This is what happens when you watch too much Food Network while drinking and have Amazon Prime on your iPhone all set up with your payment and shipping information. And this is just part of what I ordered last week. If pot ever gets legalized, I’m pretty certain I’ll be bankrupt within a month. 20 Comments
I have an intense fear of inflating tires. I wrote before that I take my car to a full-service garage for all air checks and air fills. I don’t know the fancy Latin crazy science name for this fear and I’m not going to look it up. I just call it Shrapnelandtirelodgedinmyfacephobia. Anyway, I have a nice garden cart I got right after I bought this place that I used all spring for working in my garden and planting shit in my yard. I have not used it lately because it got hotter than hell and I basically said “Fuck it, yard, you’re on your own” for the last few months. But we had a cool spell come through last week and I decided I’d pull some weeds and prune some palm fronds and when I went to go get my cart to haul the shit away I was horrified to see that both tires on my cart were flat! First thing I thought was “How am I loading this big ass cart in my car to take it to the garage without looking like a complete fool?” Then I thought, “Since when did I care if I looked like a complete fool?” and I started to put my cart in my car. It didn’t fit. Shit. Then I thought ”I’ll take the tires off this bitch and just take them in!” So I set out hunting tools to do that when I spotted something in the corner of my garage. When I got closer I saw it was an air compressor. See, the previous owners left all kinds of shit I never even got around to discovering. Anyhow, I eyed it for a few minutes and then went about looking for garden cart tire removal tools. I couldn’t find any. My eyes went back to the air compressor. “Hmm, if these little tires exploded they probably wouldn’t kill me,” I thought. ”But they will render me unconscious,” my crazy shrapnelandtirelodgedinmyfacephobia whispered. Then I envisioned the aftermath, me all laid out on the garage floor and my neighbors being all:
To hell with it. I’m a grown-ass woman. I can fill a garden cart’s tires! I’m going for it. I plugged the compressor into the wall and it made that weird humming air compressor sound. Then I took the cap off of the stem thingies, put on a pair of welder’s gloves I found in the other corner of garage to save my hands from the explosion, placed the compressor thingie on the stem thingy, turned my head, closed my eyes, prayed to Baby Jesus and pressed the lever thingie. It filled! I repeated the same on the other tire, prayer and all, and VOILÀ!
Like a motherfuckin’ pro, y’all!
Oh, but I’m still taking my car in for tire pressure checks and inflation. Those babies can kill you. Baby steps.30 Comments
About four or five nights a week J accompanies Bobo and me on our evening walk around my neighborhood. Tuesday evening all three of us were walking when I gave a little tug on Bobo’s leash to stop him. All three of us stopped as I reached down to straighten Bobo’s bandana that had somehow gotten twisted around with the end flipping up. The following is the exact conversation that followed.
J: “Oh my God, look at you fixing his bandana!”
J: “So, you’ve never fixed my collar. I know for a fact that you have let me walk around looking like Count Chocula. Tell me you haven’t.”
Me: “I haven’t, you lie!”
J: “Uh huh, sure I do. Just last week you let me walk around all day with my hair all messed up like Alfalfa. Now tell me you didn’t.”
Me: ”Well, okay, okay. But that shit is funny.”
J: “You are a terrible girlfriend.”
Me: “Aww, you know you don’t mean that.” *laughs silently as I look at the tag hanging out of the back of his shirt.*26 Comments