Friday, May 25, 2012

And then my car exploded. Almost.

....and so I pulled up to my parents' house and turned the car off. It was a nice day and I walked across their lawn.... and noticed smoke. Coming from behind me. So I turned around and saw smoke billowing out of the hood of my car.

So, being 38-years old and a responsible adult with children, I promptly ran to my daddy who was in the garage tinkering with his lawn mower and yelled: DAD! MY CAR'S ON FIRE!! And that's when I noticed that he was actually not my father but a repair man sent to fix the broken piece of crap new lawn mower that my dad just bought. I apologized to the strange man and turned to my dad, who was insisting on hovering over the strange man and yelled: DAD! MY CAR'S ON FIRE!!!

And, well, obviously I do not get my dramatic flair from my father because he just casually looked out towards the street and mumbled something about it probably overheating.

IS IT GOING TO BLOW UP?! WHAT IF MY CAR BLOWS UP?!

And, being that he was completely embarrassed of my shouting, decided the only way to shut me up would to be to look at my car. Go pop the hood, he directed.

ME?! WHAT IF IT BLOWS UP?!

It's not going to blow up. Go pop the hood.

And so I did. Well, at least I mean, I tried. Because who knew car hoods could be so tricky? And in my defense it really is a tricky hood release because there's a button you push down not a latch you push up. See what I mean?

And so my dad actually opened the hood of the car but let's not focus on that point too much.

And that's when we saw oil everywhere. Over everything.

And that's also when my dad pointed to something and said where's the oil cap?

And that's when we noticed it sitting nicely on the battery. (Also covered in oil.)

So there was no fire and no flame and pretty much it was just the oil burning off which stunk pretty bad.

And that's when Big V called.

Hey. Whatcha doin'?

I'm over at my parents. We're currently discussing the fact that you're an idiot.

What?

Um, remember last night when I asked you to check my oil? And you said it was low so you put more oil in it?

Yeah?

Well, was there a particular reason you didn't feel obligated to put the oil cap back on?

Shit.

Yep. That about sums it up. My dad said you need to come with oil, coolant and some windshield washer fluid because that's low, too, and pray to God this car starts again.

Well, it's not my fault the cap wasn't on.

What?

Remember? I was checking your oil and I fell through the cistern?

Oh my god. You totally didn't fall through. The board broke and your foot went about three inches. The thing is twelve feet deep; you didn't even lose your flip-flop. I'd hardly call that falling through.

...and you were all  freaking out about how dangerous it was and that I needed to fix it right away -

I've been saying that since I moved in five years ago. Who the hell has a cistern in their garage?

Anyway -

It's probably not even a cistern at all. It was probably dug so the creepy owners could throw bodies down there. We really should have the police investigate it before it's filled in.

What?

We can't just cover up dead people and pretend like they're not there.

They do that in cemeteries.

That's not the same thing and you know it. That would only work if we had headstones and the garage is too small for headstones. I'd never be able to fit my car in.

There aren't any bodies... you just think they're there.

Why else would someone dig a twelve foot deep pit in their garage and cover it with a wooden hatch? Trust me. There's dead people down there.

There are no dead people.

How do you know? Have you been in it?

Well, I was almost in it! Which is why you freaked out after I fell through and told me I had to fix the hatch right away and that is exactly why I didn't have time to put that oil cap back on.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Whose Kids Are These Anyway?

The other night Dotter, who is 10, announced that she was going to make cookies. And she was going to take those cookies and deliver them to the people on her list. And all I had to do was drive her to deliver the cookies that she made to the people on that list.

And I immediately thought are you serious? I just spent the entire day working my tail off and I'm tired and I'm hungry and there's forty-seven loads of laundry to do and what the heck is in the toddler's hair?

And then I thought huh. This must be what nice people do. Just decide to do things for others for no other reason than to make people happy.

So, even though I was exhausted and facing an endless mound of dirty clothing, I decided to support Dotter. Because I like nice people. Especially nice people that deliver cookies for no other reason than to make my day a little brighter. And I figured if I supported her now, maybe she'd remember it when she was older and would bring me cookies when I was in the old folks' home.

Dotter made Pink Lemonade Cookies with pink frosting. Then she left the mess for me to clean up and the dirty mixing bowls for me to wash because she was tired. But I didn't even mind because my heart was experiencing this thing called pride. And it felt good. Really good.

We took her list and the total number of cookies she made and figured out how many cookies went into each ziplock bag. *bonus: she was doing math!

And then I told Big V that he was in charge of putting the toddler to bed because we had deliveries to make! With the exception of two stops, Dotter did all the hopping out, doorbell ringing and explaining. It made my heart swell. We went to a neighbor's house, a cousin's house, an Uncle she barely ever sees, a piano teacher, a friend from school.... eight stops in all.

"I think they were all really happy, Mom," she beamed as we drove home.

Oh, you do my heart good! "So, what do those cookies taste like anyway? I couldn't taste them because they have gluten in them. What were they like?"

"They're really hard. I thought they'd be soft but they're not. We should do this again!"

Right after I get done apologizing for everyone's chipped teeth....

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Go ahead and save a life. It's really pretty simple.

Receive the envelope.

Swab your cheeks.

Drop in the nearest mailbox.






Monday, May 21, 2012

And, this, Ladies and Gentlemen, is my life. Go ahead and be jealous.

So, I was reading outside and heard a noise coming from inside the house and figured I ought to investigate. It sounded like... a motor, whirring. I followed the sound and it takes me down to the basement. I'm a few steps from the bottom when I see the guest bedroom door open and the light on.

There's Big V, standing in the doorway, vacuuming his penis.

In his defense, he was fully clothed, standing next to a plugged in Kirby, using the hose in a sweeping motion across the front of his shorts like he was trying to vacuum off cat hair or something.

After a few minutes he catches me staring at him.

"What?" he asks, continuing to vacuum himself as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

"You're standing in an empty room vacuuming your junk and you're asking me 'what?'"

"I had to vacuum up the cornstarch."

*crickets*

He switched the vacuum off and started winding up the cord.

"Remember last night when I came home and said I was super chafed from playing in that softball tournament all day and all that sweating? And you told me to shut up and just use cornstarch and stop talking about it because it was grossing you out?" he explained.

*crickets*

"....um... yeah... so why are you down here? In the bedroom in the basement? Why didn't you do that in the bathroom?"

"Oh. I had to lay down and come at it from an angle."