Chookah

Pop Quiz and OMG!

Got the Hunt family directory in the mail today.  Not quite sure why I needed TWO of them but I have them nonetheless.

Pop Quiz: Guess what the profession is of the family member who wrote the intro to the 11 page family directory (more on the quantity in a sec):

"This updated Hunt Family Directory for 2009 attempts to bring current everyone's communication data.  There will be errors found and changes to be made, all of which should be communicated to [Uncle] Hunt at (xxx) xxx-xxxx or by fax to (xxx) xxx-xxxx, or by email to [email address].  The overt purpose of the director is to facilitate family members to communicate with each other.  This is a tool.  Tools are best preserved through frequent and consistent use. In the event you wear out this tool, call and you will be sent a replacement.  This directory will be emailed to you as well.  [Aunt] and I will be on a mission for (18) months.  Keep in contact and we will do the same via email."

Guessed it yet?  It's really not hard.  Promise.

Engineer? Nope, but close. Accountant? Nope.

Yep, Attorney, lawyer, scum sucking piece of...where was I? Oh yes, A gold star for YOU! *wink*

Now, I'm something of a smart ass and feel that a healthy (high-level) critique of the introduction may be in order. Especially where this uncle of mine is concerned we share a special kind of thinly veiled disdain for each other. I'm keeping the critique at a high level because I'm tired, diagramming sentences was never a strong suit of mine and the mistakes are blatant enough that I'm grateful for something to poke fun at.

Critique: Here we go: 

1. it's not 2009 anymore, 
2. it's not "director" it's "directory" 
3. feel better about yourself? hmm? Do you really have to write in such an elevated tone? Some of the grandkids didn't go to college 
4. enough with the passive aggressive, emotionally manipulative bullshit already.  This is my non-Swedish side of the family, I expected better/more/different/whatever. 

Now for the OMG part of this post.  The true validation that I, Sunny, am a born and raised Utahn and possess strong Mormon heritage (read: strong genetic reproductive tendencies encouraged by the local culture):

"Grandfather [Grandpa] Hunt
91 years old; died December 10, 2002

Grandmother [Grandma] Hunt
90 years old; died October 27, 2003

5 children

20 grandchildren

29 great-grandchildren

68 total family members including spouses"

Daaamn.  The shocking thing?  I know every single one of those 20 grandchildren, and know them well. O.M.G.

(yeah, this post didn't quite go out with a bang like I had envisioned in my head.  I'm tired. Blech)

Not Exactly What I Had in Mind...

In my mid-winter slump I usually look for a DIY project to keep me occupied (and warm).

Last year things got out of hand with the flooring project.  It started innocently enough with the master bath and an advanced tile job (which I highly DON'T recommend for the first tile experience, but it's me - Go Big or Go Home), then migrated to the guest bath and then the remainder of the house.  I still have Punch List items to tackle with this behemoth of a project, but that's another story.

On Sunday I decide to get all domestic.  I'm gonna work on the Punch List items so I can prepare myself to tackle the kitchen floor (replacing the first-gen Pergo was always on the Grand Project List).  I start by cleaning the Jetted Tub of Horrors.

Yes, a tub and task so terrible, it deserves it's own capitalized title.

I digress.  Cleaning the tub usually involves popping the jet covers off (they pop off or unscrew easily) and dumping them in a vat of white vinegar to clean all of the hard water deposits off of them. I then have to get IN the tub with a toothbrush (yes, it sucks that bad) and Lime-a-way or white vinegar and scrub until my hands are raw.  Then I get to fill the tub up with hot water and dump half a gallon of bleach in, turn the jets on, let it run a full cycle and then clean up the aftermath.  Eww.

Start to finish it usually takes about 3 hours to clean all the nooks and crannies and flush the jet system (I've actually used the tub 3, maybe 4 times in the 7 years I've owned the house).  It would be easier to set a nuclear device and walk away.

The jets are running, the covers are bubbling, I think to myself, "I wonder if the bathtub is the source of the mysterious leak in the garage ceiling, I'd better go check."  Good thing I did.  There was a healthy stream of water running into the garage bay.  I bust a move, haul ass upstairs, turn the water off and drain the tub.

Fuck.

Last night RayRay and I pulled the "access panels" off the tub (there is NO easy access panel for the tub) and discovered the leak.  It's the jets. At the back of the tub.  The back. All the way back there.  

Now I could fix the jets, silicone the panels back in place and call it good but I don't like to make things easy for myself. But I figure, if I have to rip the damn tub out of the bathroom in order to fix it and then spend how many more hours cleaning the damn thing I'm gonna replace it. It's a proven fact, I like pain, emotional turmoil and expensive projects. 

Now I'm shopping for new tubs.  Damn, they're expensive.  $700 for the tub alone (I need a 6' tub for the space)!  Then there is the backer board, tile, assorted pluming and tile accoutrements, a hefty sum of hours and countless four letter expletives to factor in.

Ouch.

Let the reign of terror begin!  Ole!

 (behold, "access panel" #1)

  (aaand "access panel" #3 - and my complex tile floor work. The source of the leak is aaalll the way at the back on the right)

A Letter to Winter

Dear Winter, 

I would like to tell you the ways in which you sincerely disappoint me and why a relationship with you is doomed:  

Air: Inversions may be a mix of geographic and societal mishaps but your gunky air has me in a funk, you make it hard to breathe and where is the sun?

Dark: Going to work in the dark, coming home in the dark, I'm done with it.  I have a bathroom cabinet full of sunscreen and I would really like to use it.  A lot of it.

Cold: I know I have a Scandinavian genetic code but this is where 2,000 years of uber-Caucasian breeding fails me.  I don't like the cold and consequently, I don't like you.  I walk around all day in sweaters and scarves trying in vain to keep warm.

Snow: You can keep it.  I don't ski, I don't snowboard, I only occasionally sled (and only when spiked hot chocolate is used as a lure), I hate shoveling the stuff, it's heavy, slippery and it's cold (see above).

Holidays: The expensive, anxiety-inducing, calendar-crunching build up and ultimate let down after they're gone leave me desperately seeking (again) expensive, anxiety-inducing, calendar-crunching DIY projects that extend far after you're gone.

Sleep: When you're here all I can think about is sleeping.  I sleep a lot when you're here, possibly so I can avoid you and limit my interaction with you as much as possible.

Clothes: I'm pretty sure you're on a mission to bankrupt me in my attempt to keep warm.  Coats, scarves, sweaters, boots, gloves, you require a dedicated wardrobe which is expensive and hard to store after you've left.

Green Things: Yeah, you know, plants.  You kill everything in your path and leave me looking at my scraggly houseplants as the only source of green.

Social Interaction: You make this hard and challenging when you're here.  Social activity is limited to indoor (see cold, snow and sleep, above) activities and others who share my distaste for you are equally hard to pry out of their comfy warm houses. 

In closing, you are an expensive, anxiety-inducing, narcissistic bitch. I don't like you, I don't get along with you, you do strange things to me that I don't like, it's all about you, you, you.  I'm done, pack your shit and go.

Screw You,

Me