Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Y'all ever have one of those days...one of those days where everything sucks and it pisses you off and all you want to do is get a case of beer and hide in the laundry room where no one can see you and drink your face off til you forget your name and why you're drinking your face off in the first place?
Yeah, I had one of those yesterday.
Unfortunately, since I have children and a job and a dog and a stupid house to look after, I am unable to hide in the laundry room and get plastered. Le sigh.
So I did the next best thing!
I...uh...mowed the lawn.
You might think this would make me feel better, but it did not. No, it did not.
Actually, now that I think about it, I'm not sure why I thought yardwork was the answer to my overwhelming homicidal rage and despair. Perhaps I thought shoving a piece of heavy machinery armed with large cutty blade-things was somehow therapeutic. I mean, it sort of sounds therapeutic when you put it that way, doesn't it?
Whatever my reasoning was, I was going to mow the lawn. So I put on some jeans that don't fit properly (remember that part, since it's going to be important later) a tank top and my new fantastic sunglasses and bravely marched to the lawnmower.
And it wouldn't start. And it wouldn't start. And it wouldn't start.
But not to worry!
It never starts...right away. This is how I get an upper-body workout - by continuously yanking on that cord-thing (I believe that's the technical nomenclature, mind you) until the mower decides it will turn on and do its job.
So yes, it's a crap mower and it makes a not-quite-right rumbly sound when it's on, but it does mow, and that's fine with me.
So I start mowing the grass. Now, the water company recently dug the middle of my front yard up and left piles of dirt all around, so my front yard vaguely resembles some sort of battlefield, surrounded by nice green grass and dandelions. Yeah, it's charming.
Anyway, I'm mowing along, trying to mow around the gaping hole in the front yard and I'm happy with myself, cos, look Ma, I'm doing yardwork after my intensely boring 8 hour work day when all I really want to be doing is hiding in the laundry room, drinking my face off and --- thunk. Huh?
Mower has stopped moving!
But...mower is still running?
Mower has not stalled, but will not move...what...?
I look down. Oh, there's the problem.
A fucking wheel fell off.
Yes, that's right...a fucking wheel on the fucking mower fucking fell off.
Now here's where it gets fun, sports fans, because I almost had a nervous breakdown right then and there.
For those of you that don't live in my head and aren't privy to my inner monologue, I have to tell you: my inner monologue closely resembles the Bataan Death March.
When the mower lost its wheel like that, the Bataan Death March started going double-time.
Here is a little re-creation of my inner monologue, just for you:
What...? What? WHAT? No, the wheel did not just fall off the fucking lawnmower, did it? What? It DID? IT DID? WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF SHIT IS THAT? This is all your fault. I don't know why it is, but it is. Perhaps the wheel does not like your shoes and you should wear heels next time so the mower feels like you at least made a fucking effort or something and when is the last time you even bothered to brush your hair and how are you going to mow the rest of the lawn minus one lawnmower wheel? How will you finish what you've started here because you HAVE to finish what you've started here because we all KNOW how BAD you are at finishing much of anything so you better just get it over with, hadn't you? But what are you going to do with a wheel missing? You'll have to get a whole new mower! And those are expensive! And you can't afford it because you're in the hole by a bajillion dollars thanks to SOMEONE WE WON'T MENTION having to be bribed and then fucking you over with the ebay thing oh yeah you have a bunch of ebay shit to do tonight too before the ebay gestapo comes banging down your door and eats your children and perhaps also your kneecaps, huh? HUH? Yes, but what about this WHEEL? What about it? No, do not cry. NO, DO NOT CRY. Do not sit down and cry right here! You are a grown woman almost and you can handle a shitty day and a stupid lawnmower and not being able to drink your face off in the laundry room and living on four hours of sleep a night and typing all day! You can do that! Because...because you have no choice! This is the rest of your life! GET USED TO IT! HAH! Okay, okay, sorry...sorry....no, I said don't sit down and cry. If you sit down and cry, all of your yuppie neighbors with perfect yards, who are already incredibly suspicious of you might I add due to several unfortunate incidents involving SOMEONE WE WON'T MENTION and also perhaps that they think you are a vampire maybe, all of those yuppies with the perfect yards are going to go ahhhhhh, we knew there was something wrong with her and her freaky little kids, just look, even the lawnmower's wheel doesn't want to hang around, SO DON'T CRY...uhm, are your pants falling down?
Because, yes indeed, friends and neighbors, my pants were falling down. Fortunately, I caught them before anything too terribly embarassing happened - like me lying in the fetal position next to a mangled lawnmower, clutching a wheel to my chest, with my pants around my ankles, sobbing uncontrollably.
So uh, my pants tried to fall off because I apparently lost a bunch of weight I wasn't aware of. And that's good. Because for a minute there, I thought my pants hated me like the lawnmower and the universe hate me, and that, baseball fans, might be enough to put me over the edge.
I straighten up. I call the lawnmower a few names - okay, more than a few. My children peer curiously around the fence at me. They recognize an excellent example of swearing a blue streak when they see it.
"Mom? Why are you holding a wheel and staring at it funny?" inquires my son.
"Because, child of mine, I am wondering about how best to either A) get this back on the mower or B) kill it, even though it's not really alive and obviously doesn't have a soul...because if it had a soul, it wouldn't have picked today to fall off the mower, would it? Would it, my firstborn child, darling son of mine?"
"Whatever, Mom." See, he's a smart kid.
I decide I will just have to get the wheel back on and the doing of this will probably require some tools. I think Spawnie may have left a power drill around and I think THAT sounds promising, since a power drill is like a screwdriver only faster, right? But no, I cannot find a drill like that. So I get the next best thing.
Okay, and a screwdriver.
I didn't actually use the hammer. I just needed it to keep me company.
I reattach the wheel. I mow the rest of the lawn.
And what is the moral of this story, everyone?
The moral is: if you're having a shitty day, yardwork will only make it worse, so don't do yardwork.
And also: drinking your face off is the cure to all of your problems because if you aren't drinking your face off, your problems will get exponentially worse and wheels and pants and things will start trying to run away from home.
And also also: if your inner monologue closely resembles the Bataan Death March, you are in trouble. Trust me, I know.
link | posted by Zombie at 12:44 PM |
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