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A little while ago we bought a cool stainless steel Maytag dishwasher from the Bray & Scarff outlet in Laurel, MD. It is a scratch and dent place, returns etc. So we get this cool thing, we love it. It is as quiet as a church mouse. The dishwasher it replaced sounded like a freight train loaded with ball bearings and broken glass. It was LOUD. And after a while, you just couldn’t clean the plastic insides.

Anyhoot, after a while we notice that when pushing the keypad, the lights would either stay on or not go off. If we set the dishwasher to “Sanitize”, the next time you couldn’t get that selection to turn off. So we’d close the door, open it, push ALL the buttons. Eventually it would re-set itself and we’d move on.

The other day, I’d had enough of that shit. This thing should be working, why am I trying to diagnose this bs? So I call the 1-800 number and get some gruff sounding chick. She takes my info, asks when we bought it, serial number, all that. She informs me we’ve had it since Dec 08, (news to me, I think all of our appliance are “less than 1 year old” and that includes my 25 yr old air conditioner) and that we’re past the 1 yr warranty time period. Okay, that’s on me, should have called YEARS ago instead of fucking with the sometimes working keypad. So then the gruff chick says, “well, you are past the 1 year deal, but Maytag has some extenuating circumstances that I can apply here. I’ll have someone out there tomorrow morning.” I nearly collapsed. My question of course follows, “how much will it be?” To which she says, “oh nothing, you’ll pay nothing for parts or work, at Maytag we stand behind our products.” No shit. She is no longer gruff, she sounds all pleased, as do I. Then she says, “is there anything else I can do for you?” Me, “yeah I have all kinds of things I’d like YOU to help me with.”

The repair woman (don’t see that much, she’s been doing it for 8 years and loves it) comes out, touches the keypad, it does nothing. I was worried it was going to be one of those deals where you take your car in for some aggravating gremlin that while at the dealer works perfectly. Like the driver’s side mirror on my 2004 Forester. That damn thing is frozen up and down, it will move left to right. Every single time I take the car in for oil change, I say check the mirror. And every time they say, “it works perfectly.” Digression over. She orders the part, she’ll see us next week when it comes in. Part arrives, so does she, installs it, works fine.

You gotta love that.

When Lisa went to “Back To School Night” in the beginning of the year, she never mentioned our daughter would be taking Advanced Placement Cellphone.

Me, “Austen, what happened in Algebra today?”
Austen, “Uh … not much.”

Me, “What happened in Advanced Social Studies today?”
Austen, “Nothing.”

Me, “Did anything go on in Advanced English today?”
Austen, “I don’t remember.”

Getting the picture?

If I want a detailed response, I’d ask a question like this:
Me, “Anyone get a new phone?”

Austen, “Yeah, my friend Jill, she just got a new black Droid Eris … my other friend Annie just got her Dads old Palm Pre Plus, cuz he got a new Blackberry Storm2 … my other friend Mary, she dropped her old LG Chocolate Touch on the concrete outside the gym on purpose because she wants a new iPhone, cuz her sister got an iPhone … my other friend Lana, she painted her HTC Pure with black nail polish cuz she wanted to see what would happen if she used nail polish remover on it … my other friend Lexi is all mad at her parents cuz they only pay for 10,000 text messages a month … my other friend Nell, she’s all mad at her parents too cuz all they gave her was a pre-paid old Nokia like the one you have …

Walking through Tyson’s Corner Mall today and happen upon some people, actually paying to submit themselves to what? Having their eyebrows tweezed by someone with string in their mouths. WTF? Is it me? Where do I begin?

No f’n way would I let some beotch put a string in her unsanitary mouth and let her tweeze my eyebrows. First of all, have people no shame today? Why would I, even if I was temporarily knocked senseless, ever want to have this done in public? Hey, why not a kiosk to comb my ass hairs? Second, if you need to tweeze your unibrow, do it at home, I don’t want to see that shit. Third, who “trains” these mouth stringers? Isn’t it unsanitary? Why is the string in their mouths in the first place?
All the while people are walking by this scene like its the most common thing ever. God, I just wanted to jump up on the Fake Uggs Kiosk and start yelling.  “What the hell’s wrong with you people? …  don’t you see that chick with the string in her mouth? … Soylent Green is people!”

Look, I’m going to be 50 next week, I know all about Grandpalikeeareyebrowandnosehairesyndrome okay? Once again, I blame my wife. I can’t always keep up with the kudzu like hair growth emanating from my earlobes. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, “warn me when you see wild-ass hairs sticking out of my ears.” Jesus. I don’t care how bad it gets for me, no, a thousand times no.

I was so fucking worked up I nearly missed my appointment at the teeth whitening kiosk.

LOVE this stuff. Love it.  Smells great, feels clean and has a nice refill. I’ve been trying to get in line about not using anti-bacterial soap. If you have kids you’ve no doubt gotten the lecture from your Ped. about too much use of anti-bacterial products be no good. Seems overuse can help germs build immunity to antibiotics, wha? Trouble is, everything is anti-bacterial, soap, tissues, you name it.

So finally found Method Foaming Hand Wash and there ain’t no going back. Other pump hand soaps are too gooey, (Dial) or too anti-bacterially (Softsoap). BTW- If you ever want to see something funny, check out my wife when she has to use a shitty gas station bathroom. That alone is funny, but when she comes out with her hands held up like she’s getting robbed, its a good indicator the soap (if there is any) smells like ass.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti anti-bacterial. Oh no, I love me some antibiotics when me or my gals are sick. Problem with that is you’re reduced to lying like a bastard to get it. I just want some of dat pink stuff or maybe a little ol Z pak. Thats all.

Me, “Uh, yeah Doctor, uh, yeah, my uh, yeah … fever for 7 months now. Whassat? oh, uh … about 107 degrees … yeah shakes … vomiting? … oh yeah, big on that, big on that. Whassat? diarrhea? … oh yeah, pure squirts there, pure squirts … Whassat? throat? oh … (close eyed gulp for effect ) on FIRE, on FIRE“

I find that that kind of plea usually works. Be sure to mention your throat is on FIRE! That is critical to your success, it says BACTERIA writ large. You may want to spray some red dye in there to complete the illusion. What you DO NOT want to hear is the term “Viral”. Viral means you ain’t getting shit.

And that’s why I love Method Hand Soap.

Couldn’t sleep the other night so I got up and watched TV. You should know I NEVER get up and watch TV when I can’t sleep. I’ll lay there in bed with my eyes open and stare at the blackness for hours before I go to the TV. Lisa is just the opposite, she bolts after a few non-winks.

So I’m tooling around the dial at 4am when I spy “Erotica” on DirecTV Infomercial channel. WTF? Isn’t this the channel with the “Knife” show? Or is the “Gem” show? Anyway, with eyes half open I turn on this channel and nearly rolled off the couch. Aside: Just the day before Lisa and I programmed the TV to hide any slutty “adult” channels, you know like MTV ;-).

Here are two normal looking infomercial chicks babbling on about this wonderful product that “we can all use to better our …” all the while holding onto this gigantic blue rubber dil … er, “girls best friend.” This thing had ticklers, schmicklers, gewgaws  and a second smaller dil … er, “girls best friend.” Jesus Christ. If you didn’t know better, you’d think these two might have been selling the Shamwow, they played it that straight, like everyone has this monster on their coffee table. “Just slide the helper slowly … you getting this camera guy?”

Next product up for discussion, “a friend for us guys.” OK, I’m listening. “Notice the realistic …” I was just about to scribble the 1-800 number down when I fell asleep.

I’m out today doing what I shouldn’t be doing: Eating fried chicken at Popeyes. Luv the spicy white 2pc and mashers with cajun gravy all washed down with a gallon of Diet Coke elixir of the Gods. Sad. Anyhoot, as I’m contemplating my choice for dining in the “dining room” I notice a Popeyes employee cleaning the tables. Okay so far, looks like some sort of antiseptic blue liquid . . . I’m cool with germ killing blue liquids. Looks like she’s giving the tabletop a good going-over with the death-to-germs soaked rag. And then I see it.

Uh oh . . .

In the blink of an eye, the tabletop rag has morphed into the seat cleaning rag . . . or ass wipe rag. “Oh no, no, no, . . . nooooooooooooooooo,” she takes the newly morphed ass wipe rag and moves to the next table and  . . . yep . . . it’s now the tabletop rag again. Ass to mouth, mouth to ass, repeat and rinse. Man-o-man. Actually, this is nothing new, I’ve seen this scene repeated many times in many places . . . appetizing.

I do have one bright spot to report: Roy Rogers. I was in a Roy’s in Gaithersburg one fine day getting my Roast Beast on when I spied the ubiquitous bucket of blue. Only this time it had some lettering on it. The lettering said, “For Tabletops ONLY!”

Yes, that’s what I’m talking about. Someone somewhere gets it: “Oh, table wipes are table wipes, and ass wipes are ass wipes, and never the twain shall meet.” Apologies to Kipling.

Jesus. How many times did I say that to Lisa when she so gently inquired as to my plans for the heap of old computer crap I was hoarding. Yeah, I’m gonna fix some 20yr old Macs and sell them on Ebay. For what, maybe $20.00, maybe? “I need to go through each computer and get any upgrade cards I put in, I’m gonna sell those on EBay too . . .” Yeaaahhhh. It’s funny the roadblocks you put in front of yourself when you don’t want to do something. Like, say getting a colonoscopy cuz yer getting near 50 years old. “No one, including a gastro Doc is touching the button, got it?” That’s a fight for another day, back to the computer crap. Read more »

I’m driving down University Boulevard in Langley Park today minding my own business. “Beeooowwipp.” Wha? I look in my rear view window and a PG cop is pulling me over.  Jesus Christ . . . my mind is racing . . . all my outstanding warrants, an open liquor bottle. Damn it’s tough hiding a still smoking crack pipe as Johnny Low is walking up to your car. Oh wait, that’s on Cops, not me, relax.

“My name is officer Johnny Low, PG Police, this stop is being recorded. License and registration please . . . “ sez he.
“Uh huh” sez me.
“Your brakelight is out.” sez he.
“Uh huh” sez me.
“Lot’s of accidents here on University” sez he.
“Uh huh” sez me.

So he walks back to his car with my ID and reg to do what they do in their cars. At this point I gotta admit I’m kinda gangsta leaning/scrunched down in my car. “Yeah yo, broken brake light and shit, that’s right. What’you looking at?”

I can see people driving in the opposite direction looking over at me. Hhhmm . . . they look like I look like I’m guilty of something more than a brake light. Damn, so that’s what I look like when I’m “tsk tsking” at that obvious perp the thin blue PG line has accosted. Good, another “one” off the streets. That look I’m getting only grows when PG cop number 2 pulls up behind Johnny number 1 lights flashing. Man, my street cred is through the roof. “Yeah, took 2 of dem bitches to stop me yo . . .”

“Here’s your work order for the light. You have 10 days to get it done. Have a nice day. You’re free to go.” sez he.
“Uh huh” sez me.

Oh man, the shits on now. This whole “situation” has been coming to a head for a while now. We’ve been looking sideways at each other, but then he had to go and take it up a level and get physical. Okay, I’m down with that. He broke a brand new piece of equipment I’d purchased that afternoon! Damn, he wanted my attention, he’s got it now. Can’t say I didn’t see it coming though. I was standing in my back yard yelling over the fence. It went like this:

Me, “So that’s how it’s gonna play huh . . . bitch?”
Him, “#$^&*!@$” (Some garbled nasty shit I couldn’t understand)
Me, “Now that you broke my shit, you gonna stand over there like nothing’s happened?”
Him, “#$^&- *!@” (Some more garbled nasty shit I couldn’t understand)
Me, “You wanna go? Why don’t you step to it and let’s do this.”
Him, “#$^” (You get the picture)
Me, “What are ya going do, huh?” (I started to move toward him)
Him, “#$^&*!@$#$^&*!@$ . . .” (Said over his shoulder as he was running away)
Me, “I knew you were nothing . . . don’t ever fucking come back here.”

So that’s how it ended between me and the squirrel who broke my new bird feeder.

The other night we went to Einstein HS to see our eldest daughter play in a concert. It was an Honors band for the central area of Montgomery County. She practiced for about five weeks, so of course she got sick a few days before the concert. But, she dearly wanted to play so we dosed her up and she gutted it out. It was simply wonderful. Nothing like seeing your child on stage.

So we’re sitting in our seats, youngest daughter playing her Nintendo DS to kill time before the concert. Lights go down, concert starts. We’re only a few minutes in when Lisa excitedly asks if I have a tissue for Erin. Her urgency made me immediately think it was one of Erin’s classic Sam Peckinpah like spewing bloody noses. I frantically search every pocket I have in 5 nano-seconds. No, I don’t have anything. As I lean over expecting to see a blood bath, Lisa says, “cuz she’s got a gigantic booger on her face.” The horror. Gigantic said it all. It was colossal.  Read more »