November 6, 2000

Comfort Food, Bugs, and Thou.

Ahhh.

Basking in the contentment of a fairly decent weekend. It had its down points, mostly related to Calvin's struggle to install various things within the household, but all in all it was quite okay. Let's just say I'm grateful Calvin doesn't give up as easily as X(m) did when it came to household projects, else there would be a gaping hole above Marie's bed where the ceiling fan should go, and her closet doors would still be in pieces, strewn about her room. *Every* *single* *item* we've had to install, from light fixtures to ceiling fans, has been a bitch to put together. They all go a little something like this:

  1. Go to Home Depot/The Great Indoors/Lowe's. Purchase necessary item (say, a ceiling fan), as well as several other items which will have to be returned at a later date because they were a) the wrong size; b) broken. Remind one another that we "love this shit". Really. It's great.
  2. On the drive home, progressively sink into a fouler and fouler mood as the reality of the afternoon's activities sink in.
  3. Arrive home. Park in driveway. Sit behind the wheel for a few, final, peaceful moments.
  4. Unload the truck. Bang some body part on the way into the door. Curse.
  5. Lug said item upstairs. Slip on tile-covered stairs. Bang another body part. Curse.
  6. Set up ladder in bedroom. This seems to go fairly smoothly.
  7. Disassemble old ceiling fan. Discover it was hanging to the ceiling by one. itty. bitty. piece. of. rotted. drywall. Gasp in amazement that it hasn't violently descended upon some hapless victim prior to this. Curse original home builders.
  8. Realize this means another trip to Home Depot for a fan brace. Curse.
  9. Simultaneously realize this means crawling around in the attic (insulation, anyone?). Curse.
  10. Repeat steps one through three. Four and five optional.
  11. Move ladder to the attic egress, a three foot square opening in the ceiling of Marie's closet. Realize the four foot ladder necessitates an interesting balancing/hoisting act to attain entry.
  12. Poke head into attic. Inhale insulation dust. Sneeze.
  13. Realize again how much this is going to suck. Curse.
  14. Kick over ladder during acrobatic maneuver. Holler for someone to right it. Holler again, louder, because you're in the *attic* and everyone else is *downstairs*.
  15. Plow through insulation to the approximate location of the ceiling fan. Luck out, hit it right the first time, and install fan brace.
  16. Descend from the attic. Kick a bunch of insulation down into the closet. Curse.
  17. Unpack new ceiling fan. Attach fan blades. Because of the experience gained from three other installations, this part is now easy.
  18. Attempt to attach new ceiling fan to ceiling. Realize one part is on backwards. Curse.
  19. Put part on correctly. Again attempt to attach fan to ceiling. Enlist help to hold the fan up.
  20. Curse. Unenlist help as it become apparent that everyone has too many elbows.
  21. Finally screw the last screw in place. Descend from ladder. Turn fan on.
  22. Curse and prepare to have a fit because the damn thing's not moving.
  23. Flip the forward/reverse switch. Sigh with relief as the fan begins to move.
  24. And wobble. But, this was to be expected. Turn fan off, stick hand into the blades to slow the fan down. Crack thumb on fan blade. Curse.
  25. Clip weight onto a fan blade to balance the fan. Turn on fan. Observe slightly smaller wobble.
  26. Repeat steps 24 and 25.
  27. Repeat steps 24 and 25. Curse.
  28. Repeat steps 24 and 25, fifty more times. Become increasingly inventive with curses. Question the fan's morality. Suggest the fan is somewhat loose in its sexual activities. Recommend the immediate demise of the fan, the fan's relatives, and anything that resembles a rotary oscillator.
  29. *Finally* track down the unbalanced fan blade, apply permanent weight. Observe, with satisfaction, the smooth spin of the completed, assembled, much-cursed-at fan.
  30. Have a beer. Refuse to acknowledge the fact that all steps will have to be repeated three million more times in your lifetime.
Lather, rinse, repeat for the closet doors.

Friday nights are settling into a nice routine. Lessee... Marie went to a sleepover birthday party (else she normally goes skating), Michael was released from his grounding to spend an evening socializing. Calvin and I grabbed some fast food at Whataburger (jalapenos... mmm...), came home, took a bubble bath, wrestled (heh), and watched TV. I think there was some pool playing and beer drinking in there somewhere, too.

Saturday morning I got up at 9:00, made coffee, read through my list of journals, and settled into a dance of laundry and cooking activities while Calvin was going through his 30-step-program from hell. I had made meatloaf for dinner on Thursday, and the leftovers became our lunch. There's nothing quite like a meatloaf sandwich on soft white bread with mayo, ketchup, and cheese. Mmmm... Continuing on the comfort food vein, I put together a stew which bubbled in the crockpot throughout the day. Stew meat, potatoes, carrots, mushrooms, garlic, beef broth, salt, pepper, Worcestershire, and a bay leaf. In at noon, done at 10:00. Even after all that chopping/pealing/mixing, I still hadn't kicked the cooking bug, so I sauteed some mushrooms and garlic, and browned up some hamburger. Cooked some eeny-weenie macaroni noodles (I think they're called "Dini"? Something like that), and mixed hamburger/mushrooms/noodles/tomato sauce together into one of those one-pot-wonder dishes I'm so fond of. Comfort food was what it was all about, this weekend. And Shepherd's Pie for dinner tonight! Whee!

Michael received free tickets to an ASU football game by doing some good deed at work. We all scarfed a dish of the macaroni mixture and headed out at 5:30 (stopping at Target for an umbrella - it was sprinkly off and on throughout the day). I was amused to observe the turn-out for the college game was significantly better than the turn-out for the pro game we attended a few weeks ago. We sat in a section infested with fans of the opposing team (USC), and they had the most *annoying* team-spirit motion in which a doldromous intonation played from the USC band, and all USC fans would extend their arms and pulse their hands over their heads while making a "V" (for Victory, I assume) with their fingers. Their cheerleaders were monotonous and unoriginal. They didn't cheer so much as move around a little to stay warm. Calvin, unable to amuse himself with beer (not provided at college games) instead amused himself with the sweaters the cheerleaders were wearing. "She's got some knocks," and "Lookit the hoots on her," were common observations. ~grin~ We left halfway through the third quarter when USC was up on us thirty-something to three. We learned in the paper the next day ASU had made a comeback, but still lost in double overtime. Feh. AZ football teams. Feh, I say.

Sunday morning was quiet. I drank coffee and surfed, and Calvin joined me in the computer room with the Sunday paper. I'd read snippets of Sarah's journal to him, and he'd read parts of the news or point out ads to me. We complained about not being rich enough to go on a tropical vacation, then repented by observing how very fortunate we are. More meatloaf sandwiches for lunch. I moved to the living room and surfed the channels idly, until I came across The Cartoon Network.

Looney Tunes! Aw-RIGHT!

They were playing "The Bugs Bunny and Roadrunner Movie", which meant all the classic tunes I love. I quote right along with the TV. Drives everybody nuts. I mean, picture me doing a Daffy "Woo-hoo! Woo-hoo! Woo-hoo!" all over the damned house.

"Stop steamin' up my tail! What are you trying to do, wrinkle it?" (I use this one myself when somebody's getting on my case about something.)

"Oh Brunhilde, you're so wuvwey!"
"Yes I know it, I can't help it."
"Oh Brunhilde, be my wuuuuv!"
"What's Opera, Doc?" kicks ass!

"I'm a tweet widdle bird in a dilded tage,
Tweety's my name but I don't know my age.
I don't have to worry, and dat is dat,
I'm safe in here from that ol' puddy tat!"

"Oh, you make me very angry (huff huff huff), Very Angry Indeed! I shall blast you with my Eludium Q-34 Explosive Space Modulator!"

"Hello my baby, hello my honey, hello my rag time gal!
Send me a kiss by wire, baby my heart's on fire!
If you abuse me, honey you'll lose me, then you'll be left alone,
So baby telephone, and tell me I'm your ooooown!"

"Yoiks and away!" (thwap)
"Yoiks and away!" (thwap)
"Yoiksth un awayurf..." (thwap)

Okay, I'll stop now. It's just, what kills me is how artfully done these cartoons are. Orchestrated music timed with the actions of the characters. Signature stuff, like the bars that accompany Pepe Le Pew's bounce. Foghorn Leghorn's "Lump tum dum dum dee dee dah... Doo dah! Doo dah!" The use of Humphrey Bogart, Grace Kelley, Marilyn Monroe, and Bing Crosby as characters and characatures (sp?). All drawn by hand, orchestrated by people, created with talent and caring. Have you seen the *absolute* *crap* that passes for cartoons nowadays? Feh, don't even get me started. Suffice to say, I'm a diehard Bugs fan.

"Home, home on the range!
Where the deer and the antelopes play (and the rabbits)..."

At any rate, when I was done with my cartoon funfest-o-rama, we got showered and dressed...

...and went to Lowe's and Home Depot. Again. Sigh.

This time it was to return two AC vents which were the wrong size (Home Depot); return a bathroom mirror, which, when unpacked, was discovered to be broken; and pick up mirrored closet doors which had been on order (Lowe's). Home Depot went smoothly. We were in and out, with minor detours, in ten minutes. Lowe's, however, proved to be a different story. We returned the mirror, no problem. Picked out another one. Then I got in the customer service line to tell them we were here to pick up our doors. Mind you, this is the third time we went to get the doors. The first time we ordered them. Then, two weeks later, they called to tell us they were in. We went to pick them up. They couldn't be found. It was deduced a mistake was made and the doors weren't in yet. Three days after that, we were called and told the order hadn't been placed at all, due to some other stupid mistake, so we re-ordered them. We were called last Wednesday and told the doors were in. Went to pick them up on Sunday. Stood in line for five minutes until we were helped (hey, not bad!). Waited around for 20 minutes while they went to find the doors. Were told the doors couldn't be found.

~boggle~

At this point, both Calvin and I are getting pretty steamed. I have a very VERY high boiling point, so it's hard to get me riled up. Just to give you an indication of how bad things were.

We urged (read: cursed) them to look again. Waited for another 20 minutes. Lo and behold, they were found! Just took a different aproned schmuck to do the job. It's a damned good thing we got the stupid doors. I wouldn't be responsible for what Calvin would have done to them.

"I shall blast you with my Eludium Q-34 Explosive Space Modulator!"



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Original content belongs to ME. Exceptions are noted.
©Laura Charon 2000.