For those of you I haven't called and cried about this to, let me officially announce that we are mourning the passing of our dear, longtime companion, our home air conditioner. We're still going through the 12 steps of grief. You know, anger, fear, denial. Shit, I can only name three. You're going to have to trust me on this then. Or google it. Because clearly I don't know as much as grieving as I thought. Anyway, we're just now getting past the denial part. After trying to convince ourselves that the house wasn't that hot and surely things were going to be fine, last night we finally threw in the sweat-laden towel and headed for a local hotel. To get to this point, it took our local A/C repairman pronounced her dead and only being able to return in the morning with parts to revive her.
It wasn't until we sat down in that hotel room with the thermostat set on a glorious 65 degrees that we realized how hot it really had been at hour house. I openly wept at finally being reunited with my old lover, the A/C. Just as I was offering the window unit a blowjob, Sonny the Pug threatened to call the SPCA if we ever subjected him to such heat again.
To which I was all HA! YOU THINK THEY'D TAKE YOU BACK, YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE. YOU'VE COST US A MODERATELY SIZED FORTUNE! THEY'D PUT YOU DOWN BEFORE SPENDING THEIR MONTHLY MORTGAGE PAYMENT ON YOUR HIPS!
And he was all WHUT? I'M A GREAT PET! STOP IT WITH YOUR LIES!
And then husband chimed in and was all STOP TALKING DOING DOG VOICES AND TALKING TO YOURSELF. YOU LOOK LIKE AN INSANE PERSON. AND FRANKLY, I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE CRAZY RIGHT NOW.
And I was all SUCK IT. I GOT SUNSTROKE.
That's when he pointed out that I hadn't been out in the sun at all so it must be heatstroke, but that wasn't very likely because I was sitting under a fan and sipping ice tea the entire time he was running around in the yard with the A/C repairman and doing manly things like climbing through 1000-degree ventilation ducts in the attic. And I was all PFT! MERE DETAILS!
That's when the husband heroically volunteered to make a food run, thus leaving me with the voices in my head and three very apprehensive dogs. So I opened up the laptop and started to check email and complain via Twitter of how unfair life is. Just as I was about to write this very blog that you are reading right now, I was distracted by COMPLETE FUCKING CHAOS, thus why I'm writing now and not last night from the hotel room. Because just as my fingers began to touch the keyboard, Deuce decided to attack the hotel room door. He only weighs 14 pounds, but he put everything he had behind his small stature and went to town.
This, of course, sent Sonny the Pug into a barking fit, which resembled an epileptic seizure.
Meanwhile Ripken was all HOLY FUCK WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS ROOM??? WHY ARE THERE NO CLOSETS TO HIDE IN??? WHAT KIND OF CRACKPOT IDIOT ARCHITECT DESIGNED THIS HOTEL??? QUICK, MAMA, HELP ME KNOCK DOWN THIS WALL AND CONSTRUCT A MAKESHIFT HIDEY HOLE. IT'S CRUCIAL. DAMN IT WOMAN, WHY ARE YOU NOT WITH ME ON THIS??? CAN YOU NOT HEAR THE TINY DOG BARKING??? WE! MUST! HIDE! NOW!
An eternity later, I am able to determine what has made Deuce loose his shit. It's just a small child laughing. How dare that little kid be happy! In the public hallway! Oh the humanity! Just as we're all settling back down, the door creeks open and before any of the attack dogs can determine its just their daddy returning with food, Deuce starts in with that god-awful bark. It’s the type of bark you'd expect from a Doberman strung out on meth. Before the husband can tell them to pipe down, the phone is ringing. Great. No one knows were in the hotel yet because I haven't been able to work that in due to the dogs so we have a pretty good idea that it’s the front desk.
Apparently there had been "complaints." Ha. No shit, is all I can think to say. Luckily I'm not the one talking to the management. Husband is all calm and assertive and assures them that we'll settle down our rowdy crew before our 40-person kegger gets broken up. I've never lived down stairs from us, but it would appear that me, the husband and three dogs sound like tap dancing elephants that like to bang cymbals on the walls. OH, and could we shut that Doberman up and maybe take his crack away from him? Just for the one night? Please?
And so that's how it went for about 10 more hours.
At first light we showered, dressed and left. Add the La Quinta to yet another place I can't show my face. Today, the husband is wrangling with a long-standing doctor's appointment, the Houdini of A/C repairmen and making sure we get our car out of the shop in time to drive to Mississippi tomorrow night to visit my ailing grandmother.
It will not surprise me at all if somewhere along the way we are all abducted by aliens and taken hostage aboard their spaceship. Because at this point? My life is a circus without a ringmaster and a ride on an UFO doesn't seem so bad as long as it's got air conditioning.
It wasn't until we sat down in that hotel room with the thermostat set on a glorious 65 degrees that we realized how hot it really had been at hour house. I openly wept at finally being reunited with my old lover, the A/C. Just as I was offering the window unit a blowjob, Sonny the Pug threatened to call the SPCA if we ever subjected him to such heat again.
To which I was all HA! YOU THINK THEY'D TAKE YOU BACK, YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE. YOU'VE COST US A MODERATELY SIZED FORTUNE! THEY'D PUT YOU DOWN BEFORE SPENDING THEIR MONTHLY MORTGAGE PAYMENT ON YOUR HIPS!
And he was all WHUT? I'M A GREAT PET! STOP IT WITH YOUR LIES!
And then husband chimed in and was all STOP TALKING DOING DOG VOICES AND TALKING TO YOURSELF. YOU LOOK LIKE AN INSANE PERSON. AND FRANKLY, I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE CRAZY RIGHT NOW.
And I was all SUCK IT. I GOT SUNSTROKE.
That's when he pointed out that I hadn't been out in the sun at all so it must be heatstroke, but that wasn't very likely because I was sitting under a fan and sipping ice tea the entire time he was running around in the yard with the A/C repairman and doing manly things like climbing through 1000-degree ventilation ducts in the attic. And I was all PFT! MERE DETAILS!
That's when the husband heroically volunteered to make a food run, thus leaving me with the voices in my head and three very apprehensive dogs. So I opened up the laptop and started to check email and complain via Twitter of how unfair life is. Just as I was about to write this very blog that you are reading right now, I was distracted by COMPLETE FUCKING CHAOS, thus why I'm writing now and not last night from the hotel room. Because just as my fingers began to touch the keyboard, Deuce decided to attack the hotel room door. He only weighs 14 pounds, but he put everything he had behind his small stature and went to town.
This, of course, sent Sonny the Pug into a barking fit, which resembled an epileptic seizure.
Meanwhile Ripken was all HOLY FUCK WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS ROOM??? WHY ARE THERE NO CLOSETS TO HIDE IN??? WHAT KIND OF CRACKPOT IDIOT ARCHITECT DESIGNED THIS HOTEL??? QUICK, MAMA, HELP ME KNOCK DOWN THIS WALL AND CONSTRUCT A MAKESHIFT HIDEY HOLE. IT'S CRUCIAL. DAMN IT WOMAN, WHY ARE YOU NOT WITH ME ON THIS??? CAN YOU NOT HEAR THE TINY DOG BARKING??? WE! MUST! HIDE! NOW!
An eternity later, I am able to determine what has made Deuce loose his shit. It's just a small child laughing. How dare that little kid be happy! In the public hallway! Oh the humanity! Just as we're all settling back down, the door creeks open and before any of the attack dogs can determine its just their daddy returning with food, Deuce starts in with that god-awful bark. It’s the type of bark you'd expect from a Doberman strung out on meth. Before the husband can tell them to pipe down, the phone is ringing. Great. No one knows were in the hotel yet because I haven't been able to work that in due to the dogs so we have a pretty good idea that it’s the front desk.
Apparently there had been "complaints." Ha. No shit, is all I can think to say. Luckily I'm not the one talking to the management. Husband is all calm and assertive and assures them that we'll settle down our rowdy crew before our 40-person kegger gets broken up. I've never lived down stairs from us, but it would appear that me, the husband and three dogs sound like tap dancing elephants that like to bang cymbals on the walls. OH, and could we shut that Doberman up and maybe take his crack away from him? Just for the one night? Please?
And so that's how it went for about 10 more hours.
At first light we showered, dressed and left. Add the La Quinta to yet another place I can't show my face. Today, the husband is wrangling with a long-standing doctor's appointment, the Houdini of A/C repairmen and making sure we get our car out of the shop in time to drive to Mississippi tomorrow night to visit my ailing grandmother.
It will not surprise me at all if somewhere along the way we are all abducted by aliens and taken hostage aboard their spaceship. Because at this point? My life is a circus without a ringmaster and a ride on an UFO doesn't seem so bad as long as it's got air conditioning.
4 comments:
Your.Blog.IS.hilarious. I am going to link to you...hope you don't mind!
And, for the record, I went to my doctor's appointment, found out I have severe bursitis in my hip, bought and installed a wall AC unit, embarrassed the Houston Chronicle's lead columnist in a baseball debate, got the car fixed and paid Houdini repairman BEFORE getting my hip medicine.
Thank you, I'll be here all week.
Of course! Link away!
aint life grand
popeye
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