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.

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 …

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.

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.

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.

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.

“But that (3,000lb) scanner (that I paid thousands for) still works,” puled I. “Honey, you can buy a better scanner for eighty bucks these days, who will want that old dinosaur?” sez my smart wifey. “Well . . . “ that was the best I could come back with, lame-o. So I finally caved and loaded all that old computer shit into the XT and off we went to the Montgomery County Division of Solid Waste (Recyling Center).

What a cool place. I implore you to load up your “can’t-bare-to-part-with-these-I’m-going-to-fix-them-up-and-sell-them-on-EBay-treasures” and take them to be recycled. They take electronics, batteries, metals, wood, paint, kids, paper, books, on and on. Okay, they don’t take kids, I was just seeing if you were paying attention. We dropped off all of our computer stuff in a big box labeled, “Computer stuff.” Simple. TV stuff went into the “TV stuff” box. There are people at every station to help you. Did I forget to mention we also chucked about 10 old cable boxes? Where did they come from? There are signs near the electronic drop-off targeted especially for me, “ABSOLUTLEY NO SCAVENGING!” I gotta admit, I was looking through the box of other people’s old used shit and was actually saying to myself, “damn there’s an old Mac LC, why with just a few parts I could . . .” Let’s all say it out loud together shall we. “I could sell it on EBay.” Do you know how close I am to being on Style Network’s “Clean House” ? Actually, that wouldn’t be so bad, “Hey Niecy, how’s it going?”

I also need to admit how great it felt to just junk that stuff and move on. I now know it will be taken care of properly and that’s a much better outcome than I had planned. Plus, I now have way more room for any new projects I can scavenge! Let’s see, shoot on over to Craig’s List, and search for “used Macs.” Yeah baby, gotta run.

“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.

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.

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. 

So we have no tissues, and Lisa goes to tear up a part of the paper program for the concert. “No, don’t use that, I want to save that.” sez me. “What do I do then?” sez Lisa. “Do what any kid would do, wipe the shit under your seat.” sez me. “Oh my God, I can’t do that.” sez Lisa. “Just do it, it’s just a booger.” sez me. “Oh my God.” sez she as she completes her mission. I think she actually shivered. Booger safely and humanely deposited under the seat where it lives today.

Now the booger manufacturer pipes up, “I can’t see Austen from here.” For the first time ever at one of these events, I can see her perfectly. “Alright, switch with me.” sez I. Lisa is sitting between me and the boogie monster, nervously perched above the seat of shame. So I stand up and Erin squeezes between Lisa’s knees and the seats in front of her and sits in my seat. Then I try to squeeze between Lisa’s knees and the seat in front of her to get to Erin’s seat but Lisa won’t stand up or scrinch in her knees so I can pass. What the hell? “There’s NO WAY I’m standing or letting that seat up an inch . . . I’m not letting that booger rub back on me . . .” sez Lisa.

Concert ends and was great. 1 second later Lisa is headed for the nearest exit in search of an acid bath for her hands. What a trooper.  :-)