Today my mom's goal was to get large black guys that could kick her ass to like her. I should probably explain that.
Our poor, old, seemingly homemade garage door has slowly been finding less and less gumption to continue on with life. He / she / it / hermaphrodite has been using geriatrics as an excuse to no longer go up or down without help. And by help, I mean we had to do it for he / she / it / hermaphrodite. In the thirteen years we've known the garage door, we've never caught it's name or gender.
Today he / she / it / hermaphrodite was finally laid to rest, and a new garage door came into the picture. She is lovely and works and is obviously a girl because of all of these things. I think I'll call her Lacey.
This is the part that finally explains the beginning of the blog. The two men who were installing Lacey were large, hilarious black guys. Said guys were supposed to have the day off today, however, they got stuck working. It was also about ten degrees below oh-my-God-I-can't-feel-my-butt. Then they told my mom that our garage door was super sized and they had to drive from an hour away with their van door open to fit the garage door in. This is when oh-my-God-I-can't-feel-my-butt cold turns into honey-we're-never-having-kids cold. My mom felt bad for them and she wanted them to really like her so they'd do a good job on the garage door despite freezing half to death on their supposed-to-be day off. Some may say she became obsessed with this. And you all know who I mean by some.
I passed on going down to the garage, which is detached, and meeting these guys, so the next thing I knew my mom was up here telling me all about how she wanted to make them all kinds of happy so they loved her, and then she began to make coffee. You have to understand that we have a great big coffee maker and a teeny weeny coffee pot. Obviously, we did not buy them together. We had a big coffee maker and its pot broke. Around the same time we also inherited my grandma's little coffee maker, and it quickly passed away. The irony on that has not passed me by. This left us with a big coffee maker and a little coffee pot. This always reminds me of the Dinosaur in that Disney movie that would say, "I have a big head...and little arms." It and the coffee maker / pot have to be related.
The Disney Movie Dino Coffee Anomaly makes it slightly confusing to make coffee, especially when you have the wrong filters and you've never made the whole pot. My mom spent more time than she'll ever be able to recover reading the coffee bag, asking me how much coffee I thought she should put in, reading the coffee bag, asking me how much coffee I thought she should put in, reading the coffee bag, saying she really wanted them to like her and to make them happy, reading the coffee bag, asking me how much coffee I thought she should put in, and then finally deciding with a swift, "I put in two big tablespoons and a little bit. It's good enough!"
I thought we were over the the coffee debacle of 2011, which I'm sure will just be the first of many, when this occurred.
Mom: "We don't have anything to put the coffee in to keep it hot, do we?"
Me: "No."
Mom: "We don't have any thermoses to keep the coffee hot in, do we?"
Me: *Bangs head off cat* "NO!"
Mom, rewording questions in hopes of a new answer is cheating. And it never works. The questions are smarter than that.
In the end, no amount of coffee made the garage door men happy. I mean, maybe they were honey-we're-never-having-kids cold kind of happy, and maybe they didn't hate us per say, but they still pulled a cute one because they were cold and wanted to go home. We couldn't really blame them, but what they did was so special and counter intuitive that we didn't even know what the proper way to react was. Do we laugh? Do we cry? Do we feel bad for the guys because maybe they don't know anything about wiring and they got stuck coming out today on their gosh darn freaking day off and it wasn't really their fault? Do we get mad?
What did they do, you may be wondering? Instead of hard wiring out garage door to work whenever, they wired it to our light, meaning the garage door only works when the light is on. So if we want to go anywhere and actually use the garage door to get in and out, we have to leave the light on in the garage. I think it's a little funnier than I probably should, but it still needs to be fixed.
Greta would also like you all to know that she spent her first night in her big girl bedroom. For some reason, she thought of my bedroom as the third level of hell. She would not set foot in there if you paid her in nommy cookies. I assured her that it was her bedroom, too, and with some work she finally decided she really liked it in there. That little puppy was out cold last night. I don't think you could have wiped that sleeping smile off her face if you told her that you were stealing her cookie. But don't tell her that. She's awesome and she deserves cookies. If you take it I will eat you...for breakfast.
And now for the problem and advice segment of this blog. As you all know, I like to anthropomorphize inanimate objects. Enter Mr. Bear. Mr. Bear is clearly a dog toy, but we don't like to think about him that way. To us, he is another one of our pets. I kid, but go with me on this or else you're going to ruin the ambiance of this story.
Lately, Mr. Bear has been showing some very disturbing behavior. Normally he happily sits on top of the other toys in the bin and looks like this:
However, the other day he gave a whole new meaning to "go stand in the corner and think about what you did?"
Obviously, this isn't a corner, but it's the corner of our couch. Does anyone have any advice on how to help Mr. Bear?
But seriously guys, we just came out one day and he was like this. We have no idea how he ended up in this position, but in this position he stayed for quite awhile. The dogs wouldn't even touch him until we moved him. Apparently they were worried about his mental health, too, and just waiting for us to break the ice. Dogs, you're welcome.
Now I'm going to go and be a super dork and watch American Pickers and the new episodes of Pawn Stars. Yeah, you guys, I'm a girl. Yeah, I'm 25 and single. Yeah, I know why. And I'm *positive it has nothing to do with me having random knowledge about Winchesters and Colts, and my extensive knowledge of serial killers.
* This is a total lie.
Our poor, old, seemingly homemade garage door has slowly been finding less and less gumption to continue on with life. He / she / it / hermaphrodite has been using geriatrics as an excuse to no longer go up or down without help. And by help, I mean we had to do it for he / she / it / hermaphrodite. In the thirteen years we've known the garage door, we've never caught it's name or gender.
Today he / she / it / hermaphrodite was finally laid to rest, and a new garage door came into the picture. She is lovely and works and is obviously a girl because of all of these things. I think I'll call her Lacey.
This is the part that finally explains the beginning of the blog. The two men who were installing Lacey were large, hilarious black guys. Said guys were supposed to have the day off today, however, they got stuck working. It was also about ten degrees below oh-my-God-I-can't-feel-my-butt. Then they told my mom that our garage door was super sized and they had to drive from an hour away with their van door open to fit the garage door in. This is when oh-my-God-I-can't-feel-my-butt cold turns into honey-we're-never-having-kids cold. My mom felt bad for them and she wanted them to really like her so they'd do a good job on the garage door despite freezing half to death on their supposed-to-be day off. Some may say she became obsessed with this. And you all know who I mean by some.
I passed on going down to the garage, which is detached, and meeting these guys, so the next thing I knew my mom was up here telling me all about how she wanted to make them all kinds of happy so they loved her, and then she began to make coffee. You have to understand that we have a great big coffee maker and a teeny weeny coffee pot. Obviously, we did not buy them together. We had a big coffee maker and its pot broke. Around the same time we also inherited my grandma's little coffee maker, and it quickly passed away. The irony on that has not passed me by. This left us with a big coffee maker and a little coffee pot. This always reminds me of the Dinosaur in that Disney movie that would say, "I have a big head...and little arms." It and the coffee maker / pot have to be related.
The Disney Movie Dino Coffee Anomaly makes it slightly confusing to make coffee, especially when you have the wrong filters and you've never made the whole pot. My mom spent more time than she'll ever be able to recover reading the coffee bag, asking me how much coffee I thought she should put in, reading the coffee bag, asking me how much coffee I thought she should put in, reading the coffee bag, saying she really wanted them to like her and to make them happy, reading the coffee bag, asking me how much coffee I thought she should put in, and then finally deciding with a swift, "I put in two big tablespoons and a little bit. It's good enough!"
I thought we were over the the coffee debacle of 2011, which I'm sure will just be the first of many, when this occurred.
Mom: "We don't have anything to put the coffee in to keep it hot, do we?"
Me: "No."
Mom: "We don't have any thermoses to keep the coffee hot in, do we?"
Me: *Bangs head off cat* "NO!"
Mom, rewording questions in hopes of a new answer is cheating. And it never works. The questions are smarter than that.
In the end, no amount of coffee made the garage door men happy. I mean, maybe they were honey-we're-never-having-kids cold kind of happy, and maybe they didn't hate us per say, but they still pulled a cute one because they were cold and wanted to go home. We couldn't really blame them, but what they did was so special and counter intuitive that we didn't even know what the proper way to react was. Do we laugh? Do we cry? Do we feel bad for the guys because maybe they don't know anything about wiring and they got stuck coming out today on their gosh darn freaking day off and it wasn't really their fault? Do we get mad?
What did they do, you may be wondering? Instead of hard wiring out garage door to work whenever, they wired it to our light, meaning the garage door only works when the light is on. So if we want to go anywhere and actually use the garage door to get in and out, we have to leave the light on in the garage. I think it's a little funnier than I probably should, but it still needs to be fixed.
Greta would also like you all to know that she spent her first night in her big girl bedroom. For some reason, she thought of my bedroom as the third level of hell. She would not set foot in there if you paid her in nommy cookies. I assured her that it was her bedroom, too, and with some work she finally decided she really liked it in there. That little puppy was out cold last night. I don't think you could have wiped that sleeping smile off her face if you told her that you were stealing her cookie. But don't tell her that. She's awesome and she deserves cookies. If you take it I will eat you...for breakfast.
And now for the problem and advice segment of this blog. As you all know, I like to anthropomorphize inanimate objects. Enter Mr. Bear. Mr. Bear is clearly a dog toy, but we don't like to think about him that way. To us, he is another one of our pets. I kid, but go with me on this or else you're going to ruin the ambiance of this story.
Lately, Mr. Bear has been showing some very disturbing behavior. Normally he happily sits on top of the other toys in the bin and looks like this:
However, the other day he gave a whole new meaning to "go stand in the corner and think about what you did?" 
Obviously, this isn't a corner, but it's the corner of our couch. Does anyone have any advice on how to help Mr. Bear?But seriously guys, we just came out one day and he was like this. We have no idea how he ended up in this position, but in this position he stayed for quite awhile. The dogs wouldn't even touch him until we moved him. Apparently they were worried about his mental health, too, and just waiting for us to break the ice. Dogs, you're welcome.
Now I'm going to go and be a super dork and watch American Pickers and the new episodes of Pawn Stars. Yeah, you guys, I'm a girl. Yeah, I'm 25 and single. Yeah, I know why. And I'm *positive it has nothing to do with me having random knowledge about Winchesters and Colts, and my extensive knowledge of serial killers.
* This is a total lie.
Posts
1 comment:
Someday, I have to meet both your Mum and your amazing/crazy/amazing Aunt. These stories make my day most of the time, and it is incredible that they actually do these things! Were you not at all embarrassed? I think I would be! I guess I do not have to worry about anything like that happening, since my Mum is getting married in July, but still!
Post a Comment