Notes From The Sweatshop

Here we are. A few days later and we’re waiting for our contractors to contact us and let us know when they’re going to finish fixing our house. We’ve got fans all over the place and the floor in the kitchen is ripped down to the sub-floor; the ceiling, walls and floor of the basement are just a wreck. Oh, the joke would totally be on us if they were actually a band of gypsies who were playing practical jokes.

On the plus side, we’re also going to buy a new stove and a new fridge. That’s right you dirtbag water hose! You screwed the entire fridge! What’s that? You don’t want to play nice with us and you want to flood our floor? Fine! I’m not going to fix you! You and the entire fridge are GONE, bitch! Oh, and just for kicks we’re going to give the stove the axe, too. That’s right. Mess with us and you’re going to get whacked. That should give the microwave, dishwasher and toaster second thoughts about acting up.

The fans used to dry everything are completely screwing the temperature throughout the entire house. The office, right next to the kitchen, is about 88 degrees farenheit. Upstairs in the bedrooms it is about 68 degrees. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a small tornado in the basement. Unfortunately every time I need to type or do work I get all sorts of sweaty. This is horrible. We can’t let the dogs in to see us in the office, either, because the sub-floor has so many screws and staples sticking up and they would hurt their paws.

Other tidbits from the edge of sanity this week:

driving home today Angela and I pulled into our driveway. We thought that there was an injured animal in the grass at the end of the driveway. Luckily for us it wasn’t. Instead it was too birds trying to get their groove on. Bow-chica-bow-wow.

I suffered a foot injury in March playing paintball. The injury was to my little toe. Guess what? Today my little toe nail was finally ripped off by my sandal. 🙁

I’m getting some pretty interesting job interviews in North Carolina. I will not say with whom, but let’s just say that there are at least two companies that are out there that sell some really interesting toys. Adult toys. Some of which require batteries. And an occaissional waiver of liability.

Angela is trying to teach the dogs to sneeze. Farley was able to catch on after her third ‘sneeze’ while Tobey stared at her. He’s still trying to grasp the concept.

We have inherited a 37 gallon fish tank. I hate fish. I hate seafood. I hate sea animals as pets. I had to carry a fishbowl with two goldfish in it during the ride home. Angela didn’t appreciate me aggitating the water in the bowl and screaming at the fish ‘YOU’RE GOD IS ANGRY WITH YOU!‘. A dear friend of mine, Amy, said she doesn’t like fish, either, but that she once owned a fish tank that had nothing in it. She just had it because it was pretty. Hint-hint, Angela.

And with that I’m going to bed now. I’m sweaty and crabby while my dogs are enjoying the luxuries of the soft, comfy bed upstairs. Why do I feel that my God is swirling my fishbowl and telling me that he’s angry with me?