Sunday, May 24, 2009

It's a wash; and I'm dumb

What is it with the cleanliness problem here?

D was all jazzed about borrowing our neighbor's power washer to wash the patio stones. They're rocky square paver tiles and, you know, OUTDOORS. Power washing them just makes them look rockier. And aren't rocks only, like, compressed dirt anyways? Are we cleaning dirt itself?

As a pleasant side effect, dirty water splattered all over my nice, blooming yellow roses, our back door, exterior walls and even splashed IN the back door a little. That's ok though, because now that he "has the hang of it" he is going to do it again tomorrow. We're going to have the cleanest dirt in town. The Dutch are so fucking irritating.

But I will say this: They know how to count. Even when those cute little youngsters smash their piggybanks to buy pre-rolled joints from me with all 5-cent coins, their counting is impeccable. I have not (yet) ever gotten wrong exact change. Kind of spiffy, considering how many people inadvertently (or purposely) stiffed me when I worked at my dad's store (for more years than I'd like to remember). (Do I use a lot of parentheses, or what?)

It's so typical that WE can get things dirty by trying to clean. It's just like us. A few weeks ago, we were CONVINCED our oven was broken. Everything was undercooked all the time. We fretted and fretted about finding the money to replace it, fought about where to cut corners, etc. and then we figured it out: The 3-dollar plastic kitchen timer we use was running fast. When we set it for 15 minutes, it would go off after 10 or so. Typical. If we hadn't figured it out, we would have bought a new oven and kept using the same stupid timer. I guess the new oven would have been "broken" too.

I did it again this week. I splashed out for a video camera. Using it, I was bummed to see that one half of the display screen was blurry. I thought it was busted, but figured that the video would be sure to come out ok regardless. The video was blurry too. I took the camera back, ready to read them the riot act and go ballistic. I knew they wouldn't be able to get me a new one (it was the last in stock when I bought it) and I was feeling preemptively screwed knowing they'd try to upsell me. You know what they did? Cleaned the lens. Yeah. Problem solved. I'm a fucking moron.

Monday, May 18, 2009

A Toot Tat

My son just asked me why I have a toot tat on my arm. I can't correct him. It's too frigging cute.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Oops, he did it again

What is the matter with men?

How is it that I can walk the dogs without incident? How can *I* - a loud-ass American - spend whole days without confrontation or argument, yet men seem to challenge each other constantly, looking to add to their collection of manly stories?

Why can't they be trusted to walk the dogs without getting into shouting matches and fistfights?

I would probably have to count on both hands and both feet the number of confrontations my partner has had while walking the dogs at night.

It doesn't stop with him. My brother SWEARS thst other men go out to clubs looking for a fight and "pick" on him and his friends because they are big and tall(dumbasses, the lot). Of course, we hail from Boston, where the fightin' Irish have been proudly knocking each other's teeth out in tavern brawls since the Potato Famine. A Saturday night fight is practically a given when booze is involved.

Is this some kind of repressed hunting instinct? Do women have repressed nesting instincts? Is that why we have tea parties and sewing circles? (Yeah, not quite.) Is that why we always want to see the inside of our friends' houses? Nesting envy?

Anyways. Last night, dogs were walked, a bicycle came along, words were exchanged about the dogs walking loose (allowed, by the way), a brick was thrown, and the story ends with an unconscious man on the dijk. "I think I might have broken his jaw."

What do I say to this? "Bravo"? "Good job honey"? "I'm so proud"? "I can't wait to tell my friends at our next tea party"?

Helplessly, I insisted he should have at LEAST called the police to say "Hi. Someone threw a rock at my dogs, so I knocked him out. Come pick him up off the dijk." That erases some of the guilt for me. I'm just afraid that tonight there will be more bikes and more rocks. Aren't these people supposed to be Dutch?

What are we going to do with them?