Bowled Over

There are some entertainments that we simply can't fit into our lives anymore; the obvious being mountain climbing and plastic surgery (yes, we used to live daring, wrinkle-free lives).  Some less obvious:  toilet-papering people's houses (we know the cost of wasted TP these days) and bowling.  The last time I bowled was 3 years ago.  Before that, there was 7-10 year dry spell.  Even then, I was hardly a John Handegard (all-time leader of PBA senior titles, for those of you who didn't know), barely averaging 80 on a good day.  

Imagine my surprise when I reentered the game today with two strikes and two spares on my first four frames.  I literally was wiping the floor with everyone else.  

I've got to say, I'm feeling pretty puffed up right now.  I'll let you admire my scores below. 

Don't let the fact that I was bowling at a 7-year-old's birthday party deflate my victory.  I may also mention that the "team members" I was abusing were mostly 6-year-olds.  And there were bumpers.  My first two strikes were legitimate - no bumpers necessary.  Take that, bowling-impaired 6-year-olds!

Also, completely off topic...

"Anybody who buys this much salad dressing and Mexican beer is all right with me..." says the man standing behind me in the grocery store at 9:45 pm Friday night.  Did he really say this?  No.  Did he think it loudly enough for me to hear him?  Yes.

Saturdays with Clintons

What's it like to be in our house this fine Saturday morning?  Let me paint you a picture.

Marina woke up at 5:50, Eli at 6:20.  Mark brought them downstairs around 7 and let me laze around in bed (Happy Mother's Day weekend, baby!).  When I finally came to, it was 8:21.  I felt kind of guilty about my lazy ways so I felt the need to be ultra-productive.  I gathered all the laundry from upstairs (a very significant amount) and tossed it down the stairs.  It turns out we are in a bit of a laundry crisis this week... the piles are growing and people are complaining about having no underwear.

With our breakfast of oatmeal, I dished out large servings of discipline.  No one was safe from Super Mom.  

Just now, I was trying to put a movie on for the kids (don't judge!) while they shouted out unhelpful (and unneeded) instructions.  Mark was just beginning his Saturday mowing ritual.  Moments later, the door opened (only a little because there was another mountain of laundry on the other side so the path was encumbered) and Mark popped his head in (this is especially delightful since he was wearing a pair of Eli's aviator sunglasses for eye protection).  He says, "Uhhh, Lil."  Yes?  "I spilled gasoline in the garage, do you know how to clean it up?"
"Kitty Litter!" I was excited to impart my wisdom.
"Really?  Do we have any left?"  Dang.  No.  It was supposed to be on our Sam's list for last week but I forgot.  I let him know I would think of something and sent him back out to the grass.

A quick google search confirmed my kitty litter remedy, but offered no alternatives.  I briefly considered flour, but figured since it was a haz mat situation, I better not guess.  I might just blow up our garage.  Before I went to the basement, I tossed up a reminder that pee goes in the toilets not in our pants (there are still a pair of urinated shoes in the bathroom sink).

Down the stairs I went (barefooted), only to step on a vomited hair ball on the bottom step.  I seethe inwardly and vow violence to Lorenzo's weak guts.  I stepped onto the concrete floor of the utility room only to feel a grotesque crunch under my foot.  I quickly reached over and switched the light on, only to discover that I have stepped on an enormous (and obviously stupid) spider.  Because of my quick reaction, I didn't fully crush him, only a partial maiming.  Naturally I started shrieking and my little hero Eli instantly appeared at the top of the stairs demanding an explanation.  I yelled, "A spider!!"  He told me he knew what to do and returned a minute later with a shoe.  He felt a bit intimidated by the spider's size but courageously smashed him the rest of him for me.  Then quickly he left to get back to his movie.

I shook off my double-repulsion to get down to the matter at hand.  Find some cat litter.  There were 5 cat litter containers stacked up and every one was empty.  All the available litter was in a box, covered with poops and pees.  Ugh.  After sifting for a bit, I was able to fill a sour cream container with mostly clean litter, then I marched over the piles of laundry to the garage where I poured it on the drying gasoline.  We're probably going to get a pack of alley cats taking turns sneaking into our garage to pee in the place that smells like gasoline and cat urine.

As I type, I'm sitting on the edge of a bench with a pile of still-warm laundry behind my back waiting to be folded (with Lorenzo lying on top of the pile).  Marina is marching around in a dress with Eli's fake tattoo sleeves on, dragging a rubber lizard on a string.  Eli is comatose watching Cars 2 and Mark is mowing the lawn in giant noise-cancelling ear phones and his 5-year-old son's sunglasses.

Lorenzo, continuing to make my life pleasant.

Urinated shoes.

Marina following my instructions for once.

Eli has found a comfortable position to watch his movie.

I really like us, especially on Saturdays.

Just Plumb Inconvenient

Today is not a good day for the plumber to come to my house.  Unfortunately, it is a necessity.  We had another home improvement job go wrong and now we need a professional to come fix it.  Plus several things are leaking and we have a home warranty so we don't need to fiddle with this kind of nonsense.  

So, yes, we need the plumber to come today, but no, I don't have to like it.  

Here are a few reasons why not.  

One:  it is pouring rain outside.  I told them I needed a call before they come since I would be at work.  Forty-five minutes before the designated window of plumber-time, I got the call.  The plumber was on his way.  I changed out of my heels and rolled my pants far up on my dry, unshaven legs, grabbed my tiny umbrella and sprinted through the flooded parking lot to my car, which was located nearly 1/2 a mile away (I'm a bit alarmed by my lack of physical fitness... time to resume my half-marathon training).  Needless to say I was soaked and a bit crabby.  Getting these jeans soaking wet and then dry again is not doing any favors for the squeeze they are putting on my thighs.

Two:  our house looks like it puked all over itself.  There is folded laundry on many surfaces (I'll put them away soon, I promise!) and our bedroom can't even be spoken about, it's so ridiculous.  I did half-attempt to make our bed this morning, but Eli could have done a better job (P.S. after I made it, I spent 8 minutes looking for our phones, only to find that I had buried them in the sheets of poorly made bed).  The plumber has to walk through my bedroom to get to our leaky shower.  All plans of cleaning up after ourselves went out the window this morning as we were running around horrifically late.  

Three:  the first thing the plumber saw when he walked in our house was a giant 1.75 Liter bottle of vodka on the counter (shown below - all that stuff behind it had to come out of my cabinet so he could get to the broken pipe - minus the random orange and candle).  So now he thinks we are messy alcoholics.  This bottle is about 18 inches tall, hard to miss.  In our defense, it doesn't belong to us... we are just babysitting it. 

On a side note, I was just stooping down to grab something from the bottom of my pantry when the plumber walked back in from his truck.  I realized that ironically, I was the one showing my buttcrack in the kitchen.  Though as repayment, I just glanced over at him leaning under my sink...

Four:  I have an urgent need to urinate.  Since the plumber arrived at our house shortly after I did, I was unable to go to the bathroom.  I could have run to another bathroom after he got here, but for some reason the sound of the toilet flushing seemed too embarrassing.  He knows too well what's going on with flushes.  Now the water is turned off and there is no such opportunity.  So here I sit, a bit fidgety, next to Lorenzo who is alternately giving the plumber the stink eye then accosting him.  

I think that pretty much rounds up my list.  At least this is a nice plumber.  I hope he doesn't vomit when he pulls a giant hairball out of our drain.  It's really not my fault that my hair falls out so much, even my scalp doesn't want to associate with this poofy mess.  

I wonder if I should give him a tip and tell him to forget the things he saw in this house... maybe I will send Fat Linda home with him.  That's the gift that continues to give for a long time (way too long).