
Scott I think this is going to work and then I pry him away from
checking endless drawers and boxes and totes for rubber washers and
we go back inside and try to get the old bolts off.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The operative word being “try.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because it turns out that the top of
the bolts, the part that sits in the tank, was completely gone. Like
the water had rusted it away to nothing. So then we had to pry the
rubber washer bits off, or more like what was left of them. Of course
it was rusted away just enough to stop me from being able to unscrew
the nut but not enough to allow us to pull the washer up easily.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which is how we ended up breaking
<i>another</i> part of the toilet.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So in the end we managed to pull away
the rubber washers and scrap the remainder of the tops off and shove
the bolts down through the holes with a screw driver. So then I
install the new pieces, muttering vague swear words and pleas to the
god of toilets that this fucking works and then I tighten them down
trying not to think about all the weird toilet tank poop water that's
probably on my hands by now and then it fucking works.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course being paranoid I kept
checking on it and wouldn't let Scott put any of the tools away till
like twenty minutes later because I kept expecting to fail
magnificently somehow but so far it appears to be good. Then I had to
clean my hands like fifty million times while singing “I fixed the
toilet” to the tune of “I shot the sheriff” while Scott offered
me pie to stop me from singing.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which was very effective, I might add.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So in conclusion, I am the Toilet
Champion.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Champion of Toilets if you prefer.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I should put that on my business card.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-1983268410808769512013-11-16T10:22:00.000-05:002013-11-16T10:22:29.709-05:00The Crazy Meat Van Stopped at my House.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So the other day I was wandering around
the house in my ripped up jeans when I heard a knock at the door. So
I went to answer it and found an attractive blond guy standing on the
porch. He was all like, hey I drive a meat van and I have a few
deliveries in this area and thought I might be able to interest you
in some meat products. And then I agreed because it's apparently not
in my willpower to refuse an attractive guy when he wants to show me
meat.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It's a weakness I have.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then he is like I'll be right back
and of course me and Scott follow him up the driveway because there
is a crazy meat van in it and then he comes back with these huge
boxes and I got in inkling that maybe this wasn't such a hot idea
anymore and then he asks if we have a kitchen table and we say yes
and then I started to wonder what kind of world he lived in where
people wouldn't have kitchen tables and then we got inside and the
house and he puts the boxes down.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then he proceeds to open them up and
lay boxes of prepackaged vacuum sealed meat on the table and talk how
awesome consuming dead animals is. Of course each of the large boxes
he has is filled with smaller boxes that are filled with steaks like
some sort of fucked up Russian nesting doll made out of animal parts.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course it was about then when he is
pressuring Scott into buying some stuff that I start to wonder if
maybe he murdered a hooker or something because I have never really
heard about a crazy meat van before and maybe it's filled with murder
victims or Soylent Green or someshit. So I start asking questions
about the animals before they were made into steaks as though I could
catch him if these 'steaks' were really more like 'ex wife' or
'nameless drifter' but he was too clever for me.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Also he was attractive.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then Scott starts haggling on the price
of some pork and steaks and whatnot and then we decide if we really
want meat from the crazy meat van and I'm all like what the hell,
when life gives you a random meat van you might as well take
advantage of it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course he points out that they have
chicken too and I point out that I own <i>real live</i> chickens
which pretty much ends that discussion. So then he packs up what we
didn't want and then I feel kinda weird because this probably means
that the crazy meat van will be back at some point because we have
fallen for it's tricksy wiles this time and I am probably going to
get badgered by the crazy meat van every time they come up here.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which is a sentence I never really
thought I would type, really.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course the whole thing will probably
work out in the end because they sell bacon. I don't know much about
high class living, but I think having a van show up to your house
with the explicit purpose of selling you bacon can't be a bad thing.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Just as long as it's not a crazy meat
<i>murder</i> van.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Eh, I'll take my chances.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For bacon.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-49298034950530880102013-11-12T09:34:00.001-05:002013-11-12T09:34:40.139-05:00Emoticon is Once Again a Free Kitty.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So in what is hopefully the last
chapter in the saga of my cats eyeballs, we went in to get more meds
and then the vet was all like we should do another check up on her
and then I was like okay whatever it's not like I need money to live
or anything. Which of course involved pouring her into a carrier and
listening to her yowl super loudly in the car for half an hour.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because love.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then we got to the vets and the
place is like super empty and then I am all like score and then we
get admitted into the little room with the exam table and it takes
two people to get Emoticon out of the carrier because she can turn
herself from a solid into a liquid state at will. It's a talent she
has.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then Mr. Vet Guy comes in and has a
look at her and puts more dye into her bad eyeball and then we have
that discussion about where to go from here. Her good eye is
completely wonderfully cleared up. But her bad eye is still a big fat
ulcery mess. I explained that while I had not seen much improvement
in the bad no good eye or the ulcer I had wanted to give her a bit
more peripheral vision because it was a big hard world out there.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He points out that the ulcer thing is
still picking up on the dye so he kinda doesn't want to stop
treatment but he has to admit that I have been treating this thing
for fucking ever and we really haven't seen that much improvement.
Because whatever damage was done to it was kinda deep.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The real problem as I saw it however
was that Emoticon was becoming depressed. She was not coming out of
her crate anymore in the mornings and was trying to hide from me when
I went to dose her. She had stopped playing with her toys, stopped
running around like a crazy cat and was spending more time sleeping
on the floor like a little furry rug.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then he said that we could probably
put Emoticon back outside as long as her eye didn't get any worse
because she didn't appear to be in pain and we had been treating this
damn thing for like the entire fucking summer and into fall and at
this point and it was unlikely that we were going to have some sort
of eyeball epiphany at some point where she would get super better
and have rainbows shoot out of her eyes.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Well he didn't say all that, I'm
paraphrasing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then I took Emoticon home and let
her go out onto the porch where she acted completely baffled that she
was outside and then she didn't show up for dinner or breakfast and I
was beginning to freak out that <strike>I just blew 300 dollars</strike><span style="text-decoration: none;">
she was dead or ran away or something and then she showed up for
lunch and hissed at her sister and then I thought everything just
might be okay. Especially because she is not misjudging jumps and
flailing about in the weeds anymore. Also she gained a lot of weight
being inside. Which she seemed to put directly over a layer of rock
hard kitty muscle. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Her sister
doesn't stand a chance, is what I am saying here.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="text-decoration: none;">Hell
at this point I don't think </span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><i>I</i></span><span style="text-decoration: none;">
stand a chance. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Which is why I
am trying to stay on her good side.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Tom Tom Tiger
had better watch out.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
It might be
getting real on this farm.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="text-decoration: none;"><i>Kitty</i></span><span style="text-decoration: none;">
real. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-35753454528756688812013-11-08T10:25:00.000-05:002013-11-08T10:25:27.850-05:00Truck Break Lines Day Two, a More Sober Account.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Luckily on day two of trying to fix the
damn break lines my body seemed to be adjusting to the medication a
bit better and I know longer felt high as a goddamned kite. Which was
almost disappointing because in the cold harsh light of almost
sobriety rerunning break lines sucked all the ass.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So to recap my former really, really
drugged up on prescription drugs I have to take because my stomach is
an asshole account of the first day, we ran all the break lines
leading to the front tires to this hub thing that sits bolted to the
bottom of the frame of the truck and we ran the two main lines from
the hub thing to the reservoir that holds the break fluid. So the
break fluid gets to go on a super awesome fun water ride down to the
hub where it get sent out to each tire on a slightly less magical
adventure. You know, in case my loose rambling drugged up previous
account didn't cover any of this.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It totally didn't cover any of this.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I could go back and edit it to make
more sense, but that would ruin the memories. The drug memories that
is.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anyway today's super special mission was
to run the lines to the back tires. So two lines needed to follow the
frame of the truck from the front hub to the back hub, and then two
more lines from the back hub to the tires. Don't worry if that
doesn't make any sense, because after what I went through I think the
best option is that if your break lines fail you should just buy
another car.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So first off we get out the lines going
to the back and then we get them all set to go and then I crawl under
the truck to the back hub and Scott tries to feed the line in from
the front. Except there's this bit where the lines have to go around
the frame and some other bullshit I don't understand. And of course
since we bought pre-bent lines they have all sorts of zig zags in
them all ready.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So basically it was like trying to
shove a coat hanger that has been through a grain thresher through a
keyhole. Except the keyhole has a ninety degree turn in it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was awful is what I am trying to get
at here.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course at one point we got the whole
thing hopelessly stuck to a point where we couldn't go forward or
back so we put a coupler there and Scott had to deal with all the
excess on his end because we are not super mechanics here and
hopefully everything will work and we won't go careening over a cliff
because my state doesn't believe in guard rails.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So the next step was trying to get the
rear lines on from the hub to the tire parts. The problem here was
that the bolts were so rusted that I had to scrape rust off to get
the wrench on and then when I did get the wrench on the damn thing it
didn't move at all whatsoever. Of course Scott was still struggling
to attach shit to the front hub so I was on my own.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What followed was a montage of both of
us laying under the truck on plywood grunting and whimpering as we
fought those motherfucking ass break lines into place with our blood
sweat and tears.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the end I still has to get Scott to
undo the bolts for me. Which pretty much set a president for the rest
of the day while Scott did all the hard shit and I handed him tools
because for whatever reason I could NOT get any of the rustastic
bolts off and I couldn't get any of the new ones in.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which pretty much destroyed any
lingering glory from that wheel strut job we did last winter. Not
that I am bitter or anything. Although I suppose I could just blame
this attempt on the drugs.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So about this point we work our way
back up to the front hub. You know the one we sweated and bleed all
over the first day to attach the front lines too? Well it turns out
we can't get the last line off of it. We tried everything we could
think of and even debated taking a torch to it but Scott vetoed that
plan because it was right next to the fuel line and Scott hates being
set on fire by a seemingly unending spray of gasoline.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So after some cursing and a cup of tea,
we decided we are going to have to remove that hub piece I don't
really know the name of and possibly replace it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which would totally negate all our
efforts from yesterday.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So Scott pulls it off and then takes it
up to the sheds and manages to remove the stuck line and then we
wrestle the damn thing in place and reconnect the lines which sucked
all the ass and took like an hour of our lives.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And by 'we' I mean 'Scott.'
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I mostly got him tools and then
crouched right in front of him to keep the sun out of his face
because by this time it was trying to set on us and finally, finally
the damn thing was all together and then we decided to bleed the
breaks later.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then we threw the tools in the truck
cab and went back up to the house and had dinner which I can't taste
at all because this is seriously the most fucked up stomach
medication in the world and I had to keep asking Scott if dinner was
good and he kept telling me it was and now I have to go take a shower
and maybe eat some chocolate.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You know, to see if I can taste it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Purely in the interest of science, you
understand.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Purely.
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-89636063910383280562013-11-04T09:07:00.000-05:002013-11-04T09:07:04.079-05:00The Breaks on the Truck Died a Sad and Terrible Death.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So awhile ago we were getting firewood
and we had unloaded the last load and then I went into the house
to take the dog out and then Scott got back into the truck to put it
into the upper driveway and then the breaks died and then he had to
use a fence post and the woodpile to keep the truck from rolling into
the ditch and then he had to ease it onto the lower driveway without
sending it over the bank and into the creek.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which was fun.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then we had to go to work and then
there was more work and then Scott ordered more break lines on the
internet and then we flash forward to today to where we happened to
be home for like a whole 48 hours and it wasn't snowing outside.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So after doing my morning chores and
taking all the pills I need to take now because my stomach is a dick
we went out to install the new break lines. So we drug everything we
needed all the way down from our sheds to the end of the other driveway
and then we got ready and we took the break lines out of the box and
then we slid plywood under the truck so we didn't have to lay on the
freezing cold gravel and then we girded our respective loins and then I
realized that I was starting to feel a little weird. Because new
medication and all. “It's okay” I said to myself, “this is like
the third day on these fuckers, I'll feel a little weird and then
I'll be fine.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In retrospect, that was the stupidest
thing I have ever thought.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But I'm blaming it on the drugs.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So Scott took the old lines off and I
handed him tools and listened to him invent new swear words because
the bottom of a 85 Chevy from the mountains is like 80% rust and then
he sent me up to the shed to get some wrenches. Which of course meant
I had to cross one field and our yard and then walk all the way up to
the shed. To counter the fuzzy feeling of the meds I just chanted
what he wanted me to get so I would not forget and then I got to the
shed and opened the drawer of box wrenches and then I just stared at
it for awhile trying to figure out what the words I was saying meant
and that's when I realized I was high as balls.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As balls here people.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Balls. </i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then I get back with the tools and
Scott is all like where is the 17mm wrench and I was all like, um, ah
I couldn't find one. And then he was kinda irritated because he had
to walk all the way back to the shed but I didn't care because I was
chemically unable to give a fuck.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anyway at this point I usually give a
run down of what we are doing but this time I can't do that because <i>I
had no idea what was going on</i>. My whole day was a series of
disconnected things that happened. And all of them sucked ass.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
First off we had brought the pre-bent
break lines because we assumed it would be easier to install them.
Unfortunately all that did was make it incredibly hard to get the
fucking metal tubes through all the other shit in the truck. They
kept catching on things like the frame and the whatsadoozit and then
we couldn't get the threaded ends to line up with the hub thing that
they went to and then they wouldn't thread on because nothing can
ever be easy.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So we would take turns laying under the
truck trying to get them to thread on and they were all like, ha ha
ha no. And then we would switch places and try all sorts of arcane
things to bend and shove the break lines into alighting with the
break thingamajig until finally I gave up and got out from under the
truck and Scott asked me to get something and then I found I could
only walk to the left for about five steps and then I almost ended up
in the garden.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because muscle relaxers.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then Scott pulled some magic trick
and got the damn things to thread and then we gave up for the day and
then I was thinking about spending my evening sitting in a
prescription drug haze and then Scott reveals that all we got done
were the front breaks and we hadn't even touched on the back breaks
yet and then I thought about doing this all again tomorrow and then I
supposed I should have felt depressed but then I didn't really feel
anything other then the fact I was loopy as fuck.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And of course this would have been the
night we were supposed to go to dinner at grandmas and then I had to
pretend that I was totally super not stoned out of my fucking mind
even though my pupils were the size of dinner plates.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which was like, dinner challenge level
5000.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Luckily I think I pulled it off.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Maybe.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Mostly. Sortof. Pretty sure.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Oh god sweet Jesus take me now.</i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ahem. I'm fine.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Or well I will be when I take the next
dose, that's for damn sure.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-32553607258261499882013-10-31T02:06:00.001-04:002013-10-31T02:06:59.406-04:00My Stomach Hates me and a Trip to the Doctor.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So a few days ago my stomach decided it
had had enough of this digesting food shit and that it was super
pissed at me for demanding that it do something with the food that I
eat. Which is for me, sadly normal. Because my stomach is a dick.
Which meant I had to go back to the doctor. Since I am one of those
people who won't go to the doctor until I feel like death is coming
for me in the night, Scott had to hound me until I made the
appointment and then I didn't want to go because I had had like four
hours of sleep the night before because of work and it was snowing.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I like to experience winter from inside
the house.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I went back to the doctor and we
talked about the fact that my stomach is like an narcoleptic serial
killer that can only remember to kill me when it's awake and then we
talked about the fact that you know, having untreated depression and
anxiety problems might be at the root of all this and then she gave
me a bunch of prescriptions.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because pills.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I get home and flip through all the
sheets they give you when you start new medications because I enjoy
scaring the the crap out of myself and then I see that one of the
pills is twice a day before meals and then I take one and it turns
out it's an intestinal antispasmodic which is a fancy way of saying
it's a goddamned muscle relaxer. Then we had dinner and then I took a
shower and put meds in the cats eyeballs and then I went and sat down
at the computer and that's when I realized I was high as fuck.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I mean stop the presses high as fuck.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Like I couldn't read words on my
computer high.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then I started to kinda freak out a
little because my <i>arms had no weight </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and
I felt like my torso was sinking through the floor and then I was all
like shit man this ain't good. So then I wandered around the house
while Scott assured me that this was all totally normal and that I
shouldn't worry and that it would get better the longer I was on this
med and then I was like I am never taking this again because oh my
god my fingers are all weird now. Also I kept rubbing my left arm but
not my right arm because I don't even know anymore. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
So after a bit the
weirdest feelings passed and I kinda felt alright and it seemed to be
doing what it was supposed to be doing and then I realized that I
felt great and I also did not give a fuck. I am not sure why muscle
relaxer has this effect on me but it does. And that effect was that I
was all out of fucks to give times a thousand.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Like the house
could have caught on fire and collapsed around me and I would have
stood amid the burning wreckage giving it the finger with both hands
kind of not giving a fuck.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course I felt
great. I felt fantastic. My stomach felt great and I felt a great
lassitude and captions of cat pictures on the internet were suddenly
the funniest thing ever. Then I went to bed and it was so soft and
comfortable like I was laying on a big cloud that smelled like dog
and then I shut my eyes and when I woke up and felt like I was
wrapped in fuzz and I can't remember a damn thing for more then 20
seconds and I haven't even taken anymore of it and it's taken me two
tries to write this blog entry.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because
prescription drugs are the best drugs.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Today however I
decided to take the next drug she put me on and now I am dizzy and
lightheaded and feel weird again and typing is like magic because
words are appearing on the screen as I think them because fingers are
the best and hand eye coordination is the best and have you ever
thought about how weird that is?
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Like how typing is
all... neat?
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I mean like have
you?
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Like really?
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
This is all like,
whoa.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I need to stop
typing now.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-26701135551229348422013-10-26T22:13:00.000-04:002013-10-26T22:13:00.151-04:00We Fixed the Furnace. Again.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So the next day we got back up
determined to get the correct part from the hardware store that is
not conveniently located and try to fix the motherfucking fuel oil
furnace before we froze to death or the cold demon got us or
something. So after doing the morning chores and a good hunk of the
afternoon chores we got in the car and sped off to the store where we
found the correct CAD eye cell dealy bober and then we somehow ended up
in a Walmart because they have mind control rays or something. Oh and
I needed muffins. When I have stomach problems I eat muffins. That's
just how I roll.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anyway we got back to the house and
then faced the super not fun at all task of installing the damn
thing. The CAD Cell eye dohicky went in fairly well, because all we
had to do was pull the old one out and snap the new one in.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And by “we” I meant “Scott.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then he also did a bunch of stuff
with the wiring on it I did not understand and then he moved on to
the damn door latch because this is replace all the parts day on this
farm. So then he poked it and I asked if he needed a hand and then he
said no and then he was all like wait can you get me my Leatherman so
I did and then he does some other shit and then he says he doesn't
need me. Then the next thing I hear is “I hope I don't get
shocked.” Followed immediately by “OW FUCK!”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which is really the last thing you want
to hear at that point.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then I reappeared at the end of the
hallway and was all like “What the hell happened?”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And Scott was all waving his arm around
like a Wacky Waving Inflatable Tube Man and he was all like “I just
got shocked what the hell do you think just happened?!”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then I'm all “Why didn't you just
turn the damn breaker off?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then he was all like “I didn't
know which breaker it was.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
An then I was all “why don't we test
the damn breakers because I am like standing right here?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
An he was like, “okay.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then we went and I turned the damn
breaker off and he put in the switch without getting electrocuted and
then I went to make a cup of tea and I came back to him sitting on
the floor in front of the furnace staring into it's depths with his
tools all around him and then he tells me it isn't working.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then I am all like “why don't you
shut the door?”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then he is all like,” well that
would make sense since I just replaced the damn <i>door latch</i>.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then he shut the door and the
fucking furnace came on and now the house is approaching livable
instead of witches titty. And nobody died. That's the most important
part. The lack of death. By electrocution.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course now I have to go take off the
super fleece thermals I put on because it being like 50 degrees
inside all day while I was feeling like ass was super not making me
happy at all ever so I put on all the layers ever until I felt like a
fat starfish but now I am like way, way too hot.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which is fantastic really.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So if you excuse me I am going to
celebrate my new found heat by going down to one layer and eating some
crackers.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You know, being my usual wild off the
hook self.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It's gonna be a party.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A <i>heat and cracker </i>party.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-40618724270669960532013-10-22T10:20:00.000-04:002013-10-22T10:20:07.863-04:00So the Furnace Broke. Again.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So a few days ago I awoke to the
special joy of it being the same temperature outside as it was
inside. Which was cold. Because of course the fuel oil furnace had
refused to turn on. Which was super great for my stress levels. I
mean it's totally not like our 40 to 30 degree weather has me burning
firewood that I had set aside for the dark cold depths of winter and
also the wood stove cranks the inside temperature into the Sahara or
anything.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I mean, it's not like we already paid
someone to come out and fix it once.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ha ha hah no. Fuck.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I awoke to the super balls cold of
47 degrees and put on thermals and made a fire and then played an
extra special round of what is wrong with the furnace this time. Of
course when hitting the reset button failed to produce an furnace
operating epiphany, we fell back on the old standby of poking it a
few times and then went to find the list of things the old dude who
had come to fix it said we might have to replace at some point.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because we were now at “some point.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Unfortunately because of our work
schedules we could not make it to the store during the hours it was
actually open because I only know of one store that even sells fuel
oil furnace parts and it is a locally run store that isn't open on
Sunday and past five. Which was also unfortunate because my body
picked that night to become hellishly sick and I spent a good chunk
of time huddled on the bathroom floor at 47 degrees.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which was, if you are wondering, the
exact opposite of fun.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was also the exact opposite of
fixing that furnace.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It also meant that I had to miss work.
Which pissed me the shit off because unless I am actively dying to
the point that Jesus is coming for me and I can see the light of
heaven I usually go to work. Because money.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So after wandering around the ice cold
motherfucking mobile home I decided to make a fire and crank the
stove up to like eighty because my skin hurt too much for me to just
put on a goddamn sweater and then I tried not to think about how cold
it was going to get overnight because there was no way in hell I was
going to get up at 2am and put more wood in the stove.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I spent another freezing ass night
where I realized that the dog is only capable of heating my torso
even if I put him under the blankets with me and then my legs felt
like stiff pieces of wire and like they were trying to get a divorce
from my torso and then Scott came home and we went to buy more
furnace parts.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course we were going to take
pictures of the parts with our phones because planning and then we
didn't because bad planning and in the end we just bought what the
sales guy said would fit our stove based on our loose description of
what we had.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It's how we roll.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which was when we learned that a new
CAD Cell Eye, you know the bit that regulates the fire and whatnot is
like 8 bucks and a new door switch is like, 19 because the door
switch is made out of unicorn horn or someshit. So we were just like
whatever we need this to work and then we get home and of course it
isn't the right CAD Cell thing because ha ha fuck you Holly and your
shit dreams.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So now we are going out to buy the
other CAD Cell Eye thingadoozer and then try to install it and then
if that doesn't work I am building a blanket fort in my office and
living in it with the dog until spring.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You know like a mature adult would do.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Okay.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I guess Scott can come too.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-88010492321672107922013-10-18T09:19:00.000-04:002013-10-18T09:19:12.481-04:00So All Day Hangovers are a Thing Now.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">So in
a lapse of judgment a few days ago I got super sweet Jesus drunk with
some friends. I mean like all the drunk. I drank all the beers. How
many? All of them. In retrospect this was a bad decision. Actually
scratch that, I knew it was a bad decision at the time, I was just
too drunk to give a crap. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Which
was in retrospect, even more of a bad sign. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">So
lets just say that by the time I made it to the bedroom I had lost
vertical hold and I immediately abandoned Operation: Bed in favor of
Operation: Towel Fort on the Bathroom Floor Praying for Death. Just
then my Super Best Friend texted me because she never sleeps. Or is a
vampire or something. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">This
is our conversation edited heavily because I just got this new smart
phone like a week ago and typing on it's tiny keypad when I was drunk
was like trying to hit one ant out of twenty with the blunt end of a
fire extinguisher. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">It was
hard is what I am saying. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">So
it's time for another drunk texting adventure with Holly. You're
thrilled, I know. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME: I
am Trashed. The room isn't quite spinning but I have lost my vertical
hold. Like, every time I try to lay in bed the room spins but the
bathroom is cold as fuck. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">SUPER
BEST FRIEND: Towel Fort? </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
Why the Fuck is alcohol legal? Why god why? So cold. So bathroom.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
Why does the bathroom vent run ALL THE TIME!? </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">SUPER
BEST FRIEND: I always wonder that too but that's always why I sit in
the bathroom when I am way too drunk because it's like a cold shiny
cave. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
May be trapped in bathroom. Please do not abandon me now. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">SUPER
BEST FRIEND: That's the worst. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
Help meeeeeee. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">SUPER
BEST FRIEND: I would chug water, either it will cause you to throw up
or rehydrate you. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
Well I drank a bunch of water and it hurts. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">SUPER
BEST FRIEND: I'm surprised your doing this well with your texting. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
Yeah, it's like I am being forced to transcribe messages onto the
side of a mouse. Considering I can't stand up, me too. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">SUPER
BEST FRIEND: The key pads are pretty tiny. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME: At
least I know someone is on my side. Well besides the toilet. He may
be on my side. Hard to tell with toilets. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">SUPER
BEST FRIEND: ...</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
Night one of the arctic expedition. Temperature drop not unexpected
but very cold. Despite building barrier wall fort bed was swept by
nausea windstorm. Have hunkered down to whether storm. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
Water supplies low. Must brave Mt. Sink in order to make it till
morning. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME: It
will be a dangerous climb. I cannot attempt summit directly. I must
travel up the south face to reach the summit. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
The locals call the south face only “toilet.” I have yet to
puzzle out it's meaning. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME: I
have gained the summit. Although at much cost. Was forced to rest on
toilet.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
The cold grows worse as the night deepens. I have made it back to
lower base camp towels. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
All seems undisturbed. The high cold winds of the summit are not as
strong here. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
Still the ever present wind is here. It is a constant hand pressing
on me. Numbing my fingers and toes. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME: I
have to stay awake. I have to keep my fingers and toes from freezing.
Will never reach morning if I cannot use hands. Hope to recover base
camp bed. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
Was it the folly of man that led me here? To the ends of the
hospitable world? Was it a driving need to feel such remote places
reflected in oneself that drove me? </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
Extremities losing feeling. I must attempt base camp bed or I may
perish.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME: If
I do not make it, I hope this journal will be found. May it be my
last will and testament.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
Water supplies low. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
After a long and grueling journey I have made it to base camp bed. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
Most of my gear is still intact. Praise god that I may keep my
fingers and toes.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
Pray that I will see morning. Wind has died down. Storm nausea his
lost its fury. Tent bed no longer snaps and heaves in the wind. No
longer does the wind threaten to raise my tent and loose it from it's
moorings and cast me asunder. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME: I
may yet sleep and await the late arctic dawn.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
However I must upon waking resume my trek to Mt. Sink for water
supplies are again low. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
Due to my dire situation I found I could not eat. So I hope with
the cold arctic dawn my apatite shall return. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
Believe now that I will see morning. Base camp bed warming up. I feel
grateful to be alive in this great cold wasteland. Grateful to have
come. To test myself against the brittle rocks of fortune. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME:
All may yet be well. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">SUPER
BEST FRIEND: I feel this is the beginning of a great children's story
book about being sick lol. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">ME: I
know right? </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">SUPER
BEST FRIEND: Ha hah I miss drunken nights with you. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">And
then we had ALL THE FEELS and then the next morning I got a hangover
that lasted THE ENTIRE GODDAMN DAY. Because getting older kinda
blows. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Just a
little. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">And
yes I really did text my friend all of that when I was drunk and
trapped on the bathroom floor at like, two in the morning. Also I
apparently turn into an eighteenth century explorer when I am super
drunk. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Because
I am like, a super writer who doesn't let pesky things like hand eye
coordination and sobriety get in her way of writing a banging story
which is pretty inspirational if you think about it. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Except
for the toilet bit.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-91179415077433690372013-10-15T17:31:00.000-04:002013-10-15T17:31:40.806-04:00Fairy Tales and the Extremely Unquestioning People Within Them.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So lately I have been rereading the
Grim's Fairy Tales. Possibly due to feeling too much like a peasant.
It's kind of weird to read them now, as an adult. You start picking
up on all the weird little shit that you never noticed as a kid.
Like the fact that the stories will just make all sorts of
statements like, “while the nix was at church, the children saw
their chance and escaped.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Like, oh of course nixs go to church.
And I'm all like they do? Wait what the fuck<i> is </i>a nix? Then
the story is all like, it was a water nix. And I'm all like, oh okay
that makes -no more sense, really.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Whatever a nix is apparently they are
very pious. Unless it was a satanic church. Which would probably
explain why the nix didn't take the children with her. Although when
you have captured two children and are making them your unwilling
slaves, you might as well just go ahead and take them to the satanic
church anyways. I mean your in this deep anyway right? Unless the
other nixs will make fun of you. That might be bad.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anyway I was reading along learning
such important lessons as talking goats are assholes, and foxes might
be smart, but they will fuck you over big time if given half a
chance, when I came to this story: The Juniper Tree.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now in the Juniper Tree a wife longs
for a child 'as red as blood and white as snow' and she wishes so
hard she gets pregnant and has the kid and then dies. Because
midwives are for non magical births only, apparently. So her husband
morns for a while and then remarries. Like you do. So stepmother and
him boogie down (off screen of course) and have a girl.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Great. Good for them.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Except step wife realizes at some point
that with his son in the picture, her daughter is going to get like
nothing when the husband offs it. Which I have to stop here and say
is a very good point, considering up to this juncture the women have
been locked in towers and tarred and set upon by wild beasts for so
much as thinking about, you know, perhaps not doing everything their
male overlords have told them to do. I am sure inheriting your own
forest shack or whatever would be miles above being stuck in a glass
coffin for seven years cause you didn't want to marry the creepy
magician.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Unfortunately the stepmother decides
the best way to do this is to kill the guys son.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Not what I would have picked, but okay.
Alright. Whatever.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She does this by telling him to get an
apple out of a chest, and then cutting his head off with the lid.
First off I have never heard of an apple <i>chest</i> and also, that
had to be one bitchen lid. I mean like how heavy and sharp would that
fucker have had to be? Like, making a pie in that house would be
taking your life in your own hands.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then she freaks the fuck out. Because
you know, she just murdered her husbands son. Plus, I have beheaded
plenty of chickens in my day, and let me assure you there would have
been a lot of blood. I mean like a shit ton. I mean like if both Tim
Burton and Quentin <em><span style="font-style: normal;">Tarantino</span></em>
had been directing this fairy tale amounts of blood.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Her solution?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ha ha I know what you're thinking.
You're thinking that it's gonna be fucked up. I know. What you're
picturing, that's not fucked up enough. No, no it's not. More fucked
up. Closer. Almost.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What she does?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
If you guessed bind his neck up with a
handkerchief, put the apple in his hand wait till the daughter gets
home, tell her to get the apple, ignore her questions about how pale
her brother is, and then tell the daughter to box his ears for not
giving the apple to her so she does and then his head flies across
the room and her own daughter thinks that she is the murderer you'd
be right.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yeah, it's that fucked up.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And when her girl asks WTF they are
going to do now, she tells her will make him into puddings. I can
think of oh about ten ways she could have handled this better.
Because at this point her daughter starts to weep uncontrollably. The
text is very clear on this. Weeping bitterly ain't got nothing on
this. Which of course the girl child does THE ENTIRE TIME THEY ARE
MAKING THE FOOD.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Picture this. Picture you have been out
all day at your day job, whatever that is. Cutting trees, hunting,
bringing in crops, you are tired so you head home. On your arrival
you find your wife has made a shit ton of meat pudding. Like a crap
ton. And your daughter is crying so hard she can't even speak. And
your son in nowhere to be found.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So you're like where is my son. And
your wife is all like, he is um, ah, visiting his uncle. And you're
all like he left? Uh huh. Without even saying goodbye to me? And your
wife is all like, have some pudding?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So you, your wife, and your daughter
who is crying so hard I imagine all this conversation took place in
yells over the sound of her sobbing, sit down to dinner.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Would eat you eat that fucking pudding?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I wouldn't.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And what do you think he did?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yep.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Uh huh.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At that point I had to stop reading.
Like, do you posses no a<em><span style="font-style: normal;">nalytica</span></em>l
skills whatsoever? Like your whole house probably smells of puddings
and blood, your wife (whom I picture as having an insane smile on her
face) has just baked like a shit ton of fucking meat, and your
daughter is crying so hard it hurts, AND your son is mysteriously
missing, WTF are you thinking has just happened?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Does your wife normally do this? Just,
bake a shit ton like that? In one day? With all this meat you have no
idea how she afforded? Do you think that your daughter is just crying
because she broke a nail?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Look, I know I have been reading
through stories about talking drops of blood, glass mountains, a
castle with servants who are cats, and talking magic fish who live at
the bottom of wells, and girls that have gold fall out of their
mouths when they speak, but this is where it all fell apart for me.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm not sure what that says about me,
but I can tell you that if Scott ever starts making a shit ton of
meat pies and I can't find any of the cats, I'm going to order a
goddamned pizza. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-67032517260074958252013-10-11T09:42:00.000-04:002013-10-11T09:42:17.186-04:00Internet Through The Phone and my PC Hates Change.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So you may recall the part of me
getting a new phone was that Scott wanted to move to getting internet
through the phone company like this is the future or someshit. So
after we got home from the store we took the router and hooked it up
and Scott was able to glory in the lighting fast (comparatively)
phone router internet setup and my laptop was all like I HAVE FOUND
THE PROMISE LAND LET US UPDATE EVERYTHING. However to get the
internet on my cranky old desktop PC we would need to install a
wireless card.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Cue ominous music.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Turns out my dads cranky old desktop PC
had a wireless card in it. A card that Scott removed and out into my
PC. Cause there is no way that could ever go wrong. Then he is all
like, let me get the disk and then I freak out about the number of
dust bunnies in my tower. They had a city. A dust bunny utopia, if
you will. So about the point I am going crazy with the vacuum Scott
walks back in and announces he couldn't find the disk.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And I'm all like, my dad kept floppy
disks from the seventies in his desk and he doesn't have the CD to
his wireless card?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
An Scott's all like, no. But it's okay,
because we can just download the software from the internet.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which was about like him saying, it's
okay, we'll just build another car from parts in the garage.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
First off the wireless card sites was
about as easy to navigate as a minotaurs maze, and kept telling my
brand of wireless card didn't exist even though it totally did. Then
when we did the get the right files my PC refused to allow them to be
added manually. In the end I had to restart and use the found new
hardware wizard to add the files by gently pointing it to the right
folder before it could get all judgey with me.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then we finally got it to the point
where the drivers were installed and working only to discover that it
couldn't find any networks. Well fuck.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then we did arcane things and
windows told us it was all our fault and it began to get really
passive aggressive and it was like, getting kinda late so I was just
like, why don't we just get a USB wireless adapter from the Wal-mart
tomorrow? And Scott was all like, okay, even though we have to get in
a bunch of firewood tomorrow because winter is a thing that happens
around these parts.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then the next morning we awoke and
made the great pilgrimage to the cooperate demon that is Wal-mart and
bought the motherfucking USB things and drove home. Then Scott was
like, I am going out to get things ready for firewood getting and I
was all like, cool let me just install this and I'll be right out.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And I by let me just install this I
meant a four hour triathlon from hell.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
First off, I put the disk in like it
says and it gets going and sounds like it's having some sort of CD
seizure in there but I don't want to mess with it but no knew dialog
boxes are coming up and I'm getting kinda freaked out but I let it go
and get a cup of tea.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Upon my return I click through a few
things about how they are totally not collecting your information for
nefarious purposes but hey they totally are and I don't need a
newsletter or a tool bar and no you can't have my email address and
then it tells me to plug in the USB and then it can't find the damn
thing. So then I tired another port. Then another one. Then a few
more. Then I debated the likelihood of all the USB ports on my
machine being bad a once.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I decided against it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Outside I could hear the happy sounds
of Scott loading tools into the truck. I shot a hunted look at the
clock and opened my laptop and started searching. After a bit of
hunting around forums I found that this was a very common problem and
there was only one real solution.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I was going to have to delete my third
party non widows firewall.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was the only way.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At that point I calmly walked outside
and told Scott this was going to take longer then I thought. He
nodded grimly and started up the truck. I was on my own now.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What followed was not just me
uninstalling my firewall, guiding the program to the device, spending
something like thirty minutes restarting and manually adding networks
and clicking and unclicking boxes before at last, at long last I had
the wireless network appear on my screen.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And it was slower then shit.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Like turtles with leg injures slow.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What followed was me using the extend
cable to move the USB as close to the router as possible before I got
something resembling internet. Of course this meant that every point
of my failure was marked by a little Velcro square but whatever I am
building a house. I looked at clock again, felt a pang and thought
I'll just reinstall the firewall before going out.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which retrospectively was a lie.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For whatever reason, the firewall
refused to reinstall. I tried everything. I tried old versions. I
tried new versions. I tried running a cleaner to do a clean remove
and then restarted and reinstalled. I tried sacrificing my lunch to
the great Computer God. I tried swearing a whole shit ton of a lot.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Finally I switched on windows
shittastic firewall, went outside and helped Scott stack firewood for
the rest of the afternoon. I stacked firewood like each piece had a
personal vendetta against me. I stacked firewood like it was a
monster dead set against my PC working.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I was kinda pissed off is what I am
saying.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then we get done and I go back
inside and I try to download another firewall but the one I wanted
the reviews are horrible and then I was like I'll just download Avast
because that has a firewall. Only to download the damn thing and find
out that there is no firewall on the free version of Avast and then I
said whatever motherfucker and then I went to make Scott go hold me
and decided I should probably take a shower because wood bits kept
falling out of my shirt and pants pockets.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then I got into the shower and
discovered we were out of soap.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the entire house.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then I had to throw a towel over
myself and walk into the living room dripping all over everything and
Scott had to bring me the soap from the kitchen sink. And then I
contemplated going to bed right then so my shitty ass day would be
over and then I dropped a bowl on my own foot trying to eat ice cream
and found a pimple right on the edge of my lip and then I really did
just go damn bed.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Some days, man, it's all you can do.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Well, besides eat ice cream.
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-12355992492725928552013-10-06T08:57:00.000-04:002013-10-06T08:57:37.204-04:00I Have a Smart Phone Now.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So a few days ago Scott sends me a text
on my ancient slide out keypad phone that he wants to get me a smart
phone and use the phone company to get Internet now instead of our
super shitty satellite Internet that works when it feels like it and
has a love hate relationship with clouds.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Well he didn't send all that in one
text. I'm paraphrasing.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then he got back from the phone store
and was all like they have this little router thing so we can use the
phone network for Internet now. And I was all like how much Internet?
And he was all like, I want to take us up to ten gigs a month. And I
was all like our phones don't work unless we stand smashed up against
the glass sliding door or<span style="font-style: normal;"> </span><em><span style="font-style: normal;">physically</span></em>
walk outside. And then he was all like we'll just put the router by
the door.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And I was all like oookkaayy.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So this all ended up with me standing
in the phone store realizing that I didn't put on deodorant and that
I don't like change. Specifically phone change. Unfortunately for me
the same sales lady that Scott had talked to before was there and she
was all like, here is the phone he was talking about for you. And
then she walks over and unlocks a cabinet and pulls out this little
white box and takes the top off and does that thing to activate the
phone so I can play with the screen and hands me this little slim
streamlined thing about as thick as a piece of cardboard and my first
thought is I am going to break the heck out of it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Okay.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I have this thing, you know, I am
like, strong. I mean, for a girl I am strong as shit right? Okay. Let
me try this again. I once pulled someone's fold out closet door too
hard and broke it because they were all like oh it justs sticks just
pull it really hard and then I gave it a halfhearted little jerk and
then they were all like no, you really have to pull and then I did. I
pulled like I would a stuck board or on a set piece at work and then
the door popped open and top hinge of the fold broke loose with a
bang and I was left holding a big fat accordion like mess and
apologizing while they compared me to some sort of female incredible
hulk.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Except without the incredible part.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I felt a little disconcerted at
holding a phone so light it felt like motherfucking butterflys were
supposed to use it. Of course Scott loved it because it was a smaller
version of his phone and had a better screen resolution and it came
preloaded with a bunch of apps I was probably never going to use. So
then I pulled out my old phone and felt a terrible pang that after
today I was never going to use it again and then I asked to see there
other smart phones and we went over to the wall where they had phones
with screens so big they looked like downsized Kindles.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was about then that Scott got a hold
of the manual and him and the sales lady were telling me a bunch of
gibberish that I didn't understand while I was roaming the bright
displays of phones trying not to breathe too hard on Slim Mc
Breakable.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I had decided to name the phone Slim Mc
Breakable.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The sales lady was not thrilled.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then Scott was all like we'll just
have to get you an Otterbox (protective case thing that is named
after otters I don't know you tell me) and then Sales Lady is all
like oh this phone is too new to have one in yet.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Cue that sound of a record scratching.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then I was like what?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then Scott was all like, when will
you have them in? And Sales Lady was all, next week. And Scott was
like we can just get one next week. And I am all like, we are working
most of next week and then we are gone for like a week to work a
dusty, outdoor, possibly wet festival.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then there was a weird moment where
Sales Lady and Scott and me and Slim Mc Breakable didn't say anything
and then I attempted to explain that it was not possible for Slim Mc
Breakable to survive my life and no I couldn't just carry him in my
bag because it was filled with tools and every time I pack Oreos in
my work bag they come out looking like a topping.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As in my tools crush them into a fine
powder.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As in that is exactly what would happen
to Slim Mc Breakable.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So then Scott asks more questions about
the arrival of the Otterbox and I wander away feeling like I really
don't want Slim Mc Breakable but everything else has a screen big
enough to double as an end table, when I see it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Samsung Rugby Pro.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Fully Waterproof to three meters for
thirty minutes. Can withstand being dropped, smashed and crushed and
doesn't need an Otterbox. Has real touchable buttons on the front and
not those invisible magic buttons. I pull the phone off the wall and
take it over and am all like what about this phone?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Scott's face fell. Protectively he
reached out and took Slim Mc Breakable from me. What followed was us
taking turns on his phone to look up product reviews from each phone.
Rugby against Slim Mc Breakable. He would point out Rugby had a
slower processor and I would point out the Rugby had a fully sealing
case. He would point out Slim was free with the plan where as Rugby
was an extra hundred dollars and I pointed out it was my money and
that Rugby had a stronger screen.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Finally sales lady said she would knock
off ten bucks and that Rugby was one of thier best selling models and
then I said sold and I bought that damn phone and the router. Then I
am pretty sure Scott shot Slim Mc Breakable a tender broken hearted
look. Then Sales Lady goes to move my contacts and SD chip over and I
hand her my old phone and she pulls the back off and is like “is
this sawdust?” And then we look down at the case and sure as shit
there is a bunch of dirt and sawdust ground into the back where the
battery fits and then I tell her I think I bought the right phone.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then Scott had to agree and we went
home and Scott made dinner and I fucked up sending a bunch of texts
because the keyboard is tiny as shit and makes me feel like I have
sausages for fingers.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then Scott is all like, you know I
think you really did get the better phone for your lifestyle and then
I felt really good like maybe this whole new phone thing is going to
work out well after all.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then I accidentally sent my friend
a bunch of blank texts because I kept hitting the send button instead
of backspace.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Whoops.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3622512175933213050.post-85289371307531705252013-10-02T09:13:00.000-04:002013-10-02T09:13:04.601-04:00A Mexican Cookie Assortment and Me.
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So the other day we decided to make the
trek to the OTHER town to the crazy super discount store. There is no
good way to describe this grocery store. For one thing, everything in
it is dented. I mean really dented. One time, I shit you not, they
had those giant bags of ketchup, you know the kind that are supposed
to fit inside dispensers with the word ketchup written on the bag in
sharpie. In case there was any doubt. Also, the place has bare
concrete floors, metal shelving and none of the price tags match
anything. For example, the bottles of weird ass shampoo with the
crumbled bottoms will be labeled 'seafood 1.99.'
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which basically makes it the greatest
grocery store ever.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Except for the bit where they play
religious music all the time. Also the whole place is staffed by
Mennonite women and girls, in their traditional plain dresses and
those weird hat bonnet things.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
No really, I am not making any of this
up. This place is real and I bought a Mexican Cookie Assortment
there.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anyway. We were about done shopping but
then Scott remembered that he wanted to check something in another
section in that winding maze of overstuffed shelving and tired
looking poor people, and I decided to wait by the cart, when my eyes
trailed down an large shelf filled with chips, tortillas, jam, and
popcorn to the bottom shelf. To where there sat something called a
cookie assortment. From Mexico.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xeQ0seELh00/UkwamoLoRnI/AAAAAAAAAgU/ev4nAjE_yGg/s1600/Mexico.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xeQ0seELh00/UkwamoLoRnI/AAAAAAAAAgU/ev4nAjE_yGg/s400/Mexico.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> This.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I must have picked it up and put it
back on the shelf at least three times. There was part of me that
really knew that this thing was not good for me, another part that
wanted to stuff cookies in it's a face, a small part that knew this
was a bad idea, and a really big part that hadn't eaten anything
since breakfast and was really aware of the fact it was like late
afternoon.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I get it home and we have dinner and
I have a few cookies, and immediately I am struck by the fact that none of
these things taste, well <i>normal</i>. Look, okay growing up in
America as I did, when I see a frosted sandwich cookie with white
filling, I expect it to taste like bland vanilla and chocolate. Not
lemons. Never lemon. No. Also they had those sugar rectangle things,
that were flavored, like, strawberries, but not the super fake
oh-my-god-have-you-ever-had-a-real-strawberry flavor, but more like
this is like you took all the wrong parts of the strawberry and
stuffed it into this cookie. I swear that I could taste the
strawberry seeds in those bitches.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aIlVQmZPnjU/UkwbXKgxrhI/AAAAAAAAAgc/v3DzrdY2zdA/s1600/A+Lie,+A+Lie+I+Tell+You%21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aIlVQmZPnjU/UkwbXKgxrhI/AAAAAAAAAgc/v3DzrdY2zdA/s400/A+Lie,+A+Lie+I+Tell+You%21.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> All of this is a flavor lie.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yet, I was pretty okay with it on the
whole. I was broadening my shitty prepackaged cheap ass cookie
horizons. I was being cookie multicultural.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So fast forward to the next morning.
For whatever reason, I woke up thinking that the whole world could
just fuck itself. I was pissed the shit off at everything ever. Which
meant that I got up, ate breakfast and then proceed to stuff cookies
in my face like I was in some sort of self hatred based eating
contest. Which seemed to help. Until afternoon, when my entire
intestinal track got word of what I had done.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And it was not happy about it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At that point, huddled into a bloated
crampy ball in front of my computer monitor I found myself wondering
what on earth made me think that eating a shit ton of low priced
Mexican cookies was a great idea.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At that point, I decided that the
Internet was not doing enough to distract me from the internal war
going on between the forces of Holly's innards and the Mexican cookie
troops, so I decided to reread the Hunger Games.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At this point, I probably should not
have trusted any more of my decisions, because if there is one book
you should probably not read while bloated all to shit on fake ass
south of the border cookies, it's the Hunger Games.
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Which is how I ended up having some
sort of cookie based mental breakdown in the bathroom while clutching
the Hunger Games.
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Suzanne Collins would be so proud.*</div>
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*Author of the Hunger Games.
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Queen Holly the Magnificenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11061266046296726613noreply@blogger.com4