I have this little routine where I get movies from Netflix on Tuesday – the day new movies are released on DVD – and I like to watch what we’ve got before Saturday so that when Saturday morning comes I can stick the movies in the mail, they receive them on Monday, and then they ship out the new movies on Monday and they arrive here on Tuesday.
It’s a routine that rarely fails me, and the only issue is that usually I’m not dressed and ready for public perusal before the mail carrier comes, so I get the movies in their envelopes and ask Fred to take them out to the mailbox when he goes outside to work.
I have learned, through experience, that if I ask him and then remind him and remind him again and then remind him one last time, he gets annoyed and says “GOD, I am NOT STUPID, Bessie, just put them on the table by the door, that’s all you have to do!”
So on this most recent Saturday, I had three movies to go back, and I walked into the computer room and I held them up and said “Would you put these in the mailbox when you go out?”
“Okay,” Fred said.
“I’ll put them over here on the table by the door,” I added helpfully.
“Okay,” Fred said with an edge to his voice that indicated that I should just shut up about it.
So I put the movies on the table by the door and I wandered off to lay in bed and read or clean the litterboxes or something equally thrilling.
Around 9, I took a shower and got dressed and then I thought “Hmm, I wonder if the mail came yet?”, and so I looked out the window and saw that the flag on the mailbox was down and so I put my shoes on and went out to the mailbox.
And there was no mail. Now, this NEVER happens. I always ALWAYS get mail, every single day, even if it’s a letter from SELF Magazine reminding me that my subscription will be lapsing in 2030 and I should renew NOW so that I don’t miss a single issue!, so this was a surprise to me.
I shrugged and thought “Well, hell. I suppose it had to happen one day!” and went back into the house to do some laundry.
About an hour later, I wandered through the computer room, and what? What do you suppose I saw? Sitting there all bright red on the table by the door? Where I’d mentioned I would put them? By the man who acts all huffy if I remind him of something more than once?
Of course. The movies. And why wouldn’t they be sitting there? After all, I didn’t REMIND him, so IT DIDN’T HAPPEN.
I was steamed, to say the least. I picked up the movies and my keys and stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind me. I stomped out to the garage and slammed the garage door behind me. I backed out of the garage at a high rate of speed, and then zoomed out of the driveway. I drove to the post office (and yes, I DROVE to the post office even though you can practically see it from the front porch, shut UP). I threw the movies in the mailbox. I drove angrily home. I slammed the garage door and the house door.
And I swore the entire time.
Lucky for Fred I’d mostly calmed down by the time he came inside, gave me a chagrined smile and said “I’m useless, huh?”
“TO SAY THE LEAST. FUCKER.”
Saturday evening, Fred was sitting at his computer eating yogurt when he noticed that Miss Momma and Newt were sitting on the side stoop, waiting to be let him. They don’t wear watches, but they always seem to know when it’s Snackin’ Time, and the time was rapidly approaching.
“Would you let them in?” he asked.
“I can’t! I’m playing Scramble on Facebook!” I said, clicking on random letters to see if they’d make a valid word. I’m of the “This looks like it SHOULD be a word, let’s give it a try!” school of thought, and it pays off more than you’d expect.
Fred got up, yogurt in hand, and as he reached the door he simultaneously reached out to grab the doorknob and dropped his mostly-full container of yogurt.
The yogurt container hit the floor (upside-down, of course) and splattered. Miss Momma and Newt strolled halfway through the door and said “Hey, what’s thiiiiiiiiis?”, and stopped for a sniff and an experimental lick.
Fred swore, ran for the paper towels, and then swatted Miss Momma and Newt away, tossed the doormat out onto the side stoop, and proceeded to clean up the yogurt.
Only he didn’t use wet rags or any kind of cleaning solution to clean up the mess, and so when he was done the floor was sticky and filmy with a thin yogurt layer, and yet he looked with satisfaction upon his cleaning job and went to change his clothes.
My Scramble game over, I went into the kitchen and got the cleaning spray and some rags, went into the computer room, and sprayed and wiped until the floor was actually clean.
I was washing my hands in the kitchen when Fred came in. “There’s still some between the boards,” he said. The thing about living in an older house is that there are occasional gaps in the floorboards, gaps where food or dust or cats will sometimes get stuck.
“Yeah, I saw that,” I said.
“Do you think you should get some Q-tips and wet them and use them to clean between the boards?”
I stared silently at him.
(pic)
He looked inquiringly at me.
(pic)
“I think YOU should get some Q-tips and wet them and use them to clean between the boards,” I said.
He grinned abashedly and went off to do so.
Sunday morning I left the house a little before 8 with the intention of walking on the walking path in Closeville, then stopping at the grocery store for enough groceries to get us through the week.
I was about a mile from the end of the walk when my cell phone blasted out Sweet Home Alabama (which plays when anyone calls me from our home number. Usually it’s Fred, but sometimes Mister Boogers likes to call and ask if my refrigerator is running.). I answered it, told Fred to hang on, and then paused my iPod.
“What up?” I said, because that’s just how hip I am.
“So… it seems that I left my cell phone in my pants last night,” Fred said.
“Well, shit,” I said. I’d started a load of laundry before I left, and since his pants were on the top of the pile o’ clothes, they were the first thing in the washer. And no, I do NOT go through pockets before I put the clothes in the washer, because I have not the inclination to do so, and I don’t think I should have to, I AM NOT YOUR MAID.
(This is the line of thinking that ruined many clothes when the spud was younger, because she had the habit of leaving Blistex in her pockets, and you cannot get that shit out of clothing, believe you me.)
“Yeah,” he said.
“Did you look in the washer and find it?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Does it start up at all?”
“No.”
“Well,” I said. “You really hit the fuckup trifecta this weekend, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. I’m going to take it apart and see if drying it out will make it work.”
We never were able to make the cell phone come back on, so we ordered the same model off eBay.
In and amongst his fuckup trifecta, Fred managed to get the fence around the pig yard finished. He only needed me at the very end, the part where I held t-posts while he used a sledgehammer to pound them into the ground. He was nervous because as the t-posts went into the ground, the top of the posts were about even with my head, and he was worried that the sledgehammer would slip due to the rain and smack me on top of the head.
I wasn’t worried, though. I know how careful he is about that sort of thing and I knew that if the sledgehammer slipped and headed for my noggin, he would throw himself in front of me with his superquick reflexes and save me.
And I figured if his superquick reflexes failed him and he did smack me in the noggin, it’d kill me quick enough that I wouldn’t feel a thing. He could bury me next to Spot and tell anyone who calls for me that I’m in the bathroom.
Wielding the sledgehammer was tiring enough for him that we took a couple of breaks so he could rest. And where did we rest? In the pig shelter, of course. He’d spread out the straw he’d bought for bedding, and of course we couldn’t put pigs in there without giving it a try ourselves. It was surprisingly comfortable, and if I’d had a blanket to put over me, I could have easily taken a nap.
(flickr) Joe Bob’s fragile.
Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: “That’s all she had to say! A simple ‘thank you’ would have made Doug as happy as a sissy with a dick in his mouth!”
2004: This DOES NOT STRIKE ME as a government that is staying the FUCK out of my face!
2003: A Day in the Life of Miz Poo.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Ahhh, sweet blessed Friday.
That was funny.
Are you sure that wasn’t MY husband?
My husband is the same way… you can remind them to do something til the cows (the pigs) come home but they still forget and when you call them on it they get pissed at you! WTF?
I washed a phone a couple of weeks ago. It was in the back pocket of my kid’s cycling jersey. He’s only 12 so I make him take my phone whenever he goes out for a ride. THanks for making me feel not quite so alone in my stupidity!
I think you mentioned you use T-Mobile in a past update. What search words do you use on ebay to look for phones that will work with T Mobile? I am FOREVER replacing phones here. We have 4 in this family. Btwn oops and worn out parts I HATE waiting for a upgrade or paying full price for a new phone. Or GOD forbid extending my contract AGAIN! Any tips, I would be thankful.
That must mean that Joe-Bob is Italian. Bwa ha ha ha. Never get tired of that “Christmas Story” joke.
(You should google “I washed my cell phone.” I did. And I found a solution that worked.)
Dude, I think Fred and Jamie are the same farking person. That is so what Captain Passive-Aggressive would do. He gets pissed if you remind him of something but then he doesn’t do it!!! Aaa@rgyh!!!
So, I predict that the next building project be a dog house… for Fred!
La!
You make me laugh. Which I needed badly. Thanks.
We have a narrow driveway and my hubby drives a big truck. Every time he left the house for months, I would say, “Don’t hit my car.” And he would get all huffy and offended. One day I consciously decided NOT to say it so he wouldn’t get irritated again.
You guessed it…20 seconds later he was back inside…”I hit your car.”
Damnit. So now I remind him and he can just deal with it! And he really can’t say much about it anymore!
You two TOTALLY went for a roll in the hay, didn’t you? HAHA.
Why didn’t Fred just let the kitties eat the yogurt? Two of my three love yogurt. I’ve never let them have most of a carton, though. They’re lucky to get a spoonful each when I’ve eaten 99% of it.
did you know that when you read fast t-posts looks like post-its…and I was starting to think that Fred might just be giving you a job to make you feel helpful. I mean, holding the post-its isn’t probably THAT important. ::snort::
Joe Bob is FrahGeeLay… must be Italian!!
if fred threatens to bop you with the sledgehammer, remind him that we have photos of what he did to your eye a few weeks ago. your readers will get all 48 hours mystery” on his ass!
My first cell phone got wet on a water ride at Six Flags. When I took it to the Verizon store to get a replacement they told me that if you try to turn it on while it is still wet, you completely short out the phone. It’s hard not to, but you have to let it completely dry before turning on, and that USUALLY works. Beats buying a new one, anyway.
I never check pockets either and LOVE when I have to pick kleenex off of the clothes!
That Mr. Boogers has many expressions, doesn’t he?!?! Too funny!
Yay! A new Mister Boogers expression photo!
What is it, exactly, about using a cleaning spray and a damp rag to clean up spills that men DO NOT GET? Honestly, I’m stumped. I see it all the time around here from the male members (heh, I said “male member”) of my household.
My brother washed his phone last fall. I may have made fun of him. A lot. It was very amusing until a week later when I washed MY phone.
Bri – That sounds exactly like the advice I’ve received on wet electronics. If you turn them on while they are wet.. they’ll short out. But if you let them dry and they weren’t On in the first place,s hould be fine.
Works for when I spilled water from my fishtanks on my laptop. Shh… don’t tell my Mom that. She reads Robyn too..
I love the NEW Mister Boogers picture. The surprise and annoyed look. He’s a very expressive young man.
I once dropped my phone in the toilet… and I had just peed, hadn’t flushed. Yeah. I had to get it out, so I did. Disgusting.
Fuckup trifecta!! I am so using this during (after?) spousal battles
What Ginni said. Anything I spill ANYTHING edible (ie, non-toxic… steel wool is edible, technically, as is bleach, but you know what I mean) I holler for the dogs. When the dogs come running, the cats figure they’re missing out on some kind of good something, so they come running too. The competition ensures that whatever it is, however nasty and otherwise unpalatable, will be eaten, if only to ensure that no one ELSE gets it. Because the hard and fast rule among all five of my furred critters is “MINEMINEMINEMINE, you can’t have it, MINE!!!” (Between the turtles too, but there’s only two of them so it’s less pronounced.) By they time they realize they don’t actually want any of it, it’s gone.
Anyway, at least Fred doesn’t have a death wish strong enough to make him say, as my ex-husband did when I was cleaning up one of his messes, “You missed some over there.” And Robyn, why dincha make HIM drive the movies to the Post Office? I’da been all, “Oh, honey, while you’re out will you pick me up some whatever/fill up the tank/do this other errand I don’t want to do?” “While I’m out doing what?” “Taking those movies that I didn’t remind you about to the post office.”
Man. Typing that, part of me just can’t WAIT until my son gets his driver’s license.
And thanks for the dryout info, y’all!
ooh… Fra-gee-lay! (it must be Italian!)
Haha 😀 those were funny stories.
Also, when you wash the phone, you’re not supposed to turn it on =/
I know this from hearing about friends and family who wash their phone.
You just leave it off for a few days, until it’s dry.
And then turn it on.
Just for future reference.
If you guys are going to be building much more fence with t-posts, you should get a t-post driver. It’s a pipe that’s a little bigger around than the posts with concrete in one end and 2 handles on it. That way, you can slip the driver over the post, and it holds the post up, and you don’t have to take the driver all the way off of the post before you slam it down really hard and the concrete in the end of it acts like a sledge hammer. I think you can get them at any farmer-y type store like Gebos or Tractor Supply.
I’m totally stealing the phrase fuck-up trifecta. That’s magic.
Okay. Someone’s lyin’ and it ain’t ME! Either someone wanted to falsely accuse a fabulous ice cream establishment for a clumsy f*ckup which actually TRUTHFULLY involved an innocent container of healthy yogurt, or SOMEONE is in denial about someone’s ice cream addiction! Admitting you have a problem is the first step, kids! Your stories don’t agree, my friends! Isn’t it true, Mr. &nderson, that you claim the spilled dairy product into your floorboards was the wonderfully sugary and fattening desert product which is put out (in very generous portions, I might add) by a franchise with a cherry in the logo? Isn’t it ALSO true, Mrs. &nderson, that you tell the story in a much different light? You stated, on Monday, February 25, 2008 that your husband, clumsy f*ckup that he is (especially on this particular occasion), but ever the thrifty handyman (which ALL husbands should strive to be) in fact was enjoying a MUCH healthier snack of yogurt, which was what was so clumsily spilled all over the ENTIRE floor?
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I ask you to keep in mind as you judge these people on their dietary habits, who is at fault here? We all know the actual spilling goes to Fred. He is just working far too hard and can’t be expected to be light and nimble in his loafers with perfect balance ALL the time. But what of the lack of corroboration in their stories? Could it be that YOU as a jury of people, have forced these fine people into manufacturing stories because, in fact, they KNOW that they will be judged and criticized? Mr. and Mrs. &nderson, I urge you to come forward and bring us the truth. Everyone knows that a high-calorie treat of ice cream following a funeral is only reasonable. Expected, even! The truth will set you free!!!