Friday, July 19, 2013

House Guests

It's official, Reader - I'm the proud owner of Chez Bang Bang, my little cape cod on the water. 

We got the keys Tuesday night, one harrowing day before my incredibly low interest rate expired, and then it would have been no house for Trixie & Her Mister, which would have really been a sad story. 

Ya wanna know another sorta sad story about Trixie and her house? 

When Trixie was house shopping and fell in love with the little cape cod on the water, with the beautifully wooded small backyard that drops off to a babbling creek - see photo here: 

Well, she didn't fully think this through. 

Because ol' Trixie really isn't a nature lover. I mean, she (er, I) love the thought of nature. I love looking at nature. But I do not really enjoy experiencing nature.  At least certain aspects of nature, also known as spiders and snakes. And other things, but these two things for sure I don't like. 

And yesterday while we were showing off the house to assorted company, My Mister announced that there's a little family of black rat snakes living in a shrub. 

Me, panicked: "Er... what shrub exactly? How far from the house?"

My Mister: "Oh, it's on the far side of garage, way far away. Don't worry about it, these snakes are good for the house, they eat rodents and stuff."

So I've got a family of "helper snakes" living out under a bush. 

And when we went to leave I asked him to show me exactly which bush, and guess what? He lied, and it's a bush right next to the driveway. And they also like to go and hang out under the basketball hoop, which is right next to the driveway. 

There goes absolutely any thought of my doing any weeding or maintenance in the landscaped areas. 

But wait, it gets even better.  Because I mentioned these black rat snakes to my co-worker, as I've never really heard of them before and she clued me in that she, "is surprised to hear they are living under a bush, normally they hang out draped over limbs high up in the trees." 

You know, like the trees that are here, precariously close to the deck:

She ever-so-helpfully advised me, "Ya know, just don't pull on what you think might be a low-hanging limb, there's a good chance it's one of those black rat snakes." 

Thanks. Thanks so much for the advice. 

Now I'm afraid of my house. 

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Old & Swear-y

My Mister bought us $400ish dollars worth of tickets to see the Eagles perform the other night. $400ish dollars only gets ya two tickets, by the way.  Also, that was a pre-we-are-buying-a-house decision. Because $400ish dollars could get me part of a new refrigerator, which is more important than listening to some oldies-but-goodies sing some songs. 

But what's done was done, so we went as a "last perk before house" evening out.

And we realized that maybe it's a good thing we won't have a ton of live concerts in our future. Because WE have definitely become Mr. & Mrs. Curmudgeon. 

First, let me restate: It was an EAGLES concert. Folksy, easy-listening type of music. No need for standing and blocking everyone's view, except for maybe a little Life in the Fast Lane. Sit the fuck down during Desperado. Then we all can see. Because we had floor seats. And even if I stand up, my 5'3 self can't see over your lurching 6' wide & tall body. It's simple physics. Or math. Something. It's simple something. 

Second, dude and drunk 50-somethings standing right behind me? Kept trying to edge our chairs up, so they'd have more room for their shenanigans. And this is not hyperbole, the dude kept rubbing his big belly (God, I hope it was just his belly!) against my back and sort of on the back of my head.  I think he even tried to rest his arm on top of my head at one point. And his drunk date kept raising her cup of drink  to cheer on the band, holding it directly over My Mister's head. 

Guess what happened next. 

Not the whole cup, just some dribbles. So I refused to finish my cuppa soda, I had to save it, because if that drink were to make a more prominent appearance on his/our heads, I was going to throw my entire Pepsi right on her. I had it all planned out in my mind, it was going to be epic. I was disappointed when I didn't get to execute on plan. 

And lastly, here's a newsflash, Concert Goers. Those 22-second snippet videos you're taking of the concert? With their shitty pictures and garbled sound - the only really clear voices are the ones of the off-key drunks standing next to you - you're impeding my enjoyment of the show while you fuck around holding your cameras up and out of your way, and into mine. 

No one wants to watch your stupid fucking nanosecond of a concert on Facebook. Let that sink in: No One. Wants to watch your dumb snap of a concert. If someone does "Like" your video/photo, or leave a comment that says "Awesome, Dude!" or some other nonsense - they're just being socially polite. No one watches that shit. So put your phones away, and trying watching the show LIVE yourself. Use your memory. It's there for a reason (until it's not). 

To recap: 

  • Sit the fuck down. 
  • Shut the fuck up. 
  • Turn your camera phone the fuck off. 

The Curmudgeon's. 

Monday, July 1, 2013

I Wear The Pants.

This morning I rolled out of bed after a crappy night's sleep and determined that Today was The Day! The day that I headed back to the gym after a lengthy hiatus. Due to laziness, so maybe it should be a called a hi-laz-us. 

So I've been on a serious hilazus and just opted not to go to the gym. For months and months. Mostly because by the time I'm done with Tiny Town I just want to go home. 

When I gathered up my gym clothes and shoved them in the bag this morning, they laughed and laughed at me.  They didn't think it was really going to happen, especially on a Monday. A long Monday, after a crappy night's sleep (did I mention that?? ). 

Well, I showed 'em. Took them right to the gym and did some Stuff. Not a lot of Stuff, and not for very long, but Stuff happened and it was sweaty. 

Then we came home.

My pants apologized for laughing.  As they should.