Installing the House Spigot

So today, or well yesterday by the time you read this, we installed a spigot in front of our second mobile home. Which I have only been meaning to do, for oh, over half a year now. See in order to have the septic for the house put in we need a source of water. Previously, we cut the line going into the trailer and removed the water pump. So now we had to install an outside spigot. Oh and septic permits are only good for one year because ha, ha, ha, who doesn't love a ticking clock?

I mean it's not like a hear the ticking of that terrible clock even in my sleep. You know, this is totally like the tale tell heart, except with septic systems instead of murder. And of course they would be passing a new law in 2014 that would super fuck us and make this the only year we can do this shit.

Because life is a bitch like that.

Anyway I woke up this morning and thought- for whatever reason- today is the day motherfuckers. So I drug my ass out of bed, fed the ungrateful hungry mouths, corralled the animals that needed medication, started the laundry, ate some food and then got my ass out the door.

First off was the exciting adventure of we didn't actually know where the fucking water line was. Oh don't get me wrong. We knew where it dead ended under the mobile home. We knew where it started at the holding tank. What we did not know was the route they used to get it there. Or how deep it was.

You know, the little things.

So at first we used the backhoe to gently dig out the top layer of soil with all that motherfucking grass on it. Because grass sucks to dig through. Like really, really sucks. Like super sucks. Of course when we did that we were then struck by the wide swath of dirt that may or may contain a water line. So then we started digging. And we didn't find anything. So we made the hole bigger with the backhoe. Which was not only the joy of having a bigger area to dig, but also undoing all of my former progress. Did I mention this entire thing had to be dug and installed in one day to prevent ground water from filling the hole and fucking us?

This whole thing had to be done in one day.

And then Scott got too hot and had to stop working so the second attempt was mostly me. Which involved me going inside the house drinking caffeinated tea like it was the nectar of life and then throwing myself back outside at the cold uncaring world that brought me to this point.

Which was when I discovered the pipe. Which is also when we discovered that none of the adapters we bought would fit that pipe because it was bigger then we thought. Which was when Scott went to town to buy more fittings and I dug out the entire area around the pipe in the shit clay soil that seemed to be, like, 90% rocks and sadness.

 This. I did this.

 

So then Scott got back and made some sort of crazy super adapter monstrosity and then we got the spigot and all the tools we would need and a sawzall and then we trooped over to the hole. Now, we figured, due to the length of the super adapter, that we would have to cut the pipe twice. Once at the far end and then again where we wanted to attach the damn thing.

What we did not expect was that, when we started cutting into the line, for the water to come blasting out of the pipe like a goddamned fire hose. Since you know, there is no incline or well pump on this, it just comes down from our holding tank with gravity.

And let me tell you gravity was really, Really, REALLY strong that day.

So we freak the fuck out because that magnificent hole I dug is filling up with water and if the end of the pipe goes underwater we are super fucked and not just regular fucked. Because at that point we would have no choice but to let it run until, we ah, ran out of water I guess. It would have been bad is what I am saying.

Of course we still have to make the second cut and Scott wastes no time slapping the sawzall down on the next part of the line but the water is still coming out super shitballs and at one point Scott was yelling at the saw and water was starting to come up over the blade and then the piece finally came loose and then I held the top end of the spigot pipe but couldn't line it up just right. Or at least not without doing that thing where you try to hold the top of the pipe with one hand and the bottom with your other hand and then you become too focused on the bottom and then the top ends up all crooked and then everyone yells at you that you weren't paying attention clearly, even though you were and it's just that this really takes two people. Dammit.

So then Scott had to dive in the hole and line it up even as water starts to spew and fly everywhere and then he dropped the mallet into the water and then he missed twice and then I thought we really were fucked and then he got it lined up and pounded in and water cut off as though by magic and then we realized that we both had been yelling and that we were both really, really wet. Then we had to get a bucket and bail the water out and then we filled the bottom of the hole with gravel and sand.

Then all we had to do was fill the hole back in.

Ha ha that was fun!

Kill me.

So anyway we got that done and we went inside where we had the ceremonial wiping that chore off the white board and we ate food and then I only got half of this written before I said fuck it and when to bed at super ridiculous early.

Because digging all day? Turns out that is hard as fuck.

I mean, I know right?

So now I think I am going to drink tea and get the cat off my lap and try to convince myself to do it all again today.

Going Outside At Night Not for the Faint of Heart.

The first thing you have to understand, is that where I live it gets dark. Like Grimm's fairy tales dark. Like really, really in the middle of the countryside in the mountains dark. Like, you can't just swing this bitch without a flashlight dark.

Now, I never used to be afraid of the dark, until I moved here. And it's not inside dark that bothers me, because I am not going to find a bear in my living room.*

Here is my brain, whenever I have to step outside at night.

ME: Alright let's go. Should we take a gun?

BRAIN: Nah, were just going to the car, everything will be fine, what's the worst that could happen.

ME: Okay, here we go. *Scans yard with flashlight*

BRAIN: Ohh look at the stars... OH MY GOD IT'S BEAR EYES WERE GONNA FUCKING DIE!

ME: That's the reflector on the backhoe.

BRAIN: Oh. Right. Good, good. Carry on.

ME: Let's just get this over with. *Scans again*

BRAIN: EYES!

ME: Yup eyes. Forward eyes, maybe? Can't tell. It's probably a deer. It's not moving.

BRAIN: It's a coyote. It's going to maul us and then we are going to die.

ME: You think? *Animal bobs head.* Oh god maybe you're right, Why didn't we bring the gun!?

BRAIN: Oh god oh god, it's moving! It's circling behind us! WE ARE GOING TO DIE!

ME: Oh shit, oh fuck, where is it? Where is it? *Scans with flashlight again.* Oh wait, I can see it now. It's a deer.

BRAIN: I think I'll just shut off the adrenaline, then shall I?

ME: Yeah, that would be good. Say, you think we should just forget whatever it was we came out here to get? Whatever it was?

BRAIN: It was a bag of gummy bears you left in the car, and yes, yes we should.

Okay, lets look at the same thing again, only this time Holly brings the damn gun like she should have in the first damn place.

Me: Alright. I'm just gonna stick this here revolver in my pocket. **

BRAIN: Word.

ME: Here we go. *Scans yard with flashlight*

BRAIN: Ohhh look at the stars. Hey is that a- nope just a reflector. Say what's that over there?

ME: I dunno, a deer or some shit.

BRAIN: Let's have a look.

ME: I dunno. Huh. Coyote maybe. *Puts hand on pistol grip.* “Hey animal, move! Hey you, get outta here.”

BRAIN: It ran off, it was a deer.

ME: There white tails are sooo cute. They are like scarves for their butts.

BRAIN: I know right!? Ohhh gummy bears.

ME: Yeah I bought the good kind, not those waxy one's.

BRAIN: Nice.

This is pretty much how it goes down. You would think that I would have learned my lesson by now, and just taken the damn gun, but nope. I still occasionally make a dash to the car, or something without it.

Considering Scott saw a bear, in the motherfucking FRONT LAWN you think I would stop doing that shit. But nope. Because learning from past experiences is for smart people pussies.

So I am writing this, not only to illustrate a point about guns have a place (a very important one) in my life, but also as a reminder.

Ahem.

Holly, TAKE THE DAMN GUN NEXT TIME.

Sincerely, your brain.

*Let all hope this never happens. Okay?

** I'm putting whole holster into my pocket, not just the gun, in case you were wondering.

Unexpected (and Terrible) Chicken Excitement.

Okay. So we lost* a chicken. In what I would like to think is the most traumatic way possible outside of her dying in my arms after being riddled with gunshot wounds while begging me to tell her loved ones she will miss them.

Normally when a chicken meets it's untimely end we come up short on the head count and the next day we find either nothing at all whatsoever anywhere, or a big pile of feathers.

This time was radically different.

Notably, I was asleep.

Now, Miss Chicken had failed to show up for head count, so I kinda assumed those asshole hawks had been at it again, briefly morned the loss, and then went back inside. I also had to get up at 3am because I had to be at work at stupid early the next morning. So I pretty much shut up the chickens, came inside and went to the sweet soft land that was bed.

Except I couldn't sleep because it was shitballs hot outside so I ended up roaming around looking for the fan I always put in the window. And something to put the fan on. And somewhere to plug the fan in. Look I am poor at getting to fucking sleep in the summer time alright?

So needless to say I was awake for a tad longer then I should have been if we all believe that eight hour sleep rule thing. But in the end there was something so wonderful about the drone of the fan, the cooling mountain air that is clean and clear and fresh blowing over me, and the heavy feel of Scott's arm around me, that I at last fell into a deep and restful sleep.

That was promptly shattered at about 12:35am by the frantic sounds of a chicken screaming.

Oh shit.

My first instinct was to jump up and flip off the fan. Which of course made the screaming Hi Def. I don't speak chicken very well, if at all, but I think she was saying:

OH GOD OH GOD OH NO OH NOOOOOO AUUUGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!

The screaming reached a fevered pitch that had me on feet and groping around for my pants** before being cut off abruptly.

And that was followed by dead silence.

From the sound of it, she must have been almost under the goddamned bedroom window. Which is a lot closer then I feel comfortable having screaming.

I looked at the clock. I had two hours with which to get some sleep.

I looked back outside, into the deep dark Appalachian night. And I said, “Fuck it, I can buy another chicken. ” And then I went back to sleep.

Which would have been a great plan if it wasn't for the fact that I had a horrible fucking nightmare in which I was staggering through the woods and the waist high meadows armed only with only a flashlight while finding every dead pet I had ever owned was there. Alive. Watching me. But none of them would come up to me and I could never to get all the way to them and OH GOD I AM SORRY ALREADY.

Ahem.

Is it possible to be haunted by a chicken?

Like a chicken resentful that it was screaming out for your help and you couldn't even be bothered to avenge it's death because you wanted to go back to bed even though you don't blame the raccoon that did it because it was only doing what comes natural and you would have totally eaten that dumbass stray chicken too?

You know?

Like that can't happen, right?

Right?

RIGHT!?

Oh god.

* Lost being a euphemism for she is really, really dead.

** Holly's rule of any disaster scenario: Whatever it is, you will be better off fighting it wearing pants. Not pajama pants, not shorts, not boxers. Pants.

The Leibster Blog Award Bitches.

The Leibster Blog Award is like one of those moral tests I might be doomed to fail. After ignoring being too busy to do anything about it for some time, okay a lot of time, okay shut up, I finally dredged up my social anxiety enough to do the things this award desperately wants of me.

Stop judging me award. I am doing the best I fucking can here.

First I have to link back to the blog/person/overlord that gave me the award. But that didn't seem like enough, you know? So I drew this for her.

Oh God, please don't be offended by this.

This is the amazing Red's blog.

http://doesntspeakklingon.blogspot.com/

Go read it. It's funny I promise.

Next I have to pass on the chain letter award to five blogs under 200 followers that I like*. Or at least I assume I'm supposed to like them. Maybe I just have to not hate them. Also I apparently have to also tell them I am doing this so that they can pass them along until everyone on the Internet has one and they aren't special anymore. I might be a little shaky on how this works.

Fuck it HERE WE GO!

Vet on the Edge

This a blog about a vet living in Alaska. She talks about panty hose eating dogs, being late for work because of moose, and taking plane rides onto glaciers because she is a badass.

http://vetontheedge.blogspot.com/

Serious Fun

This blog is shit your pants funny. I love her travel stories especially. Also she gets just as hyper excited by Halloween as I do.

http://www.mellzah.com/

Unlikely Explanations

This one might be gray area on the 200 followers rule, but I think we should all just pretend it's not because it's god damned funny.

http://unlikelyexplanations.com/

The King of Crayons.

I can't really, well it's kinda like he- just go read the motherfucking thing, alright? It's mad lolz.

http://kingocrayons.blogspot.com/

At this point I ran out of blogs. I'm sorry. I'm lame. Just pretend there was another one from your pretending place and we'll be all good. And stuff.

Because lies fix everything. EVERYTHING.

Shut up.

* If you are here because I informed you  I am giving you this award, now you know the horrible curse that comes with it. Good Luck!

I've Done a Bad Thing.

I have done a bad thing. I purchased a TV. For my office. An expensive TV. The conversation mainly went like this.

“Hey Scott, can you help me hook my PS3 up to the TV in my office?”

“Huh? What TV?”

“You know the one that's the size of our car. The shitty one.”

“Why would you want to do that? That TV sucks and your PS3 has an HDMI cable.”

“I know, but I can't hear my game when you are playing your music. It was all like ' the magic Urn of Ashes is BWAA-MOW-MOW-BWAAANNGG-your most important quest.' I ended up killing an entire village and I'm not even sure if I was supposed to.”

“I could have just turned it down. Why don't you just buy another TV?”

“I can do that. I have money! I'm an adult! But I really shouldn't.”

“Why not. You don't usually go out and buy anything.”

“Get in the car. Were going to Walmart.”

“There's a blizzard outside.”

“We are also out of cheese.”

“I'll warm up the car.”

Which is how I ended up wrestling a giant 32' inch TV into the shopping cart at the Walmart. I could have got the smaller one but it wasn't out which meant that I would have had to talk to the employees and almost nothing is worth that.

I also bought a bottle of red wine, because I wanted to forget how much I was going to be spending on this thing. This is retrospect, was a mistake.

We got said TV home and Scott both simultaneously made dinner and hooked up my TV. Which is why I love him. He handed me the remote and went to go ladle food onto plates. This was it. The moment of impulse buy glory. I flipped on the TV and turned on the PS3. Which is when I received the first error message stating that the PS3 had not been properly shut down (it had been) and needed to do a system restore.

I do not know what a system restore means but in my mind it meant this:

System restore = all your game saves and updates are shit gone.

This was followed immanently by the TV screen turning blue and an error message, this time from the TV itself telling me that it was not compatible with the PS3 because of the screen refresh rate. So let me recap here. My PS3 is trying to system restore and I can't help it because the TV won't let me see it anymore.

I. Freaked. The. Fuck. Out.

Have you ever wanted to see me lose my shit? Like really lose it? I was so close to having my brain synapses just start fucking exploding right that minute. I think I ate three whole bites of dinner while feverishly flipping through the TV manual. Scott assured me he would fix it. He got to enjoy dinner with a crazy person that night, as I kept muttering things about how ' the HDMI connection was a lie' and 'sweet Jesus what have I done' and 'why god why.'

Scott went into my office to try to fix the TV. Now often is these situations it's better that I am not in the room. It's better for everyone. But I could not stay away. I peeked around the door to see him fiddling with the remote. He asked me which HDMI port I was in and then hit two buttons and it worked.

The TV. The PS3. Like nothing had ever happened.

I still do not know how he did it. If he had not been in the room with me I would have thrown myself at my PS3 and held it in my arms until it was okay again. But I didn't I followed Scott back to kitchen where my eyes fell on that bottle of wine.

The bottle of wine that I ended up drinking most of. It was terrible. It was from the Walmart. But I did it anyway. Have you ever been at that tipping point of drinking, where you ask yourself if you want to get any drunker and you know you shouldn't? I did.

Which is how I ended up having to get vomit out of my nostrils at 2 am. 

We must have hit the luck fairy with our car.

This past month has been murder. First my Super Best Friend came to visit, which was awesome. We got drunk, played the Wii, got caught up, walked our dogs around my super sweet land, and generally had fun. That was until we were playing the Wii and Scott looked behind him to see that my dog had eaten Super Best Friend's shoe. My dog had never shown much inclination to chew anything she isn't supposed to, but that day she just felt it was time for some shoe. Some Super Best Friend shoe. 

The month headed down hill from there. The day after my friend left, Scott drove off to work only to call me and tell me that he was taking himself to the hospital and that I should call our employer type person and let him know that he won't be in. I did the usual where I run around and panic for awhile, followed by acceptance. 

Apparently, he narrowly avoided having a heart attack. For some reason, his blood pressure shot through the god damn roof. However they gave him medication, and both his doctor and the ER doctor told him he could go back to work. 

Fine and dandy. Except for the fact that his second day back at work he hit himself in the side with something he was lifting and quite possibly broke his own rib. 

Balls.

This pretty much eliminates working on the chicken coop. I just hope we can fix the things we need to fix before winter comes. I really need to get some more firewood, but I'm working so much I don't know when the hell I would order it. This month is trying to murder me. No, that's not right, it's trying to murder Scott. 

Wish me luck you guys, I'm gonna need it. 

Balls.