Cujo

Remember how I posted once about little dogs yipping at me when I'm out running? Well, this morning I was trotting around the neighborhood and a dog starts barking at me. It was kind of a medium sized dog so I start veering to the right to give it a wide berth. Next thing I know old Cujo has latched onto my pant leg. Having no bum to prevent the descent of my pants I had nearly a half-moon exposure going on! Dumb dog. I guess I should be glad I have only a hole in my pants and not in my leg.

So much!

One of my cute little nieces who is not quite two says, "So much!" Meaning, "I love you so much!" but she can't quite say the entire sentence.  Isn't that adorable?

Not my garage--not lucid enough to grab the camera. Mine wasn't quite this bad.

Today I had garage door issues. Running late as I always do and backing out of the driveway at 30mph, I slammed on the brakes when I noticed  the garage door had failed to close and was hanging askew. Good grief! I went into the garage and discovered two of the rollers had popped off-track on one side. Being resourceful I grabbed a ladder and put them back into the track. I tried closing the door. Ping! They popped out completely, narrowly missing the open garbage can.

I replaced them again and decided to close the door manually. Because the door was already askew I hesitated to pull it from the bottom fearing it might flatten me if it suddenly sprang free. Smart girl that I am, I got on a ladder to push it from the top. Pushing an unmoving  garage door from the top of a ladder makes the ladder tilt backwards. Eek! No, I was not left dangling from the garage door.

All my efforts only led to the door hanging askew 3/4 of the way down and a roller lost somewhere in the depths of the garbage can. Why me??

Now 30 minutes late I rushed off to my appointment with grease-covered hands, grateful nonetheless--yes, grateful, as I learned with my previous garage door experience--that my car was outside the garage when all this happened.

When I got home I resigned myself to digging through the garbage which I had filled to the brim only this morning with yard debris. Note to self--close lid of garbage can when vital parts falling from door.

Just then my neighbor knocked on the door and asked if I needed help. I had called a repair person, mind you, but was glad to have my neighbor take a look. He totally fixed it in 10 minutes! By the time I had scattered twigs, leaves etc. all over my garage floor and found the missing part (at the very bottom of the can, no less) he was ready for the part and it was done! Yay!! So much!!

I am going to fertilize, mow and edge our adjoining lawns without restraint come spring.

Eeew!

So two of my nephews say they have tried nursing their babies. Is this normal?? Sounds like some kind of Freudian Envy thing to me. Poor babies--Pitooey! I'm sure they wanted to spit.

Hahaha!

I was parked in a totally dark section of the parking lot tonight, I couldn't really see the buttons on my key-less entry thing so I kind of half-way pushed them not wanting to elicit loud honking by mistake. The locks didn't open so I tried putting the key in the lock and the darn thing wouldn't go in!  Wrong car!! Eek!!

Hobby Lobby Lunacy

I entered Hobby Lobby looking for cellophane bags and left with an ulcer. Craft stores in general distress me--drain my energy, make my head ache. Hobby Lobby is out of control. I could feel my anxiety/panic rising with every minute I spent there! Is it the pressure to decorate? I have no idea but I dislike that place immensely. Is there really any reason or need for 50 ft high aisles of garland and wrapping paper? 200 lb crucifixes? 5,000 glue guns?

I found the cellophane bags after wandering for three miles. I went to checkout, there were two cashiers and 20 women in line. The woman ahead of me had a huge stack of scrapbook paper--all priced differently, all needing to be scanned individually. What kind of madness is this??

Never again.

Don't Tell M What to Do

Many years ago after being scolded for saying to our mom, "Don't tell me what to do, young lady!"  my brother changed his response to, "Don't tell M what to do!"  

What does this have to do with flying a plane? I'll tell you. Hahaha, just kidding.

Whilst my mother was visiting her homeland (not Sacramento) I went to mow my parents' lawn. My father supposes the ground is more like a sieve than a sponge and thus requires phenomenal amounts of water in order to fill that sieve. Standing pools of water are not an indicator of saturation.

As you might guess, the grass is never dry, fairly anemic, and quite long. As you might also guess, the lawn mower has a hard time with long,wet grass. Anemic grass has no effect on mower function.

As I mowed the first row, my dad motioned for me to come over. "You're not running the engine fast enough."  It's on maximum speed.

On the second pass he motioned for me to stop again. "When you're mulching there should be a plug in the blower hole."  I checked before I started, it's in there. "Lift up the flap so I can see."

Third pass, he stops me again. "You're walking too fast."  Seriously now, I'm considering a new mowing pattern that keeps me on the far side of the yard where I can't see him motioning for me to stop!

Fourth pass--I'm not looking up, pretending I don't see him waving me down. I get to the pavement, can't turn around without running over my dad, must stop. "The lever's not fully in the high-speed position."
Aaagh! Don't tell M what to do!

Maybe it's all part of the conspiracy.

Conspiracy Theory

I believe my family is conspiring to make me crazy. For your assessment:

My parents, being unaquainted with all things computer, asked me to discontinue the dial-up internet connection my sister had established for them. Why they asked me when it is my sister who has been managing/paying for the account I do not know. I asked my sister if she would discontinue the account since she is the one being billed, but she felt it would be easier if I took care of it since I had access to a notebook in which my mother had recorded her user name--consisting of her first initial and last name. Ok, I can see that is tricky information, I'll be sure to reference the notebook when I call.

I called and supplied the account holder's name--my mother's--and her telephone number. So far so good.

Operator: "Please tell me the last four digits of your mastercard."
Me: "Uh, I'm not the one paying. I don't have a card number."
Operator: "I'll have to verify with the secret question. What is the birth city of the account holder?"
Me: "Uh...Tokyo?"
Operator: "That does not match."
Me: "Saitama-ken?"
Operator: "No."
Me: "Yamanashi-ken?"
Operator: "No."
Me: "Wait! I'm doing this for my mother, I can't remember the name of the city where she was born!"
Click.

I called my sister, "I couldn't answer the secret question! Where was our mother born?"
Sister: "Sacramento."
Me:  "What?"
Sister: "I put Sacramento because it's easier to remember."
Me: "What?"
Sister: "That's where I was born."

Aaarghh!