Well, the garage door opener is fubar. I was going to take a picture of it, but I don’t have the energy. Just imagine a cracked gear case. It’s black, plastic, cylindrical and a bunch of yellow gunk leaking out of it. It’s the Kill Bill gear case, but no longer kicks ass. Earlier I was telling Rachel about how I fixed our ripped screen with duct tape (I’m lazy and ghetto) and decided that maybe, just maybe duct tape can fix my cracked gear case. No dice. I actually tried but duct tape just doesn’t have the strength to do it. My ass duct tape can fix anything. You probably have asked, why doesn’t he call a repair man? I’ve called Don’s Doors. Don knows doors is how the commercial spot goes. Don may know doors but he certainly doesn’t know shit about checking messages on his answering machine. I’ve gone to Menard’s, Fleet Farm and Home Depot and priced garage door openers. $128. I just need one part. I’ve looked for the replacement part online. Stanely has discontinued making the parts. No dice. I’ve logged onto eBay hoping to find someone selling the replacement part. Close but no dice. They have the actual gear but not the gear case. I’ll try calling Don again tomorrow, but you know, I have the feeling no one will be home again. Answering machine. Beep!
It was my one year anniversary at Target yesterday. I had to work, of course. Normally, I blow this sort of stuff off (hell, I hardly celebrate my birthday), but everyone was so damn sweet about it I felt like a princess by the end of the night.
I can’t help but feel somewhat pleased by what I found on the contextual drop down menu for Airport last night. A lot of the colllege kids buy wireless base stations for their laptops and give generic names just like you can name a computer (My Computer). As you can see in the picture below, I’ve named mine “foowireless.” Boring but accurate. I’m Foo. This is my wireless. Above me, someone named their base station, “Crackbabies ROCK!”. I’m sure this is directed towards us and like I said, I am pleased to know that I am innocently annoying college students. To set the scene: These are the best years of your life. 11 pm–Saturday night. Refridgerator full of beer, cell phones ringing, light cigarettes shared and smoked, serious discussions taking place around the table–and then you hear it. The abrupt wail of the baby next door and his father singing “Rock-a-Bye Baby”, over and over again.
Nancy and George are a sweet retired couple that live behind us. Super great neighbors. Friendly, but not all up in our shit. Sometimes when George goes to the garage for a cigarette, our Coonhound just hauls off on him. That crazy baying only a coonhound can manage. It’s cool at first, and then I feel like a complete redneck. Quiet Owen! George always will say something neat like, “Cool your jets there tiger!” He takes it well.
So they dropped off a present for Rhen a few months ago. It’s a kitten-nook-blanket thingy. Her name is Lynn. It says so right on the tag.
They also sent a card along with it too. At the end of the card there was a reference to God which normally sort of bothers me because it always seems like people feel they can bust religion on us with our child, but this time it didn’t. All I’ll say is George makes a lot of trips to the liquor store down the street and his recycling tub is filled to the brim with plastic bottles of canadian whiskey every other Wednesday.. I do not judge nor care, but every Sunday morning, I see George sporting a fresh shave and a suit, having a cigarette before they head off to church. That’s old school religious folks to me. The kind that put on a suit when they visit God. I like to think of God as an upright very busy guy, but he doesn’t use the web or email or none of that crappy stuff. God likes to use a telephone (land line) and has a good working relationship with his old pal Satan and when you go and visit the Creator of Everything, you can at the very least put on your seventy dollar suit you bought ten years ago at Pennys. I might not believe in him, but at least I know enough to respect my elders. None of that, I talk to God when I’m sitting in my underwear picking my nose crap.
Anyway, I think Rhen likes Lynn well enough, but he really hasn’t declared it as a favorite. Only time will tell.
(Rhen in the morning. Wakey, wakey.)
These grapes caused a bit of an argument this morning. Apparently, I’m an uncontrollable glutton when it comes to the grapes.
(Gonna get me a whole big bunch of grapes off a bush, or
whatever, an’ I’m gonna squash ’em on my face an’ let ’em
run offen my chin.)
MNspeakers speaking about Target’s NYer ad. It’s like my brother said about IKEA, “…IKEA has alot of crap that people think they need.” Yeah, it’s called a multi-million dollar marketing campaign. Just TRY and fight it ya bunch of sheep! Anyway, same with Target, but more so in my opinion, at least IKEA strives for some sort of efficiency in each product. Target? Man, the crap they sell. Must-buy-75-pack-of-toilet-paper. Three-rolls-free. Baaaa. Huge honking pencils. Now, excuse me while I go bite the hand that feeds me. Grrrrrrr.
Rhen under the lovely “Dooce filter“.
(I glow darkly and lightly)
Rhen working the ExerSaucer. Check me out on Flickr too.