Chookah

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

Strength

Sometimes I’m strong because that’s who I am. I’m strong, I’m independent, stalwart (almost).  I don’t let whatever it is phase me or get me down. I muscle through. Strong enough, confident enough and possessing enough perspective to give others in similar situations advice. Be the rock for others when they can’t do it for themselves. This is truly a gift.

But this sometimes leads to a lonely existence. A pillar of strength left alone and I’ve had to learn the hard way when to step in and help and when to let others learn to help themselves, fail on their own (which is truly painful for me) and learn from their mistakes.  Being a mother to Sebastian and stepping back and watching him fail, and learn, has sometimes been especially hard (and I know this won’t get any easier as he gets older).

Being independent and strong sometimes can push people away, especially men.  Men who I’ve cared for and about but for some reason they don’t feel that I “need” them in their lives when in reality “want” in my life forms a stronger, tighter, more unbreakable bond. That’s another story for another time.

Then there are times when I’m not so strong but have to put on a strong front.  When disappointment and disenchantment can be so bitter that I have to not only muscle through it but ignore everything else around it and just push forward.  Put on a brave face, “Fake it till you make it” and force myself to believe that I’m strong, I can handle it, that it’s not as bad as I’m making it out to be, when in reality I want to curl up in the corner, cry and desperately want someone else to fix it for me.

Ah, the duality of my life.

Conversation with the Health Insurance Company

A couple months ago I had a questionable dark spot on my cheek examined (and biopsied) by a Dermatologist.  I submitted my claim to the health insurance agency and this is the conversation that ensued:

Company Rep: We have questions about the claim you submitted

Me: Okay, what questions do you have?

Company Rep: We're going to deny your claim on X date for Y procedure.

Me: What?  Why?

Company Rep: It was an elective procedure.

Me: Elective?  I don't understand what's "elective" about a cancer biopsy.

Company Rep: It's not covered under your policy.

Me: I still don't understand what part of the cancer biopsy is "elective".  The part where they inject me with pain medication, the part where they gouge part of my cheek out, the stitches or the lab looking at it under a microscope?

Company Rep: I'm sorry Ma'am, it's just not covered under your policy but it will count towards your [massive] yearly deductible.

It's nice to know that I'm forking out hundreds of dollars for what is basically a "death policy". Sigh.

Big shock, a gripe about the gas company

Questar and their Thermwise program can SUCK IT!

Questar, our lovely gas company, has a rebate program for homeowners looking to upgrade/replace specific appliances in their house.  Catch?  You have to upgrade to a ridiculous level of energy efficient appliances.

Case in point.  My water heater sucks.  It crackles and pops and won't fill the tub with even mildly lukewarm water.  I tried flushing the sucker twice to get all the sediment and grime out.  Apparently it's "self cleaning" whatever the hell that meant 10 years ago and the flushing was a resounding failure.

Insert joy of home ownership: Time to replace major household appliance! 

I look at instant water heaters and think, "Wow, these are really great!  I'll save money on gas, the thing won't cake with hard water deposits, it will be great for resale value *and* Questar will give me this snazzy $300 rebate!"  Problem: Instant water heater is about $1200, I have to find a heating contractor who knows what the hell they are (the first two on Questar's list had no clue, the third put me on hold for 10 minutes trying to find someone who did), then I have to pay for someone to install it and I will have to replace the vent in my house with a double-insulated one otherwise my home owner's insurance will kill me after I burn the house to the ground because apparently they run a little lot hot.

Next option.

I look at regular water heaters, get the dimensions of the existing water heater, cause it's gonna be a tight fit, and begin my search.

The qualifications for the now reduced rebate (only $50 bones for a standard water heater) are:
-Efficiency rating of 0.62 or higher
-Minimum 40 gallons
-75,000btu/hr or less

No problem.  I start browsing online.  Home Depot has nothing that will qualify, I'm so not shocked at this point.  Lowes has this lovely Option A  and Option B both of which will work!  Huzzah, huzzah!

Problem.  I didn't notice the products won't be in stock until the middle of December.  I go to the store, cash in hand and they don't have a SINGLE product that would qualify for the rebate.

BOOOO Questar!! You tease me with visions of energy efficiency, lowered gas bills all while setting impossible standards that cannot be met by simple retail therapy or "skilled" labor.

The new 50 gallon gas hog is going in tomorrow.  If my gas bills go up exponentially it's either the new water heater, a newfound love of laundry (ha!) or some wretch at the gas company trolling the internet for customers to punish.

Single-handedly, the most dorked up...

children's book ever written.

Ready?

It's "Fox in Socks" by Dr. Seuss.

Guaranteed to make you pull your hair out while your child looks at you with a blank stare bigger than when you try to explain online social networking to your elderly grandmother.

Here's a sample: "Here's an easy game to play.  Here's an easy thing to say [right.  Get ready cause here we go]... New socks. Two socks. [Not too bad thus far, kind of reminiscent of One Fish, Two Fish] Whose socks? Sue's socks. Who sews whose socks? [huh?] Sue sews Sue's socks. Who sees who sew whose new socks, sir?  You see Sue sew Sue's new socks, sir." [WTF just happened here?  I got lost.]

I've read many a book in my day, some which people universally find confusing.  Books like Virginia Woolf's "To the Lighthouse" which deals heavily in stream of consciousness writing and very ambiguous transitioning from one character to the other.  Never in my life have I read a book that twisted my tongue so badly.

I think this one might make it to the yard sale pile.  I can't afford the Prozac needed to cope with the frustration and the disappointment of the 4-year old blank stare.

How not to impress me

When submitting a resume for a position, don't list your Mormon two-year Mission as work experience.  I have no doubt that you busted your ass and developed some very valuable life skills which will help you in both your professional and personal life. 

But this two-year spiritual stint is not "work". 

You will not get brownie points from me by listing it as work experience.  I will, in fact, look at your resume with more scrutiny and ask you to prove the work experience that you do have. Your interview will increase in intensity considerably.

If you insist on listing your Mission on your resume, place it in a more appropriate area: Volunteer work.

Sick

I'm not sure which is the preferable scenario:

1. Sebastian's sick
2. Sebastian's sick and I'm sick too
3. I'm sick

I guess it's pretty easy to spot the less than ideal scenario which is what we've got at our house.

Cough, boogers, fevers, aches, insomnia... yeah, we're living in a Hot Zone of fun fun fun!

Fun facts I discovered this weekend.

• There are only two different kinds of cough medicine for kids still left on the market.  Type A: grape-flavored glycerin water. Type B: only obtainable at the pharmacy counter (so don't get your hopes up that you'll be able to provide your child any kind of relief at midnight) after filling out a sworn affidavit for the DEA promising that you aren't going to cook the crap down and make meth-laced suckers with it, have your mugshot taken and fingerprints added to the government database of "Parents who don't want their kids to suffocate on their own body fluids while they sleep".
• You have to be 18 to buy Mucinex (what the hell is that about?  17 year-olds freebasing a mucus reduction product?)
• If you don't have health insurance or don't have the health insurance card for your child who is *supposedly* insured by his father, the full cost of a trip to the Insta-care is $120/per person.  The wait this weekend was about 3 hours - no reservations. Any dealing with the insurance agency is your responsibility.  No card, no copay.
• The size of a nose is not directly proportional to the amount of boogers that come out of it - especially at 2 am when I'm sound asleep.  Apparently there is a hidden bucket of booger reserves stashed somewhere in a 45lb body.
• Costco is a god send for purchasing vast quantities of kleenex, Advil and Purell.
• Orange Kool-aid and Tang are contained in nearly identical packaging.  The contents however are vastly different.
• A fever of 103 in a small child produces rather amusing results during sleep.  I observed Sebastian carrying out a full-volume conversation with someone about apple juice and watching SpongeBob.

Why Dell can bite me.

I have a problem with my "Integrated Bluetooth Module" in my new PC, it won't connect with my headset so I can make calls using Skype.  I'm only mildly incompetent when it comes to computers so I try a few troubleshooting ideas and search some boards for ideas, none of which work.

Enter the debacle:

• Think, "hmm, let's try re-installing the driver or looking for an update."
• I have to search all over the box to find the minuscule service tag number before I can access the support site. 
• Can't find the driver I'm looking for.
• Initiate a chat session and have to re-enter the service tag number (of course, I experience significant eye strain trying to read it again).
• I chat with "Barjinder_158463" in India and explain my dilemma.
• He asks *again* what my problem is and I spend another 4 minutes explaining the problem.
• He tells me that I don't have an "Integrated Bluetooth Module" installed on my machine and sends a link to the system specifications.
• I point out to him that, yes, I do have an "Integrated Bluetooth Module" installed in my machine.
• "Please show me which line says that your computer has bluetooth?" - OMG are you kidding?  Did he just ask me to read for him?
• I copy and paste the line from the system specifications "assembly...flash storage device..., universal serial bus..., reader..., BLUETOOTH..., half height..." 
• Barjinder_158463 says "if you need to connect to any device through it we need the drivers."
• No shit.  Why do you think I've spent this much time trying to find them??
• He continues, "Sunny, I would like to use the Dell Connect tool to take control of your system.  You will see everything I do as I do it.  I will have full control during this mode.  Would that be fine with you?"
• My response, "Yeah, dude, given that you couldn't even determine if I had bluetooth to begin with, I don't think that's going to happen. You've shown a level of incompetence [can't read] which makes me nervous.  You are NOT taking full control of my computer. Just give me the link to the driver."
• I wait 5 minutes and get the link to the driver.
• The driver doesn't solve the problem.
• 32 minutes and 25 seconds down the drain in this ridiculous chat session with a man who can't read.

Dell, I like my machine.  After I threw another 2GB of after-market RAM in it, it rocks, in fact. But because of your incompetent customer support I say this with all the love I can muster:

BITE ME.

 

Big, Big Trouble

There are three levels of discipline in the house:

1. The Talk (punishment enough, right?  Who likes a lecture?)
2. Time Out
3. Big, Big Trouble

Big, Big Trouble is reserved for the most serious offenses: a combination of biting, hitting, kicking, screaming/yelling, spitting, throwing things, hitting doors or walls, you get the idea.

Sebastian is in Big, Big Trouble tonight.  He bit and pushed his friend (his friend made sure to tell me exactly what happened), tried to bite his teacher, had a complete histrionic meltdown in the car and was screaming about something (I tuned him out and wouldn't respond so I don't even remember what it was about), picked up a toy from the back of the car and hit me with it while I was driving (again, I didn't respond though I was seething inside) and when that didn't get a response, he did it again.

When we got home I didn't say a word.  I left everything in the car, took him by the arm and marched him into his room, told him briefly in that low, flat, I'm-so-pissed-I'm-beyond-yelling voice that he was in Big, Big Trouble for biting, yelling and hitting and closed the door behind me. *Thunk*! *Thunk*! He picked up toys and launched them at the closed door.

I took a lap around the kitchen and living room and then moved Sebastian to his bathroom - if he's in Big, Big Trouble he shouldn't have access to fun things to destroy. After about 10 minutes he calmly asked me if he could come out and promised he would be good.  No problem.  Everyone needs to hit the "reset" button every now and then.

Enter battle royale #2 . The known consequences for Big, Big Trouble.  No TV, no friends, no play-dough, no Transformers, no stories before bed or snuggling... just companionship and books.  Yeeeah... that didn't go over so well.  The battle ranged from eating dinner, washing hands, washing face, brushing teeth, putting on PJ's and (shock!) going to bed.

I'm lucky that nights like this are few and far between because tonight, duct tape seems like a viable parenting tool.