Friday, August 12, 2011

I'm a piece of dust, Dale, and the truck battery

"Ohhh, you're not a piece of dust! Why would you say that!?"

Don't worry, my self-esteem is fine. No, I'm a piece of dust because that's what DG told me. This morning (that'd be Friday morning to everyone not reading this the very moment I post it), the boy had to go into work and I had to wait till he was done in the bathroom so I could grab my shower. I was laying on my bed, watching the repeat of "The Daily Show" and DG came in to get dressed (he showers at night). He decided, even with me in it, to start making the bed.

"Aw, damn, girl! He's a keeper!" I can hear you saying.

He makes his side of the bed. I was laying at an odd angle, because I just sort of flopped down on the bed and put my feet up on the folded feather bed that I elevate my feet on at night. I was on my phone, trying to reply to someone on Facebook (shut up, don't judge me) and DG starts straightening his side of the bed. While I was laying across it.

He started by moving all the top bedding. Each tug on the blankets I was situated on was followed by: "Wow, these blankets are really heavy!" *tug* "I don't know why I can't move these things!" *tug* "It feels like something is sort of on top of them..."

Then he started to brush the cat hair off his side of the bed. And he reached me. "Wow, this is a huge piece of dust! Whoooo! Look at that!" and he kept brushing me off with his hand. "I can't get it to move!"

Then he shoved my shoulder to the side in an effort to move me off his side of the bed. I wasn't actually on his side, I was just angled in that way. He kept shoving my shoulder and saying- in between shoves: "Big-shove-piece-shove-of--dust!-shove"

Me: "Really? That's how you're going to do this? Shoving me to the side?"

DG: "Did you hear that? I think the piece of dust is talking to me."

Me: "Piece of dust, really?"

DG: "I think this house is haunted. I hear a voice but its just me and a piece of dust."

He then straightened the top blankets over me (covering my face and my hands with the phone in them). "My bed is so lumpy! Who knew a piece of dust could be so lumpy!"

There you go... A piece of dust.

Later in the afternoon, I had to go to my parents' house. I had to sew some of our ren faire skirts (nothing fancy, just a straight line on one end and straight line on the other). He started texting me. About "Dale".

You're wondering to yourself: "Who the hell is Dale?"

This... this is Dale.

Apparently, Dale here is stealing all our birdseed. You see, we're old now and there's a state law that requires at least two bird feeders to be visible in your yard. We have three.

This is the text conversation.

DG: *blank picture message*

Me: "I didn't get a photo."

DG: "How about now?" *no picture*

Me: "Still no pic. No worries, I'll see it later."

DG: *finally sends the above photo*

Immediately following sends: "Look what I caught."

Me: "lol, okay then."

DG: "What do you think of that? I'm thinking I need to talk to Dale about all the food he ate, what do you think?"

Me: "Yeah, charge him!"

And he resent the photo with this: "How much should I charge? Keep in mind, he's sly, not to say he's so damn cute."

Me: "I dunno."

DG: "Ok. I'll ask him the next time I see him."

There was about a ten minute delay.

DG: "Dale said he's not going to pay nothing because he doesn't have a job. He's also been talking to his bird friends."

Me: "His bird friends? Woody? Big? Donald? Jay? Blue?"

DG: "His bird friend Robin said we got the best food in a two block area."

Me: "I'll take their word for it."

Then he ended up coming over to my parents' house because of the sofa he built that he had to rebuild. He'd put the frame in my dad's garage. My dad wanted it gone.

Well, last Sunday at the faire, my truck decided to not start. I turned the key and got that scarily-too-familiar "click-click-click" sound. Crap... I waited a few minutes, trying to contemplate whether I should go back into the faire and ask for help or text my friend who works at the faire to come out and help... and I turned the key again. Cranked just fine. But on Monday... battery died. I had to jump-start it a few times this week. And over at my parents' house this afternoon, again.

My dad said that the battery was dead, time for a new battery. Great. It was 430 in the afternoon. I said to DG: "I guess I'm going to have to drive your truck to faire this weekend."

DG looked at me and slowly hissed out: "Nooooooooo..."

We ended up at Wal-Mart to get the new battery. When I go places that require a lot of walking, I like to wear proper shoes. I have foot pain (various bone spurs, tendinitis, and so on). But I didn't plan on going anywhere. At all. I was wearing my ugly man-sandals. I was uncomfortable and tired and I just wanted to be here, typing up the two stories above this one. But, I had to go with him because he can't recall details and he doesn't like driving my truck.

At Wal-Mart, he decided to go through the $5 CD bin.

"I'm looking for that one guy."


Me: "Which guy?"

DG: "The guy who sings that song. You know that guy?"

Me: "OH! Yeah, that guy."

DG: "You're mocking me, aren't you?"

Me: "OH! No! Not at all."

He never did find that one guy. But he did get "Afterburner" by ZZTop, which made me feel old. And my mad-movie-identification skills helped some people out. The woman didn't believe me when I said, "I just need the movie plot and maybe one of the actors' names."

This is what she said: "A kid witnesses a murder and there was a black car."

Me: "Was it set in the 40s or 50s? Because that's Road to Perdition with Tom Hanks."

No, it isn't that one, she tells me.

Me: "Then it was The Client with Susan Sarandon"

Boom. I win again.

Oh, his excuse for not letting me drive his truck?

It might get dirty because he just washed and waxed it yesterday.

Monday, August 8, 2011

Don't you DARE say "Time-traveler" because that's not what it is!

I've said it before and I'm gonna say it again- I go to the renaissance faire. I dress up, I talk with a fake accent, I drink from a tankard (water and Gatorade because I don't drink alcohol; I'm the one who has to drive home). So does our 18 year old daughter. Except for the driving part, because she rides with me.

Last weekend was another excellent time at the faire. Saturday was "Day of Wrong" where you're "allowed" to wear anachronistic items with your period garb. I didn't exactly participate, because I'm old and fat and pretty much had no ideas on what I could do. I did wear my shiny red Doc Martens instead of the black Docs that I usually wear (I bought them specifically because they looked like ren faire shoes).

Ceej, on the other hand, looked fabulous, mixing modern clothing with ren faire garb and adding modern accessories (sunglasses and MP3 player). This is her before the gates opened (yes, we get there before opening and stay till closing. Stop laughing, you're a nerd too. Everyone is a nerd for something. DG is a nerd for NASCAR).

Ceej on the "Day of Wrong"

And Ceej with our lovely friend, Loki (we love him, he's so cool). He's a merchant at the faire, so he's not allowed to dress for the Day of Wrong.

Ceej and Loki on the Day of Wrong

And, Ceej after the last joust of the day-

Ceej after the final joust on the Day of Wrong

Also on the Day of Wrong, we found this woman...

Now, I'm not saying Xena, Warrior Princess is "wrong". But you know, she's not exactly what you'd expect to see at a Renaissance Faire. And this is the story that followed when I showed DG this photo:

Jase: "What was Xena doing at a ren faire?"

Me: "I don't know. I guess she was there for the Day of Wrong or something." (there was brief discussion on whether or not Xena was from the renaissance time period or not).

DG: "Maybe she was one- those people- she was a person who traveled back into the future to come from the past."

Me: "You mean Xena's a time traveler?"

DG: "Not that. No. But she goes through time. From her time to another time."

Me: "A time traveler."

DG: "That's not it. She has a machine... and she can move through time..."

Me: "A time machine?"

DG: "Not that. But she goes through time-"

Me: "A time traveler with a time machine."

DG: "That's not what it is!"

Jase: "Dad, is she hoping that with each leap, it will be the leap home?"

DG: "Don't be ridiculous!"

Me: "So, she's a time traveler with a time machine?"

DG: "No! Its wizard-y. A wizard did it. He put a CURSE ON HER!" (and he widened his eyes as far as he could). "SHE'S CURSED!"

Me: "Let me get this straight... Xena is a person who travels from one time period to another, but she's not a time traveler and she does so in a machine that was cursed upon her by a wizard?"

DG: "He's a wizard like Merlin, except he's way worse."

Me: "How is he 'way worse' than Merlin?"

DG: "Merlin was just awful! So anyone worse than him would be more awfuler."


Me: "Okay, there we have it, Xena is a time traveler in a time machine given to her by a horribly untalented wizard. Anything else?"

DG: *thinking for a moment* "Nope. That's it."

And he walked away.

And, because this is my favorite photo from this weekend, I'm sharing it here even though it has nothing to do with the story.

175 of 365/2- Sir Amadeo, the Red Count of Manchua!

(the caption from the photo on Flickr):

Oh, that's right. He loves me. Okay, maybe "love" is too strong a word. He enjoys vexing me. I told him, after the Joust to the Death, that I got a great shot of his killing of Sir Gregory. A few moments later, he was signing a pennant for a kid and I called out: "Sir Amadeo!" he replied and I said, "Will you be in my 365-days-self-portrait-project photo with me?" And he said, "Absolutely."

He came over, I said, "Self-portrait, I have to be in the photo and I have to take the photo" (it isn't a hard concept, obviously). So, we stepped up and this is what he did. He actually licked my sweaty cheek.

I said, "I have jouster's spit on me!"

He said, "I can do more than that!" and embraced me long enough to rub his sweaty, dirty cheek all over my cheek.

And he got blood on the boobshelf.

So, today, along with buckets of rain (which was fun and awesome, seriously), I got Sir Amadeo's spit, sweat, tilt yard dirt, AND his death blood (he's recovered nicely).

I have one person left- Sir Gregory, who keeps avoiding the 365-days photo. After this, I showed Gregory his death photo and then he and Amadeo got into an extremely hilarious and childish kicking match- seriously, kicking at each other's armored shins. Amadeo declared: "the next time we joust, it will be FOR REAL!". I had to threaten to separate them.

I love these guys so much.

You just never know what will set off a little story. Oh, speaking of stories- Ceej and I have told the story of the Rats with Little Nike shoes at the faire. In our ren faire voices. Its hilarious.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

The Disabled Guy is going to have a conversation with the mouse...

Spoiler alert- he never did catch the damn thing. But, here's the almost-nine-minute long video of the discussion about the mouse. There are special appearances by Ceej, several of the dogs, including Gregg the girl dog with a boy name.

Enjoy the weirdness that is our family.