Shadeux said:
In reply to DarkMonohue :
You have a way with words.
Kind of you to say. Probably because I don't have a way with life, and grousing about things is a skill I have developed in lieu of actually improving my situation.
The dryer, as previously mentioned, pooped the bed sometime between the evening of Sunday the 3rd and the morning of Monday the 4th. Naturally, I have multiple new thermostats and thermal fuses on hand, but this code is for the thermistor, which I don't have. Our good appliance parts house moved from five minutes away to the other end of Shelbyville, which is a solid and unpleasant 30 minutes each way. Wife groaned at the prospect of making that trip so I placed an order on eBay for a listing offering expedited shipping and an ETA of Friday or Saturday. One day after shipping that changed to Monday. So my Monday night is hosed as hell and we are without laundry facilities until at least Tuesday. Thankfully, we run laundry, like everything else in our lives, on the Toyota Just-In-Time model, so we had at least a day or two of clean clothes ready to last the rest of the week. Great success.
Mrs Monohue has a jury duty notice for Tuesday hanging on the fridge. Her plan, if called, was to request deferral because we have no child care options. When I asked if she'd read the jury summons, where they state that deferral requests must be made in writing two weeks prior, she blasted me with, "of course I didn't read it!", in the same indignant tone she'd take if asked whether she had shot JFK or maybe stolen the Pope's kidneys. Well, how the hell do I counter a grown woman who, as a firm policy, patently refuses to make more than zero effort to cover her own backside? What do you do with that?
Neighbor kid (who has become a much better neighbor than he started out as, incidentally) asked me months ago if I wouldn't mind employing my hydraulic press to push the hubs apart and replace the wheel bearings on his AW11. Sure, no problem. So Thursday he caught me coming home from work and wanted to know if there was any way I could do it that night or maybe Friday. Uhhh not... not likely... maybe over the weekend, set 'em over there and I'll pull 'em inside later. So here it is Sunday and I'm looking at these filthy knuckles with the hub nuts still on them and circlips in place, and suddenly the hard and dirty work is my problem, too, with the garage still as hostile as it has been ever since I stopped wrenching regularly and it became a catch-all for household overflow and lost all semblance of organization. Cool.
She tried to give me soup for dinner again last night. Soup is food water. She loves it, because it's a one-pot bowl-and-spoon meal with All Foods Combined. Everything she likes is All Foods Combined, every single thing, with extra points for bowl-and-spoon delivery. I've had it up to here with that. Had it. But I can't complain, because then cooking will be my problem. Let me just sneak that in between a 40-hour week and mandatory time keeping the kid out of her hair and neighbor kid car favors and unscheduled appliance repair and the dirty looks I get when I have to excuse myself for an off-schedule poop. Or we can have soup and casseroles for the rest of my life.
My sinuses have gone from a stinking fountain of fluorescent construction adhesive with pain behind the eyes and teeth to just plain locked up solid, so I guess that's an improvement.
It's Christmas music in the house now whenever there's nothing else on the TV. I'm not a Christmas person. Never have been. Yeah, I'm that guy - fights at the bike racks at the usual time, go ahead and get in line if you really feel it's your manifest destiny to force your sickly-sweet Great Big Happy Family propaganda down my throat. Mrs Monohue doesn't, and tries pretty hard not to overdo it, but relentlessly plink-tastic jazz piano and the warbling, audibly smiling, squeep-doodling likes of your various Ella Fitzgeralds cooing about how wonderfully wonderful things are is just a little much.
The garlic frosting on this dog turd cake: I'm scheduled to turn fifty this week. That's provided I don't die of old age first.
Grumble.