I have had a rather successful morning. Well, productive is a better word for it. Success is yet to be seen, as in did I actually send the correct orders to the correct people and can the USPS manage to get the there intact. That all remains to be seen. However, I got a lot of things done that needed doing and I got them done before the mail came, so the 4 orders I finished can ship today which makes me very happy indeed. I still need to shower and go to the grocery store and all the other nonsense that moms do. So instead of doing those things I figured I would write a blog post because we all know that procrastination and denial are my secrets to success. Success is a relative term.
Speaking of procrastination. I fixed the toilet yesterday in the master bathroom. It has been broken for, oh, a while. The float inside the tank broke off from its little holder and I jerry rigged it a number of times so that the water wouldn’t keep filling forever, but then that stopped working so then I resorted to turning the water on to flush the toilet and then turning it back off. This is the second time I have intentionally waited a very long time to fix a toilet thinking that surely Brian would get tired of the inconvenience and make an attempt at it himself. This is the second time I have found this thinking to be optimistic to the point of foolishness (to quote Dumbledore.) It’s not that Brian can’t do these things, it’s not even that he lacks the initiative to do them. He lacks the courage to start. He is afraid he will mess it up and he wants me to help or demonstrate for him. Frankly, teaching him how to replace the guts of the toilet is somewhat pointless. Especially since this isn’t an everyday skill. He won’t remember what I told him when he needs to know sometime in the future. I don’t remember it exactly each time and refer to the instructions and I’m the one doing this nonsense. I have replaced the insides of the toilets 4 times now, twice for each bathroom. I got this mysterious toilet fixing knowledge and skill from the sacred script. The legendary written account of how to change toilet guts that only the worthy can read. In other words, I read the damn directions that came with the kit. Then I followed them. Then the toilet was fixed. They say the toilet gut things have a 5 year guarantee. (toilet guts is actually a term. If you google toilet guts you will actually get the insides of the toilet tank as a result. I have no idea what else to call it. I went on Amazon, typed in toilet guts, and got the kit I needed. ) Let me assure you, it’s not 5 years and one day. I have been here almost 10 years and I have replaced the guts twice in each bathroom. In other words, read the directions. When in doubt, there is Youtube. Which I refered to yesterday to figure out what the hell tool someone would use to get the gigantic bolt off the bottom of the toilet tank. Answer: spud nut wrench. We didn’t have one. Brian’s brother did but he took too long to answer my request so I used the saws -all and cut the entire piece off at the base and thanked God I didn’t crack the bowl, which was a definite possibility going in. Aside from the struggle to remove bolts, it’s just a matter of taking one set of equipment out and putting a new set in and tightening everything up. Except it takes me longer because I have to do things like search for the small hack saw that I KNOW WE HAVE BECAUSE I JUST BOUGHT IT. Brian denies all knowledge of this saw. Which is what he does until I find it stashed somewhere stupid and threaten him with it, then he says “I was only helping you. I thought you would say thank you. I was picking up for you.” and then I have a melt down because he knows full well he is NOT helping but he continues to do this stuff. I never did find it. I used a different small saw that was less than ideal and I cut my finger when it slipped and blamed Brian for it. It’s a scratch, but it bled so it totally had guilt trip potential as far as injuries resulting from using- the -wrong -tool -because -Brian -moved -the -correct -tool- to -an -undisclosed -location goes.
Anyhow, it doesn’t take any sort of special ability to do this sort of thing. It just takes the guts to give it a shot. If I need help I have the number of a plumber and I figure it’s already broken, what have I got to lose. Besides my dignity and perhaps a finger or two.
Also new and exciting in the house- a friend of Brian’s who shall remain nameless told me he bought Brian a gift and it was coming in the mail on Saturday. All that came in the mail Saturday was some fantasy film (not nearly as seedy and dirty as one would think. It’s essentially resin that you can dip wire frames into – like bubbles almost – but then it dries on the little wire frame you made and you can make flowers and other pretty things…anyhow, it’s not porn.) and tatting needles. So if he sent either of those things to Brian that would have been awesome because Hey! I totally needed those! and also a wicked coincidence because I just ordered the same things! However, it was neither of those items and the surprise package arrived in the mail on Monday. It was not any sort of craft supply sadly. It was…cringe….a Trump Jersey. Yes, you read that right. A jersey that says TRUMP on the back with the number 45. I was horrified. I was also sworn to secrecy by the person responsible and as I like this person generally I will keep my promise although I am not entire sure why he or she wants to remain anonymous or what he or she plans to do or why he or she would subject me to this horror. Also, the name Trump is freaking screen printed across the back. Not heat pressed on or appliqued on like any other jersey so there really isn’t any chance of me getting the name off. Although now that I think of it I could totally do a name plate….you know like what the real sports jerseys have…anyhow, sorry. I wouldn’t deface a gift. Tempting as it may be. That doesn’t mean I won’t make a nameplate that says “Deplorable” and pin it to the jersey though. As a temporary measure. At any rate Brian still has no idea who the secret santa is and it’s KILLING HIM that I won’t tell him. I am totally enjoying this power. So thank you to the secret squirrel for entrusting me with your secret.
I was supposed to pretend I had no idea that this package was coming. However, when Brian opened it he thought I bought it. As if. I swore on my life, his life, the cat’s life…then he was looking for return information on the package so he could return it. He does crap like that all the time. So I finally had to tell him I knew who it was from but I couldn’t tell him and it was a gift and to stop being a pain in the ass uptight Republican. Now he is all happy because he actually freaking loves this jersey (of course he does.) and kind of wanted it (of course he did) anyhow and had been admiring it (while I made gagging sounds) and is now the proud owner of the monstrosity. But I love him and it made him smile and really it was very nice of the nameless friend. Perhaps. Until I see how this plays out I will assume it was nice. Brian now has a collection of obnoxious shirts and such. He has a red white and blue Chuck Norris hat that I hate. A tank top that has George Washington with some sort of machine gun with an eagle on his shoulder or some craziness. I was responsible for that horror. I got it as a joke. Turns out the joke is on my cause he wears it places. With the Chuck Norris hat. A collection of Rocky T shirts. a whole red white and blue star-spangled outfit compliments of his mom and of course the red white and blue Rocky shorts I made him for a Halloween costume a few years ago that have since become legend and are worn for all races he runs. He threatened to wear the Trump Jersey to our wedding. I threatened to make myself a widow.
Ok, well now it is actually time to do some more work. Or take a nap. Possibly take a nap and then do work. I need to rest up for the grocery store. You haven’t lived until you have gone to Publix with Gabrielle and one of her elves. I feel like I am the physically challenged one. Going anywhere with Gabs means having a 105 lb kid that is talking to her elf on a shelf that she carries with her everywhere hanging off one arm while I try to make sure that neither she or the grocery cart collide with any unsuspecting customers. It’s exhausting. Wish me luck.