Welcome to my world!

My life's been crazy since my Daddy moved in with me immediately after my mother's death in October 2010. My one and only kiddo headed to college at Carolina at the end of August. So...I lived on my own, for the first time in my life, for a total of a blissful six weeks. Then, I started the parenting gig with my dad. He's a combination of a grouchy old man, a surly teenager and a temperamental toddler. Needless to say, I get very close to the brink of insanity sometimes. I get through life by finding the humor in difficult circumstances. And for some reason, I wind up in the weirdest situations. I couldn't make this stuff up. So I wind up having lots and lots crazy adventures which make great stories to share with my friends. Writing about my life is so therapeutic. My ramblings range from funny to sad to angry (full of cuss words) to sweet. While my focus is dealing with the trials and tribulations of being a parent to my Daddy, I have lots of random, totally unrelated posts. Whatever's on my mind. I love to make people laugh, and I'm happy to think my readers will get my strange sense of humor. And maybe, people who are in my situation will be encouraged. That's all I can hope for...

Friday, May 27, 2011

Another Day, Another Cluster Fuck

Actually, this is a continuation of one of yesterday's unresolved minor disasters. After Mother died in October, I went to their house and threw everything in their pantry and fridge into bags and boxes and took it to my house to go through. There were things like seven year old cans of Gold Star Chili (my stupid uncle in Cincinnati thought Mother liked it and brought her some every summer, but she was a Skyline girl). A thirty year old can of dried mustard. Stuff like that. A huge carton of instant mashed potatoes. I'm a purist when it comes to MPs. I sat the carton on the floor next to the garbage can to throw away (it was too big for the garbage can). The Daddler walked through the kitchen and wanted to know why it was on the floor. I said they were old. He said they were still good. And that he likes them.

We'd had a prune incident a few days earlier. He beckoned me to the kitchen and pointed in the fridge and asked me where those things were. I finally interpreted his angry, aphasia-impaired speech and his angrier gestures and figured out he meant the prunes. They weren't there because I'd thrown them away. They were old. Shouted at me that there was nothing wrong with them and they were still good. I hauled ass to the dinky (but close to home) grocery store, but the closest thing they had was dried apricots. Headed to Kroger. For some strange reason, they were out of Sunkist or whatever the fuck the name brand kind he'd had, so I bought the store brand and hoped there wouldn't be hell to pay. By the way, they don't call them prunes anymore. They're dried plums.

Back to the fake potato flakes. I kept them. Even fixed them for him for dinner that night. So here we are, seven months later. I've made him plenty of real MPs in the meantime, so I figured I'd take a chance and pitch them. Once again, I set (sat?) them on the floor next to the garbage can. Big mistake. But not for the reason you think. Instead of just pitching them in the big garbage can outside, Sarita decided to put them down the garbage disposal. Turns out, she might as well have poured cement in there. It totally clogged the sink.

I did my usual thing. I felt around. Put my hand down there and the blades weren't stuck. Found the reset button and pushed it, even though the motor was running fine. Couldn't find the little allen wrench that you stick in the hole on the bottom to turn the blades when they're stuck. But they weren't stuck. Mr. Man said to use a plunger. It would've been nice if I could find it. Around then, the MLB Extra Innings debacle happened so I said "Screw it" and left the sink full of slush. The other side was draining, so at least there was that.

So this morning, I walked into the kitchen to make coffee, and there was the sink full of slush, waiting for me. Didn't drain one bit overnight. Shit. Started the coffee and went outside and found the mop bucket. Brought it in and bailed. I didn't want to chance it by putting the slush in the other side and clogging it, too. Filled that bucket and took it outside. I didn't want to pour it out close to the house in case it attracted ants. It was still dark and I was in my terry robe. Nothing on underneath. The motion detector light came on and while I was dumping the heavy bucket of slush over the fence, my robe fell open.

Then a car came along with headlights on bright. I'm sure they wondered what the fuck I was doing. It made me think of Ode to Billy Joe. FF and i debate what BJ and his GF threw off the Tallahatchie bridge. I think it was their baby and he thinks it was a record collection or something that makes no sense. But then he's just messin' wid me. I think. I never really know for sure.

After the third bucket, the sink was empty. In the meantime, I was boiling a big pot of water. I figured that would dissolve the potatoes. I poured the boiling water in, holding it up high so it would exert extra force and maybe flush it out when it dissolved the shit. I waited. Turned the disposal on. Waited. Watched for a gurgle. The water was swirling, but no air bubbles. Nothing. I got my coffee and headed to my office to google instant potatoes and garbage disposals. Turns out that's a huge no-no. Who'd a thunk? The exit ports were clogged. Snaking it or dumping caustic chemicals in wouldn't help. The best idea seemed to be packing it with ice and turning on the disposal for 15 seconds, followed by running cold water. Since my fridge is too big for the open space under the cabinets, there's no water line for the icemaker. Wait, there's no water line where it should go, either. Fortunately, I bought a bag of ice the other day. Keep meaning to buy some ice trays. So I took some of the ice and put it in the sink. Packed it down. Covered it. Did the drill. Held my breath and turned on the water. Nothing. Maybe I didn't pack it tightly enough. Pulled the whole ice tray out of the fridge and dumped the rest of the ice in the sink. It made a racket, but The D and Kiddo are at the other end of the house and they both sleep like the dead. Tried it again. I don't even need to tell you the outcome.

Now I'm trying to figure out if those stupid home warranty people will fix it. There's a $60 co-pay. I think I'll call my plumber and see if he can do it for that. Or I'll go buy sulfuric acid and maybe the exit ports will dissolve. Or I'll look for the plunger. Or buy a new one. Maybe I'll remember to get ice trays while I'm at it.

Yesterday, Sarita and I were frantically looking for the machine to check The D's pacemaker by phone, and I ran across his boxes of bullets. I told her they wouldn't do me any good because I didn't know where the gun was. She said it was right over there on the shelf. I told her it was probably better that I didn't know. Not for her sake, but my own. That was before the potato thing, though.

Ok, I have a client meeting at noon, so I'd better get crackin'. I'll figure out the potato thing this afternoon.

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