Mortgaging My Soul, Once Again

So I was watching TV this evening, catching up on my DVR'ed shows, when I received a phone call from my father.  He asked me if I had anything going on this Saturday.  Now, normally I'm not this slow.  However I was bedazzled by a Will and Grace rerun and, without thinking, I said no.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

So, and keep this on the Down Low as no one outside of the immediate family is supposed to know until after Saturday (I know about the gossiping queens of Alabama!), my sister Brandi is being moved out of her apartment on Saturday.  The fun thing is that she doesn't know anything about it.  And, strangely enough, I'm not sure she'll know anything about it until after Saturday....

Here's the scoop.  My parents and her are on the year lease due to her age/lack of credit being able to get an apartment by herself.  Her last month's check bounced and she hasn't paid February's rent yet.  So my parents spoke with the owner of the apartment and, since he's a nice guy, he won't make them stay until the end of the lease, which is June I do believe.  He'll let them out early.  So mom and dad said, heck yea, she's out.  They've been forking money over left and right to cover her rent and her cell phone bill, which is an added line on their plan.

Now, mind you, she hasn't been living at the apartment in quite some time.  Her electricity and water has been turned off for an obscene amount of time (like since November or something like that) and she's been living with this Mexican family that she's been sponging off of.  In essence she's the dreaded White Trash, a much loved and admired sub-culture of the Caucasian class.

So now comes the therapy part.  For those close and dear to me, you've witnessed first hand her terribleness in regards to housecleaning.  We're not talking just a slob.  I'll take pictures when I go over on Saturday so that you can be consumed with jealousy that you were not there to witness the loveliness that I will be subjected to.  We're talking decomposing food laying all over the floor, dead bugs in the fridge, dirty "sanitary napkins" (as my mother calls them) strewn all about the floor...the end is never within reach.

And we're going in to clean the joint.  Without Brandi.  Armed with only our souls (or what's left of mine), a mop, industrial gloves, rubber boots, and surgical masks, we will prevail against the darkness.  Sure, we won't have water or electricity to aid us in our fight, but we will prevail against the stench and the torment!!

I have to remember to call my best friend Melissa's brother to ask him if we can use his water.  He lives, literally, across the street from the apartment and hopefully we'll be able to borrow his water so that we can clean the nasty ass place up!  I don't even know how we're going to sweep without electricity or use the carpet shampooer.

*sighs*

I'm not even sure what to do this with.

However, I told Travis that I got dibs on the Lesbian porn.  He laughed and asked why I got to keep it.  I told him that, even though I'm gayer then all get out, I still like to look at gin-gin occasionally.  That and, when they have kids, he'd have a hard time explaining that to his children if they would stumble across it.  The worst that would happen to me is if Zoie found it!  Or Mike!  *laughs*

So after dad poured this on me I asked him if he was going to pay for my therapy sessions.  Because, seriously, after witnessing such disasters, like Katrina, you're bound to need some psychological work.  However he declined and said that, instead of therapy, he'll treat for a nice lunch.

Great.  Now I can drool and smash my head repeatedly into the counter at McDonald's while ordering off of their Value Menu.

How did I get so lucky? 

There are few times in a young man's life where you witness true and utter stupidity.  Most things can be attributed to ignorance or a poor learning experience *waves hands around*.  However I can only think of a handful of events off of the top of my head where I've witnessed complete stupidity.

And he lives right across the street.  In the run down trailer.  He's 100% American white trash and we all hate him.  I think he stays around just to annoy us.  For this post I will call him Idiot and not use his real name...mostly in part 'cause I can't remember his real name.  Everyone just calls him Idiot or Numb Nuts.

So anyways, back to Idiot.  He's never been truly bright but I've always attributed it towards his, well, low breeding and being raised in Louisiana.  I mean, every state is lower then God's Country, aka Ohio, but Louisiana and Kentucky bring out some real winners.  Not that I'm saying that *EVERYONE* there is stupid...just a large majority.  For those of you that read my blog and love it, you're one of the chosen few :).

So last evening after supper I go to take Zoie out to go to the bathroom.  We live right by this ally and I saw this car zooming right through it, scaring me to death as, typically, no one goes through there.  I then see this really big dog coming after us, drooling literally pouring off of its face.

Now while Zoie thinks she's mighty and powerful and can take on God himself, she just can't, way too freaking small.  So I pick her up, she's freaking out and barking, and I tell the dog to take a hike.  He stops and looks at me with those stupid eyes and stupid drool and then Idiot gets out of the racing car and tells the dog to get in the car.  Well, I think that both the dog and Idiot were raised in Louisiana together because the dog just decided to sit there and eye the tasty morsel (aka Zoie).  So I went into the garage and watched.  Idiot, instead of getting out of his car, kept on calling for the dog and then the dog started to run off.  So Idiot was driving all over the block, trying to get the dog.

So I waited a couple of minutes, went back outside to get Zoie to go to the bathroom, and the dog was still loose.  Idiot decided that they would do Dog Corralling.  He never once got out of his car the whole time I was watching him (it was so amazing I watched him for 30 minutes doing this).  He and his two druggie buddies decided to use their cars to corral the stupid dog to his run down trailer.  It was...simply amazing.  He had several opportunities to get out of his car to get the dog but instead they all used their cars to nudge the dog closer to home.

The second time I took Zoie outside and the dog tried to eat her I told Idiot, "Maybe you should get your dog?"  To which he replied, screaming in a drunken rage, "What does it look like I'm doing?!  I'm TRYING!!!"  I then laugh, tell him he should get out of his car when trying to get his dog, and then run into the house, as I'm afraid for my life, as he has a history of violence according to the neighbors.  Well that and the tattooed teardrop speaks volumes.

So, the THIRD time that I tried to take Zoie outside he then yells at me, telling me, "Why are you taking your dog outside when you KNOW that I'm trying to get mine in?!"  I didn't even reply to that, as he's yelling at me while trying to corral his dog while at the same time trying not to hit it.

That, my friends, is 100% pure genius.

This is a lesson that there are reasons for Leash Laws.  I mean, Zoie has gotten off of my leash once or twice, don't get me wrong, I know that happens.  But I don't think he even owns a leash.  So he's amazed when they actually go off of his property.

That type of mentality just makes me insanely jealous..... 

So Mike got home yesterday evening from his week long excursion to Wisconsin for work.  I was happy.  I always whine about needing my space and what not but, when it comes right down to it, I love having him around.

I mean, doing the dishes/laundry/cleaning was a bitch.

So I asked him about his winky and it looks like the cream is helping him, so that makes me very happy.  Still we can't have sex for, what, 3 more weeks?  Well, actually, he can't have sex for three weeks....

*ahem*

So his winky is doing lovely, they're selling Girl Scout Cookies at his work place, all is right in the world.

Girl Scout Cookies.

It's how they get little girls trained for the drug pushing/prostitution business.

They doll them up, put them in cute pig tails, put on that super hot short khaki outfits, force them to walk around town/selling them in *your* school playgrounds/working the sidewalks of Wal-Mart, peddling their addictive wares to the public.  They can even use the same catch phrases for selling cookies/prostitution/drug selling.

"Hey Mister, I'm really cute, would you like a small sample of my cookies/drugs/coochie.  You know you want to buy the whole box/kilo/'box'."

And we do.  We want to buy boxes and boxes of Girl Scout cookies.  So many that we have to put the overflow into our freezers so that we're stocked for the entire year.

Bastards.

Bastard marketing people, only selling Girl Scout cookies once a year.  Do you NOT realize that we go through withdraws every time that you take them from our crack addicted hands?!?!  I'm so hungry for Girl Scout cookies right now I'm actually salivating.  So hungry for Girl Scout cookie loveliness.....I would even give up Warcraft for a couple boxes.

Well, for a week.

A day maybe.

Fine, a couple hours.

Damn my addictions.  I'll prolly be eating the whole box *WHILE* playing Warcraft!

My mother tells me that I have no self control and I'm coming to the realization that she's probably right.  I'm just a gluttonous fat bastard that wants my cookies and eat it too! 

Yet I'm still the prettiest boy this side of the Mississippi River.

Yesterday afternoon I was at work and, after Travis left, I started to feel strange.  My throat started to hurt a wee bit and my stomach was doing flip flops.  O' yea, and Jennifer's favorite, I had snot pouring out my nose nonstop.  It stayed pretty much the same until I was sleeping last night.  I woke up and instantly threw myself out of bed, heading for the toilet as I thought I was gonna barf all over the place.  However my powerful stomach prevailed and I went back to sleep.

This morning I woke up, head all stuffed up, throat raw, body slightly hurting, headache...

Yet here I am, slaving away at work.

I would have stayed home yet Jessica's great-grandmother of 107 years passed away this Sunday.  Today is the funeral.  So, while they are paying their final respects, I'm playing the martyr.

The pretty martyr.

So I'm thinking that, after Travis gets back from the funeral, I'm going home.  To get myself some Mrs. Grass soup with the Golden Egg (FYI, the best freaking soup in the entire world!!!  And it's so easy, even *I* can make it!!!), curl up on the couch, and pray for death.

However, knowing my luck and how my pain and suffering sexually excites the gods, I'll live.

Bastards! 

Sure, it probably won't help, but what do I have to lose?

It's snowing again today and, frankly, I'm getting tired of driving in it.

Melissa and I were going to go to Columbus today to meet a friend over there and do some hard core shopping.  However it was called off due to weather.  While my wallet is thanking me I'm just really bored with having to shovel all of this crap out of the driveway.

Our mailbox is still entrapped by a hill of snow.  I don't have the crazy snow shoveling abilities to go through a drift that goes up past my knees.  I managed to shovel out a large section in front of the mailboxes but , in order for them to pull their vehicles up to the mailbox, they'll need more then a vehicle's length shoveled out.  I was amused to find out that the mail people won't get out of their cars to toss it into the mailbox.  Well, not that I really blame them any; it's too freaking cold.   So I asked the Post Master to forward the mail to the agency's PO box until I'm able to either shovel it out of the way or the sun melts it.  We'll see which one wins the race.

I really need to go to Wal...our local grocery store to pick up a few groceries.  However I don't feel super inspired to drive on the roads when they have snow on it.  I guess I'll just have to drink alcohol when I run out of bottled water.

That'll be my excuse for becoming an alcoholic over the weekend.

Frosty the Snow Man made me do it.

No one will doubt me. 

Yesterday I came to two separate conclusions.

1)  God punishes the wicked.  Severely.  When your kids are young, tell them the scary stories about Evil Uncle Casey, his wicked ways, and how God struck him down.  Not the Biblical "God Smiting" stories.  Oh no, God kills you slowly.  I'm thinking that it's his only form of amusement.

2)  Mike and I are not meant to have vehicles.  Not driving them mind you; owning them.

With my window being smashed in, Mike's tire flying off, you would think that I would have learned these lessons by now.  But I was naive.  I just didn't know.  So God, in his infinite humor, decided to teach me these two important lessons.

See my prior post about driving around after a blizzard. 

Now, while the roads were awful at times, I survived.  I made it to my driveway and jumped for joy; I lived!

Now, as a back story before I go on, our garage door is Satan's handy work.  When it gets really cold, it only opens a quarter of the way.  So, when you hit the clicker, you have to run out to the garage door and help it up so that it makes it.  The bitch is being replaced this spring.

So, as it's hovering around 0 degrees, I knew that it wouldn't open by itself.  So I stop the vehicle, get my garage door clicker, and start to exit the vehicle.  Now, the next couple of seconds I'll explain in a step by step sequence, as it's utterly horrific and things like this needs broken down.

1)  I have one foot out of the door, the other on the brake.

2)  I let my foot of the brake.

3)  I neglected to put the vehicle in park beforehand.

4)  I was partially thrown out of the vehicle, my knee smashing into the driveway.

5)  I realized my stupidity, started screaming, "FUCK FUCK FUCK!"

6)  I threw myself back into the car and threw the vehicle into the park position.

7)  RIGHT before I put it into park, my vehicle hits the garage door.

8)  I scream out in pure and utter embarrassment from hitting my own garage door.

Now, my car only had a very minor scratch.  The garage door has a very minor dent in it.  You can barely see it.  It's just funny 'cause this insured of ours did something very similar two weeks ago and I was making fun of her and "HOW could you hit your own garage door?!?!"   Apparently I was being punished for being a wicked person.

But, strangely enough, the garage door is working fine now.  It just needed a wee nudge to get it going.

Or maybe it's just terrified that, if it doesn't get it's act together, I'll ram my car THROUGH it!

Yes, even inanimate objects live in fear of my driving!

Flee, flee and don't look back, as you may see me barreling towards you with my scratched vehicle and applying my lip balm.

*cackles and rubs his hands together* 

I did get something for Mike for Valentine's Day.  Not JUST fungus on his winky!

I was called upon on Valentine's Day to do a Holy Mission.  Travis was supposed to have flower's delivered to the agency so that he can give it to Jess.  However, due to all of the snow in the driveway, there was no way that they could deliver it.  So he called upon me to run out to the florist to pick up his flowers.

Either that or he would have to sleep out with the dogs that evening.

And it was hovering around 0 degrees right after a blizzard.

Being the humane person that I am, I couldn't do that to him.  So I risked life and limb and, coming up in a future post, my physical wellbeing, I went to the florist in town to pick it up for him.

So, while being there I picked up Mike this Valentine's stuffed bear and this Valentine's cup filled with chocolates.  I was pleased to know that I have saved Valentine's Day.

It's official.  I'm no longer the worst boyfriend in the world.

Except for the supposed fungus.

And the dent in the garage door.

But I'll post later about my stupidity. 

This is my fourth post today.

It may not be my last, we'll see.

Mike just called me and the mechanic that looked at his tire that fell off of his vehicle (see yesterday's post) said that the reason why it came off was that the previous owner installed a non-factory rim onto his tires.  And, while doing this, he didn't use the correct nuts and bolts and thingies (I have to apologize as I know, literally, nothing of cars except to turn them on and, apparently, have my window smashed in).  He said that the wheel will continue on falling off unless either a) Mike contacts the maker of the rim and they could possibly have a kit or b) buy new rims.

So Mike is now contacting the maker and also the mechanic to see which option would work best for us.  Personally, if the price is even close, I would rather see him just purchase new rims.  I'd rather him be safe then save a few dollars.

Of course, he does have quite a bit of life insurance.....

hrrmmmmm.....

I AM the worst boyfriend in the world.

Mike called me this morning and we were talking for a bit when he said, "Look in the cabinet with the coffee filters."

So, I go and look.  There's a bunch of cooking utensils that I don't even bother lying to you that I know what they're for.  On top of the whatchamacallits was a Valentine's Day card and a present.  He said Happy Valentine's Day, I said the same, while feeling like a horrible person, and we hung up.

It was this XBox game that I saw a couple of days ago and said that I thought looked really freaking sweet.  I mean, how freaking lucky am I to have a guy that actually LISTENS!!??

However, it's an XBox 360 game and I only have an XBox regular.  And typically I would take this as a sign to buy XBox 360 but that would mean that I would have to forgo Warcraft.

And, strangely enough, I'm finding it difficult to.

My Precious.....

It appears that, if you believe in something hard enough, it will come true. This is one of the lessons that we gleam from Peter Pan.

I believed long and hard last night in the Snow Plow Fairy. I clapped my hands and did the "Bless Me With Your Presence O' Snow Plow Fairy" dance most of the night last night while I was playing Warcraft. Yes, I DO have that much skill!

Because, if I didn't believe, Mike wouldn't be able to come home. Or, even more dreadful, I would have to hand shovel the snow out of the drive way. And, for those of you that truly know (and love!) me, I abhor manual labor. It just doesn't suit the "Princess Mentality" that I have going on. And, while I WOULD have done it, Mike would never hear the end of my woeful tale of how I had to spend hours hand shoveling the huge drifts while he lounged around at his hotel. Where I would have to walk up snowdrifts, both ways, with no shoes, to get the job done.

However, my belief in something finally paid off. This morning, when I took Zoie outside to pee (which, FYI, over the night pretty much everything was drifted so it was CRAZY funny to see her pee while standing in a snow drift), I thought that my dancing and clapper was for not. But, after taking a shower and pondering my dilemma, Zoie was barking her head off. So, afterwards, I poked my head outside and it came true!!! Our driveway was plowed! I can now see where the road used to be! Used to be meaning that, while I can tell that there's a road there, there's several inches of packed snow on it. Definitely not worth going out today.

I'll have to decide on how to spend my day though. Laundry, cleaning up the house, doing all of those lil' things that I always mean to do but never have any time?

I'll ponder this eternal question while I'm playing Warcraft.