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.

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