Actual screen capture from my Facebook page recommendations today.
Enjoy your 15 minutes, Congressman Joe Wilson. Thanks for the distraction from the actual issue of health care reform. Because you know, that’s not anything important for us to figure out. It’s way more fun for us to discuss your little outburst.
Make your own statement at Photofunia.com.
I never fail to be amazed at the kind of searches that bring people to this little corner of the Internet.
I wrote about the Duggars once, speculating about the secret seductive powers of Michelle’s she-mullet. So about once a week, someone gets here by wondering if she is pregnant again. (For the record, I don’t know. But if she is, the mullet is to blame. Jim Bob cannot break free of its siren song.)
I also vented about my boy child’s opposition to wearing underwear. So a lot of people come here wondering about going commando or asking “what do I do about child who won’t wear underwear?”
I can’t help them, either. The “are you wearing underwear” question is STILL a regular morning inquiry here. But progress has been made. I no longer have to request to see the waistband. He just walks back to his room, defeated in his commando dreams.
I can offer no help for those wanting to find “good hippo porn,” “the best quizzes on Facebook,” or get a definitive answer on whether or swine flu is one of the signs of the apocalypse. I do not offer a “quiz to find out if I am about to go postal” (Aside to the determined searcher from Friday: I suggest a professional therapist).
I cannot tell you how long you would last in a fight against God or Jack Bauer, although I recommend you not quarrel with either. I do feel a little sad for the person who arrived here “searching for my lost happiness,” but I assure you, I do not have it. It’s probably hanging out with my size-6 ass, and my guess is, neither of us are ever going to find the two of them again. They’ve probably gone into the witness protection program together and are living on beach somewhere in the West Indies.
Sigh. I feel like a failure reading your search queries, Internet. I hear you as you go away, singing softly to yourself, “but I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.” Now, because of this, someone will search for information on Bono and instead, find this post. They, too, will go away empty handed. Please forgive me.
I *can* help a few searchers. For those who wonder “What will the puppies be like if I mate a Jack Russell and chihuahua?” — you know that cartoon character the Tazmanian Devil? Imagine him, only as nervous and trembling as a heroin dealer coming down off a trip in a room full of DEA agents. It’s not a combination the world needs.
I also have the answer to “the difference between naked and nekkid.” Naked means you’re not wearing any clothes, nekkid means you’re naked and up to no good. I know you can find a human-sized hamster ball at Hammaker Schlemmer. You definitely cannot get the swine flu from bacon.
However you got here, thanks for coming. Have a cookie, have a nice time, please come back.
Sometime late last year, our house started cracking up. Not giggling maniacally like that crazy house in “Monster House.”
Cracking in half.
We first noticed when the bathroom door became a little hard to close, which meant I had to do my whole morning routine with a peeping corgi watching my every move. I would see the silhouette of giant bat-ears outside the shower curtain. He would sit and bark at the blow dryer, then carefully study me as I applied eyeliner. I think he’s emo.
But I didn’t really get worried until in the living room, a little crack started climbing down the wall. And then it became a big crack that looked like this:
So, we checked the warranty on our 10-year-old home. It, of course had expired like 2 months before the crack appeared. Yes, of course it had. So we called a foundation company, who cheerfully told us it would cost eleventy billion dollars to fix.
I’ve mentioned, right, that I quit my job to go back to college full-time and become a highly paid educational professional? So awesome timing, you shifty little foundation, you.
As much as I occasionally would like the children to have their own home, we didn’t think letting the house split down the middle was the right answer. Mostly because the kitchen would be on their side, and then they would probably burn the place down. So we scheduled the two-day foundation repair process.
Monday, a small army of foundation repair crews descended on our home, and started digging holes all around. Not little holes. Holes big enough for the construction workers to disappear in. With their radios playing really loud. Every now and then, a little hard hat would pop up out of a hole. Kind of like life-size whack-a-mole, only I couldn’t actually hit anyone with a mallet.
ALTHOUGH I WANTED TO.
Day one seemed to go very smoothly. They dug holes, they unloaded their patented Cable Lock Plus system, and then in the late afternoon, they let me know they’d be back tomorrow. With the jackhammers, so they could also dig whack-a-holes under the porch and driveway.
The second day, I was brushing my teeth and unprepared for the earth to start moving when the jackhammering started. And I discovered that when your Sonicare toothbrush gets jolted up and brushes your eyes, it hurts like hell.
The sound and shaking was relentless. And of course since I had procrastinated, I had a paper to write. I plugged in my earphones and some tunes, and started working.
Suddenly, everything went dark.
The construction supervisor knocked on the door. They’d tripped a breaker, could he get to the fuse box?
The jackhammering started again. Pop. Dark. Knock.
Again. This time, it wouldn’t come back on. I called the power company, the supervisor went to get a generator. I kept my cheerful smile plastered on.
They got finished, we got power back, and the house was re-leveled lickety split. The crack in the living room went back together, the bathroom door happily opened and closed again, and two of the jackhammered holes were patched back up.
I heard water rushing outside. I happily messaged a friend, “oh good! They’re hosing things down and cleaning up. Either that or they just hit a water pipe. Ha ha ha!”
Then, another knock.
“Uh, when we were working on the porch earlier, the jackhammer kind of hit a water pipe and broke it.” Shut my stupid mouth.
So the water was shut off, the plumber called, and the gaping hole left in the back porch. He came and guess what? More porch had to be jackhammered up to get the pipe fixed.
Day three, no water in the back half of the house, no plumber. About 4 in the afternoon, I called and said “where are the people who are supposed to be putting my house back together?” The construction crew arrived, went around back, then another knock.
“Uh, the pipe is not fixed, we can’t fix the patio.”
“I know. The plumber said he couldn’t get to it, and that you would need to jackhammer out more of the porch.”
“You guys work for the same company, right? Do you talk to each other?”
“Let me call him.”
So of course, the plumber would have to come the next morning. Day 4 of the 2-day process. The same morning my daughter was graduating from elementary school, so I informed them they would be on their own.
She graduated. We went to breakfast, we got pedicures, we stayed away from the jackhammers.
And when we got home at 3, NO ONE HAD COME.
So, I called. Not cheerfully. And finally, the plumber and his jackhammer of destruction came and fixed the pipe and turned the water back on. And shrugged when I asked about the porch situation and said someone would fix it the next morning.
So today, the first day of summer vacation, we all got up and dressed bright and early so we’d be decent for the construction crews. Of course, that was unnecessary, since said crews came at 3 this afternoon, on day 5 of the 2-day process. After I had called again, and done what is known in some colloquial circles as “ripping someone a new one.”
But now, it is done. All level, all patched, and I am ready to let it go, and get on with the summer.
Although I am more than a little sad that I can no longer make jokes about living in a crack house.
First, congratulations to Ann H., commenter #22, who will be getting lip plumper in the mail shortly.
Instead of my children drawing from a hat, Ann was selected using a random number generator suggested by my friend Jessi. Who probably planned to program it so SHE would get the lip gloss, but her evil plan failed.
See, there is the proof of Ann’s winning ways. Go Ann. Please be sure to sign the waiver before putting on the lip plumper. Also, since the mommy blogosphere is all atwitter about paid posts, paid reviews, product placement, etc., let me clarify that Ulta neither gave me this lip gloss *nor* paid me to write that it made me scream like a waterboarded wallaby.
In fact, no one pays me for the awesomeness that is this blog. Clearly that is wrong, all wrong. Please use the information on the contact page if you would like to help right this awful injustice.
In other news, while my posting has been sparse here this week, I have weighed in at the San Antonio Express-News website at my blog there. I have been discussing Michael Vick’s return to football and the practice of a local realtor of putting flags up in all the yards in the neighborhood.
As if the plague of Swine Flu is not enough, look what is in the neighbors’ yard right this minute.
A GIANT LIZARD. I am pretty sure it eats babies. And has probably HAD babies, come to think of it. And come to think of it some more, those babies will probably descend en masse on the house tonight , dropping down through the vents and crawling around on me while I am sleeping.
At least that is what I am going to imagine is happening every time I hear a noise.
Because SERIOUSLY this lizard is at least a foot long, and it is just sitting out in the yard like he owns the place. Every child in the neighborhood is gathered around it, and it’s assessing them like they’re the buffet at Golden Corral.
I am screaming helpful advice like “DO NOT POKE THE LIZARD WITH YOUR SONIC STRAW! NO!!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON’T PUT THE STRAW BACK IN YOUR DRINK!!!”
Now, the last time I checked, we did not live in an area populated by giant baby-eating lizards, so this one probably came up from Mexico and is carrying Swine Flu.
We are all going to die, Internet. Hold me.