This is about two conversations. They have absolutely nothing to do with each other, but they happened within days of each other.
The first one- speed talking. Sort of. Since the stroke, the Disabled Guy doesn't speak as fast as normal people. Not all the time. Sometimes, he gets on a roll and he can rattle just like the rest of us. He keeps a conversational pace, but he doesn't talk fast.
So, the other morning, I was upstairs after I showered and dressed, watching the end of the Daily Show when DG came into our room. He was excited.
DG: "Did you know that guy was in Street Fighter?"
Me: "Jon Stewart was not in Street Fighter!"
DG: "No, not him. That guy. You know that guy?"
Me: "Yeah, I always know that guy..."
DG: "That guy, he was in Geronimo? You know, Geronimo? He was in Geronimo. You know who that guy is? In Geronimo?"
Me: "Which guy? There are lots of guys in Geronimo."
DG: "That guy you like." and he paused and repeated: "In Geronimo. I said Geronimo, right? With that guy?"
I started to chuckle, I couldn't stop myself. He repeated "Geronimo" so many times and so quickly it just started to sound funny. I replied, "Yeah, you said Geronimo."
Then he hollered it like he was jumping from an airplane, including fading his voice out at the end.
I made an assumption- "Are you talking about the guy who was in Last of the Mohicans?"
DG: "Yes!"
Me: "One of the good guys? One of the bad guys?"
DG: "Not that one but the other one you like."
Me: "Wes Studi?"
DG: "Yeah! That's him. He's in Street Fighter."
And now onto the "buff... parts"...
DG is watching NASCAR. And the stations show their share of ridiculous and sport-related commercials. One of those commercials is the Jimmy Johnson "Extenze" ads. DG exclaimed, "I need that."
I don't watch NASCAR and most of the time, I'll have headphones on while the race is on. So I asked, "What do you need?"
DG: "That stuff... see..."
Me: "You don't need Extenze!"
DG: "Yes, I do! What does it do?"
So I told him what they meant by "natural male enhancement" and because it's the Disabled Guy, I had to be blunt about it. "They say it'll make your penis bigger... and uh... stronger."
DG: "I totally need that."
He doesn't. Okay? Everything he's got works just fine and there's nothing wrong with... uh... his parts. And I said so. Because, good gravy, what the hell?
DG: "I could take it and then make it STRONG!" and he flexed his arm in front of him. "I could make it do push-ups! MAKE IT BUFF!"
Me: "You're going to do push-ups with your dick?"
DG: "You don't know because you just don't have a penis. But a strong penis... STRONG!"
Me: "That shit doesn't work."
DG: "You don't know that!"
Me: "What would you do if it did work?"
DG: "I don't know if it works."
Me: "Let's just say it DOES work... would you make it run up and down stairs?"
DG: "Yes! PT! PT! PT! I'd make it SWEAT!" (PT, for those not in the know, is short for "Physical Training" and they do it almost every morning in the military).
Me: "You'd make your dick sweat?"
DG: "Only if that stuff works. Hey, you're not typing this are you?"
Me: "No... I was just wondering what you'd do with your penis if you had that stuff."
DG: "I think you're typing this. Well, he's got to do PT and he's got to do it on his own. I don't know, he comes with me when I go on my walk. You know it's true."
Me: "What?"
DG: "Are you typing this?"
Me: "A little."
DG: "I kinda figured that. You're telling the world about my little penis."
Me: "It's not little. You're fine."
DG: "You know it is... *holds up his pinky* I know most guys wouldn't say that about their penis."
Me: "So why are you saying it?"
DG: "I know I got a small one. You might as well have fun with it. They can't laugh at you if you make the joke first. *his tone dropped* You don't even know, do you?"
Me: "Are you still talking to me?"
DG: "No, I'm talking to myself."
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
A topic of a "delicate" nature...
The disabled guy has decided to start walking for exercise. What annoys me is that I walked for years (four miles a day, every day, rain/snow/cold/hot) and I know how far many of the intersections are from our house. Obviously, I can't walk as far as he does anymore (I will be, eventually). So I have told him, "X-street and Y-street are exactly a half mile from here, then you turn on Y-street and go to Z-street and that's another half mile..." and I've told him several routes that are not only all sidewalk or bike path, but also well-lit (he goes right before the sun comes up).
Leave it to him to zig-zag his gimpy ass all over the place. I told him he needs to pick a route and stay with it (or pick a few different ones and use only those) because if something happens and he has to call for a ride, I'm going to need to know where he is... and his phone call of, "I dunno, I'm near a blue house..." isn't quite going to cut it.
But I digress... on to the "delicate nature" promised in the title.
Here's a fact about the disabled guy you don't want to know. He goes commando. That is, he doesn't wear underwear. Once in a while he will, but not under normal, everyday circumstances. The other day, he was getting undressed for a shower after his walk and I said, with some surprise, that he was wearing underwear.
He said he had to. I asked why.
DG: "Because it gets hot. And nobody likes it when it gets hot like that."
Me: "Hot? It's 24° outside." (that's Fahrenheit).
DG: "Not that kind of hot. But you know..." *waves his hand in the general delicate area* "Hot."
Me: "Ohhhh, ohhh, I see. That area gets hot... and... underwear helps that?"
DG: *sigh* "It gets all hot and then it falls out the bottom."
Now, I'm quite shocked. I'm not sure we're talking about the same delicate area. So, I ask directly: "Your balls get hot and fall out the bottom... of what?"
DG: "Yes, my balls! What else would I be talking about?"
Me: "How do your balls fall out the bottom of anything? Of what are your balls falling from?"
DG: "Not falling out of! That's ridiculous! They fall down and get hot, like in NASCAR, the bottom just falls out and..." *wiggles fingers upwards while making a crackling sound* "Like fire! HOT!"
Me: "Your balls catch on fire from friction?"
DG: "Almost! And there's PAIN!" *more fire noise*
So, what I understand is that when he's walking all willy-nilly around the neighborhood, if he's not wearing underwear, his delicate man-parts get rubbed the wrong way and apparently burst into flames.
Then he said, "Plus, if I get hit by a car, it would be embarrassing not to have any drawers on!"
(for the record, when he had the stroke fifteen years ago, he was not wearing underwear. He sometimes still brings it up and says he's glad he was unconscious when they undressed him. I told him not to worry, the ER staff sees a lot worse than a guy without underwear).
Leave it to him to zig-zag his gimpy ass all over the place. I told him he needs to pick a route and stay with it (or pick a few different ones and use only those) because if something happens and he has to call for a ride, I'm going to need to know where he is... and his phone call of, "I dunno, I'm near a blue house..." isn't quite going to cut it.
But I digress... on to the "delicate nature" promised in the title.
Here's a fact about the disabled guy you don't want to know. He goes commando. That is, he doesn't wear underwear. Once in a while he will, but not under normal, everyday circumstances. The other day, he was getting undressed for a shower after his walk and I said, with some surprise, that he was wearing underwear.
He said he had to. I asked why.
DG: "Because it gets hot. And nobody likes it when it gets hot like that."
Me: "Hot? It's 24° outside." (that's Fahrenheit).
DG: "Not that kind of hot. But you know..." *waves his hand in the general delicate area* "Hot."
Me: "Ohhhh, ohhh, I see. That area gets hot... and... underwear helps that?"
DG: *sigh* "It gets all hot and then it falls out the bottom."
Now, I'm quite shocked. I'm not sure we're talking about the same delicate area. So, I ask directly: "Your balls get hot and fall out the bottom... of what?"
DG: "Yes, my balls! What else would I be talking about?"
Me: "How do your balls fall out the bottom of anything? Of what are your balls falling from?"
DG: "Not falling out of! That's ridiculous! They fall down and get hot, like in NASCAR, the bottom just falls out and..." *wiggles fingers upwards while making a crackling sound* "Like fire! HOT!"
Me: "Your balls catch on fire from friction?"
DG: "Almost! And there's PAIN!" *more fire noise*
So, what I understand is that when he's walking all willy-nilly around the neighborhood, if he's not wearing underwear, his delicate man-parts get rubbed the wrong way and apparently burst into flames.
Then he said, "Plus, if I get hit by a car, it would be embarrassing not to have any drawers on!"
(for the record, when he had the stroke fifteen years ago, he was not wearing underwear. He sometimes still brings it up and says he's glad he was unconscious when they undressed him. I told him not to worry, the ER staff sees a lot worse than a guy without underwear).
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Squirrel Hitman and the Squirrel Witness Protection Program-
I'll skip the long-ish backstory that led up to DG going with me today, but I will say that because I had to wait on him, we didn't leave the house for two and a half hours later than I wanted. But I'll digress and get straight to the story.
I had a couple things to do today and mistakenly asked if he wanted to go along to get some fabric for the new sofa. Burlap or something to put under the cushions, over the springs. He said he did and that's how we ended up on the other side of town. To get home from that part of town, we have to turn down a one-way street. And if you live in any kind of town, you know how some squirrels seem suicidal. They'll dart out in front of oncoming vehicles only to dart back or they'll wait till the last moment and dash across the street.
We had one do just that as we turned onto the one-way street. I was going slow enough that if I had to stop, I could have. But Mister Squirrel ran, diagonally, across the street and dashed up a tree on the side of the road. He stopped halfway up the tree and glared at us in that squirrelly way. You know the look. The one that says, "HA! I did it! You stupid humans! You'll rue the day you tried to run me down when we take over the world! But I've said too much! Look, I'll twitch my nose and you'll forget what I just said!"
Yeah. That look.
When he darted out in front of us, we both said the same thing: "Wow! Look at that fat squirrel!" And he was quite portly. He probably needed the exercise of running across the street.
DG: "He ate another squirrel. That's how he got so fat."
Me: "Why is everything fat that way because they ate another one of their kind? I'm fat and I haven't eaten another human."
DG: "Animals are different!"
Me: "So the squirrel in the tree outside our house that only has a stub of a tail- he got that way because another squirrel tried to eat him and he got away?"
DG: "Yeah, this squirrel went over there and tried to eat him."
Me: "Why would a squirrel go all the way across town to eat another squirrel when there are plenty of squirrels in their own neighborhood."
DG: "I don't have any idea. I'm not a squirrel."
Me: "How would a squirrel get all the way across town and across the river to get to a squirrel that lives in our tree?"
DG: "I don't know. He's a hitman and it was his job."
Me: "The fat squirrel is a hitman for the squirrelly mafia and he went all the way across town- which is like going to Florida for us- to kill another squirrel because it was his job."
DG: "Of course."
Me: "But he failed. He's still alive but he has a stump tail."
DG: "He was the one that got away."
We approached the stoplight where the huge bridge is that takes us back to our side of the river. As we started up and over the bridge, I asked again how a squirrel would get across the bridge. "Did he walk or did he run along the railing?"
DG: "I don't know the squirrel's story. You're the one saying all this shit."
Me: "No, you're the one saying it. And like any good listener, I'm asking pertinent follow-up questions about the subject matter."
DG sighed. There was a moment or two of silence. Then he said: "The squirrel with the stumpy tail... he's the one that got away. And they had to put him in protective custody."
Me: "You're saying he's in the squirrel protection program?"
DG: "I don't know, but yes."
Me: "Wouldn't he be easy to recognize with just a stump tail or is his tail stumped as an attempt to alter his appearance? So the hitman squirrel sees him and says, 'Hey, you look like that squirrel I was supposed to kill- oh, wait, your tail is stumped, you must not be him.' Like that?"
DG: "I told you that I don't know the whole story."
Me: "Oh, you don't know the whole story about the squirrels, but you know all about the Rats and their Nike shoes. And squirrels are just rats with fluffy tails."
DG seemed shocked! His jaw fell open and he exclaimed: "They are not! Rats are weird, pinchy-faced ugly things and squirrels are all cute with their little noses and faces."
As we got closer to home, the stumpy-tailed squirrel ran out in front of us to the trees alongside our house. I said, "There he goes."
DG hollered (with the windows rolled up, no less): "You better run! We saw your hitman!"
I had a couple things to do today and mistakenly asked if he wanted to go along to get some fabric for the new sofa. Burlap or something to put under the cushions, over the springs. He said he did and that's how we ended up on the other side of town. To get home from that part of town, we have to turn down a one-way street. And if you live in any kind of town, you know how some squirrels seem suicidal. They'll dart out in front of oncoming vehicles only to dart back or they'll wait till the last moment and dash across the street.
We had one do just that as we turned onto the one-way street. I was going slow enough that if I had to stop, I could have. But Mister Squirrel ran, diagonally, across the street and dashed up a tree on the side of the road. He stopped halfway up the tree and glared at us in that squirrelly way. You know the look. The one that says, "HA! I did it! You stupid humans! You'll rue the day you tried to run me down when we take over the world! But I've said too much! Look, I'll twitch my nose and you'll forget what I just said!"
Yeah. That look.
When he darted out in front of us, we both said the same thing: "Wow! Look at that fat squirrel!" And he was quite portly. He probably needed the exercise of running across the street.
DG: "He ate another squirrel. That's how he got so fat."
Me: "Why is everything fat that way because they ate another one of their kind? I'm fat and I haven't eaten another human."
DG: "Animals are different!"
Me: "So the squirrel in the tree outside our house that only has a stub of a tail- he got that way because another squirrel tried to eat him and he got away?"
DG: "Yeah, this squirrel went over there and tried to eat him."
Me: "Why would a squirrel go all the way across town to eat another squirrel when there are plenty of squirrels in their own neighborhood."
DG: "I don't have any idea. I'm not a squirrel."
Me: "How would a squirrel get all the way across town and across the river to get to a squirrel that lives in our tree?"
DG: "I don't know. He's a hitman and it was his job."
Me: "The fat squirrel is a hitman for the squirrelly mafia and he went all the way across town- which is like going to Florida for us- to kill another squirrel because it was his job."
DG: "Of course."
Me: "But he failed. He's still alive but he has a stump tail."
DG: "He was the one that got away."
We approached the stoplight where the huge bridge is that takes us back to our side of the river. As we started up and over the bridge, I asked again how a squirrel would get across the bridge. "Did he walk or did he run along the railing?"
DG: "I don't know the squirrel's story. You're the one saying all this shit."
Me: "No, you're the one saying it. And like any good listener, I'm asking pertinent follow-up questions about the subject matter."
DG sighed. There was a moment or two of silence. Then he said: "The squirrel with the stumpy tail... he's the one that got away. And they had to put him in protective custody."
Me: "You're saying he's in the squirrel protection program?"
DG: "I don't know, but yes."
Me: "Wouldn't he be easy to recognize with just a stump tail or is his tail stumped as an attempt to alter his appearance? So the hitman squirrel sees him and says, 'Hey, you look like that squirrel I was supposed to kill- oh, wait, your tail is stumped, you must not be him.' Like that?"
DG: "I told you that I don't know the whole story."
Me: "Oh, you don't know the whole story about the squirrels, but you know all about the Rats and their Nike shoes. And squirrels are just rats with fluffy tails."
DG seemed shocked! His jaw fell open and he exclaimed: "They are not! Rats are weird, pinchy-faced ugly things and squirrels are all cute with their little noses and faces."
As we got closer to home, the stumpy-tailed squirrel ran out in front of us to the trees alongside our house. I said, "There he goes."
DG hollered (with the windows rolled up, no less): "You better run! We saw your hitman!"
Monday, February 28, 2011
An addendum to the previous blog post-
I forgot to mention "the three bears"... The sofas are apparently for the three bears. The first one was too hard, the second one was almost right, and the third one is JUST RIGHT... Of course, it took about twice as many words to get to that point, but there you go.
This morning, I said that I'd forgotten to mention it in the blog itself. He started making weird grunting noises, so I said, "What'd you say?"
DG: "I didn't say nothin'!"
Me: "Then why were there noises coming from your face?"
DG: "My face don't make noises!"
Me: "Then how do you talk?"
DG: "With my mouth!" (in mock disbelief)
Me: "And where is your mouth?"
DG: "BELOW MY NOSE!" (followed by maniacal laughter)
Me: "Aren't they both on your face?"
DG: "Ooooh!" (sounding a bit growly)
Me: "What the hell is wrong with you?"
DG *sighing*: "So many things."
Me: "I agree."
DG: "Yeah- hey!"
This morning, I said that I'd forgotten to mention it in the blog itself. He started making weird grunting noises, so I said, "What'd you say?"
DG: "I didn't say nothin'!"
Me: "Then why were there noises coming from your face?"
DG: "My face don't make noises!"
Me: "Then how do you talk?"
DG: "With my mouth!" (in mock disbelief)
Me: "And where is your mouth?"
DG: "BELOW MY NOSE!" (followed by maniacal laughter)
Me: "Aren't they both on your face?"
DG: "Ooooh!" (sounding a bit growly)
Me: "What the hell is wrong with you?"
DG *sighing*: "So many things."
Me: "I agree."
DG: "Yeah- hey!"
Sunday, February 27, 2011
The sofa conversation-
Full disclosure, this was actually an argument. It got seriously out of hand and he ended up screaming at me, then acting like a child by not replying to anything I said, at all, for hours. When I finally got him to answer me, he was short and still shout-y. But, after a few hours, he stopped behaving like a child and listened to what I had to say... and it worked. Because 90% of the time, when something doesn't work, my suggestion is the logical solution that is... well, the solution. Also, this is really long. Really long because of the backstory. But there are pictures!
About a year after building the sofa of awesome, DG decided it wasn't comfortable. More than one person has said that the sofa was not entirely comfortable. It was a little too upright and it slanted slightly to the front, so the sitter felt as if they were sliding forward. Plus, under the cushions was a slab of plywood- while firm- was too firm. So, he finally built a new one, using the springs from the old sofa (the one that the new one replaced, not the handmade one). First, he tried to put the springs into the currently-made sofa, but they wouldn't fit. It was too much of a gap to be able to rig in any way, so he said he'd build a whole new sofa.
He finally finished it and it looked lovely. It is slightly different than the current handmade one. The arms aren't as wide, the whole thing overall was a bit sleeker and more modern. (not quite so "heavy 1970s style three-piece sofa set"). Except it was too high. If I sat on it straight, my feet didn't touch the floor. I'm not incredibly tall at a whopping five feet, four-and-a-half inches, but I was wearing my Docs, which give me another inch-and-a-half. Everything else about the sofa was fine- the springs added a nice bit of smush to the cushions and he had a bit of a tilt in the back part that made it more comfortable to sit in... so, I suggested he just cut the legs down an inch or so.
Guess what...
Custom handmade carpentry doesn't work that way. Turns out, it wasn't that the legs were too long, it was that he put the cushion-holding area up too high. And being that it was custom-made, he couldn't just take that out, move it down, and bolt it in place. He'd have to start over from scratch. Honestly, he didn't look too upset about it in the least.
There was a cold snap for a few days and when his shop doesn't warm up, he doesn't like working out there (I don't blame him). He decided to rearrange the living room. Our living room is small. The person who designed this house was a lunatic. I'm not kidding. We have one bathroom (and it's upstairs!) and the door opens out into the hallway. The kitchen, before we had it remodeled, had two spaces of countertop, the oven was blocking two drawers and two cabinets. The fridge was blocking a large pantry cabinet. (when we moved in, we had an electric oven, so we disconnected the gas one and moved the fridge to the porch and put the oven near where the fridge had been. So we had two extra drawers and cabinets, plus we could use the pantry cabinet and the fridge was only three extra steps away). Also, to show some of this lunacy... the side of the house with the row of pine trees is? Yeah, the person put a staircase there. The side of the house where the driveway is? That's where the living room window looks out on. Yeah. Not the golf course and pine trees. The driveway and the neighbor's driveway.
But I digress... the living room is small. The entry door is right in the middle, with a window on each side of the door. But not right next to the door, there's a gap of wall space. Then there's another window (overlooking the driveway) and the wide-open archway for the dining room (which is larger than the living room and where I currently sit). At the other side is that staircase. So we have one workable corner and only one wall that is significantly large enough to use for anything. Our furniture was arranged the same way for years, not because we liked it, but because it was a necessity.
A while ago, DG made this huge TV cabinet with a DVD cabinet. His original plan was to put them together into one giant wall unit. Except that doing so would block the one and only window I had access to open in warmer weather. The other is blocked by the loveseat and another was blocked by the fish tank (cabinet he built). So, he left them separate. As pictured below.
As you can see, the window is still half-covered. But, I could open it, block that area with a pet gate (Gypsy likes to bark at people) and we'd get a cross-breeze.
And a reminder of the DVD cabinet in all its glory.
So, DG's idea during that cold snap, was to rearrange the furniture in expectation of the new-new sofa. Oh, speaking of the new sofa- the one that was too high- here are some photos of that...
By comparison, here is the old-current sofa and the new too-tall sofa's armrests.
I'm not sure if you can see the difference, but the arms are narrower and sleeker overall.
Anyway, I begged him not to rearrange the furniture. It would be too much work. Don't do it. He did it anyway. He moved the fish tank to where a bookcase was and moved the bookcase (and completely messing up the order of my books) to where the dog bed was. BUT, it freed up that window the fish tank had been blocking. Then he removed all the DVDs from the giant DVD cabinet. We have more than a thousand by now. We stopped counting at around 800.
Here is a photo of most of the DVDs (there were more on the loveseat).
Then, he took a spacer he built of matching wood, connected the two pieces into the giant cabinet... except by then, I'd gone to bed. It took him all day to do just this little bit of work. (he refused help offered and would only ask for it when it came to moving the real heavy stuff). What I awoke to was an atrocity that any housewife would have freaked out over. The giant cabinet was taking up the whole wall (blocking an entire window). The sofa was moved over to the stairs- which is fine- and the loveseat was in front of the sofa. It was against the wall, but blocking half of the sofa. Anybody sitting on the loveseat would be partially blocking the TV view for who would be seated on the sofa. Plus, it was right there- I could put my feet on the loveseat from the sofa. The arm of the loveseat was an arm's length from the sofa. I really wish I had taken a photo. It was awful. I don't even remember where the chair was anymore.
Hours later, DG is up and I ask him what the hell he was thinking. I mean, if this was a temporary solution for the night, fine, but it damn sure wasn't staying this way. Now, the giant cabinet, while facing it (from the sofa view) was TV on the left, DVD cabinet on the right. I asked why he put the loveseat where it was, blocking the sofa. And he went off on me. Yelling at me that it would be fine to leave it there, it wasn't bothering anyone, I'm the only one complaining about it and I should just shut the fuck up about it as I "never" sit in the living room anyway (not entirely true).
I said, "Whoa! What the fuck are you yelling at me for? I just asked a goddamn question!"
And I can't recall all the words he was yelling at me, but he was swearing and gesturing wildly about the cabinet. "The fucking doors won't open if the loveseat is there and its fucked up! It will stay here because it FITS HERE!" and his voice kept raising. And I'm a bitch... you can't out-bitch a bitch. So, I yelled back. I admit it.
I asked, in a raised voice, why the DVD cabinet was on the right instead of the left- as was originally planned. "BECAUSE I ALREADY DID IT THIS WAY! IT WENT THIS WAY FOR A REASON!" and there was some swearing in the screaming.
I took a breath, I tried not to totally lose it. "But when you did this originally, you had it on the other side. Why isn't it on the other side?"
"BECAUSE I PUT THE SPACER THERE! RIGHT FUCKING THERE!"
Me: "But why isn't it on the other side? I don't get why-"
DG: "ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?" (say what? like I'm gonna let that go?) "I PUT THE FUCKING SPACER THERE!"
It went back and forth like this for a few moments, including him getting up, opening the DVD cabinet to show me how the doors wouldn't open with the loveseat there. And each time, he wouldn't answer my question about why. Why that side?
I got him to stop yelling long enough to listen to me ask: "Why didn't you put the spacer on the other side?"
DG: (after a pause) "BECAUSE I DIDN'T THINK ABOUT IT!" Finally! A Disabled Guy answer.
So, I asked why he couldn't change it. The yelling resumed about the spacer and how he cut it at the bottom to accommodate the bottom of the DVD cabinet. Except it wasn't quite as well-put as that. He was screaming about it and using a condescending tone, as if I were a child. He dropped that "are you fucking stupid" line a couple more times. So I got up. And I acted just as immature as he was. I gestured the same way he was, at that spacer thing, and asked, "WHY COULDN'T YOU BUILD ANOTHER ONE FOR THE OTHER FUCKING SIDE THEN? HOW MUCH FUCKING WOOD COULD THIS TAKE?" (the problem with the Disabled Guy is if you present him with a two-part question without giving him time to answer, he loses the plot and forgets what he was trying to say, but I was tired of his yelling and calling me stupid).
So, he sat down and crossed his arms. "I'm done! I'm fucking done! I'm not talking about it any fucking more!" and that was it. He turned his head away from me even.
When Ceej asked me a question about the other sofa- which I couldn't answer- I asked him (it was a basic question, not related to anything we'd just argued about). He refused to answer. Even looked away. I said, "You can stop being a fucking dick and answer the goddamn question."
So he did, with two words. I asked a follow-up question. Again, no answer. So I said, "I'm not talking about your precious cabinet of doom, you can answer the fucking question."
It went on like this for a while. And when Ceej dared to ask why the loveseat was blocking half the sofa, he went off again: "FINE! I'LL PUT IT THE FUCK BACK! EVERYBODY CAN SHUT UP ABOUT IT BECAUSE I'LL PUT IT BACK!" and he stomped around for a bit.
Now, we don't know what set him off. We have no idea why he was so pissed off about the whole thing. Normally, he only gets like this if I'm picking at him and I won't stop. Not nagging, but close. But that day, he just totally lost his shit for nothing. As I'm typing this, I'm deep into my nightly pain meds, so I'm sure I'm leaving some stuff out and forgetting the sequence a bit, but that's how this all went down. I don't remember where I had to go, but I left for about forty-five minutes and when I got back, he'd gotten all the DVDs out of the cabinet and was removing the spacer (he'd been working for longer than forty-five minutes, that's just how long I was gone). When he got the spacer out, he paused and looked at. Then he turned it and looked at it again.
I stepped over and I said, "Don't let your cheese slide off your cracker, but listen..."
He listened. "Why can't you just flip this over and use it on the other side?" I asked. I even showed him. "You've got scrap wood you can use and fix this- [I pointed to the groove he was talking about] and you can just flip the cabinets."
He said, "That won't work! It'll look like shit."
I replied, "Who is gonna see it at the bottom of the cabinet?"
A few minutes later, after I sat back down, I said, "Can't you just take off that piece of wood and put it on the other side?"
After all this... after him screaming at me, this is what I got:
I got a fibro flareup that caused my skin to start itching so bad it made my eyes water and I got a half-hearted mumbled, "I'm sorry" for the screaming freak out he had.
But, I also have a whole window I can open up, an almost-finished new-new sofa, and a giant mega-cabinet that takes up one whole wall and blocks a window that used to be blocked by a loveseat. (which is to the right of this photo).
These DVDs don't count the bunch Ceej and Jase have in their rooms or the handful Kat has in her apartment in the town where she lives. Also, there are two shelves in the bottom of the TV cabinet that are full.
The Disabled Guy-ism in all this is when I ask him now what the fuck flew up his ass that day, he tells me: "I was possessed."
I ask: "By what?"
DG: "An asshole who can't rearrange furniture."
Me: "If he comes back, I'll sic the blankets on him. Then he'll be sorry." (The Killer Blanket Story)
We had another discussion last night about how the blankets attack him in his sleep. Which is why he's constantly piling them onto me. Apparently, with my two arms, I can better fight them off than he can.
Also, the Disabled Guy realizes his eyesight is getting worse. From the sofa, he can't see the TV so well. Good thing he has that chair to sit in that's closer.
About a year after building the sofa of awesome, DG decided it wasn't comfortable. More than one person has said that the sofa was not entirely comfortable. It was a little too upright and it slanted slightly to the front, so the sitter felt as if they were sliding forward. Plus, under the cushions was a slab of plywood- while firm- was too firm. So, he finally built a new one, using the springs from the old sofa (the one that the new one replaced, not the handmade one). First, he tried to put the springs into the currently-made sofa, but they wouldn't fit. It was too much of a gap to be able to rig in any way, so he said he'd build a whole new sofa.
He finally finished it and it looked lovely. It is slightly different than the current handmade one. The arms aren't as wide, the whole thing overall was a bit sleeker and more modern. (not quite so "heavy 1970s style three-piece sofa set"). Except it was too high. If I sat on it straight, my feet didn't touch the floor. I'm not incredibly tall at a whopping five feet, four-and-a-half inches, but I was wearing my Docs, which give me another inch-and-a-half. Everything else about the sofa was fine- the springs added a nice bit of smush to the cushions and he had a bit of a tilt in the back part that made it more comfortable to sit in... so, I suggested he just cut the legs down an inch or so.
Guess what...
Custom handmade carpentry doesn't work that way. Turns out, it wasn't that the legs were too long, it was that he put the cushion-holding area up too high. And being that it was custom-made, he couldn't just take that out, move it down, and bolt it in place. He'd have to start over from scratch. Honestly, he didn't look too upset about it in the least.
There was a cold snap for a few days and when his shop doesn't warm up, he doesn't like working out there (I don't blame him). He decided to rearrange the living room. Our living room is small. The person who designed this house was a lunatic. I'm not kidding. We have one bathroom (and it's upstairs!) and the door opens out into the hallway. The kitchen, before we had it remodeled, had two spaces of countertop, the oven was blocking two drawers and two cabinets. The fridge was blocking a large pantry cabinet. (when we moved in, we had an electric oven, so we disconnected the gas one and moved the fridge to the porch and put the oven near where the fridge had been. So we had two extra drawers and cabinets, plus we could use the pantry cabinet and the fridge was only three extra steps away). Also, to show some of this lunacy... the side of the house with the row of pine trees is? Yeah, the person put a staircase there. The side of the house where the driveway is? That's where the living room window looks out on. Yeah. Not the golf course and pine trees. The driveway and the neighbor's driveway.
But I digress... the living room is small. The entry door is right in the middle, with a window on each side of the door. But not right next to the door, there's a gap of wall space. Then there's another window (overlooking the driveway) and the wide-open archway for the dining room (which is larger than the living room and where I currently sit). At the other side is that staircase. So we have one workable corner and only one wall that is significantly large enough to use for anything. Our furniture was arranged the same way for years, not because we liked it, but because it was a necessity.
A while ago, DG made this huge TV cabinet with a DVD cabinet. His original plan was to put them together into one giant wall unit. Except that doing so would block the one and only window I had access to open in warmer weather. The other is blocked by the loveseat and another was blocked by the fish tank (cabinet he built). So, he left them separate. As pictured below.
As you can see, the window is still half-covered. But, I could open it, block that area with a pet gate (Gypsy likes to bark at people) and we'd get a cross-breeze.
And a reminder of the DVD cabinet in all its glory.
So, DG's idea during that cold snap, was to rearrange the furniture in expectation of the new-new sofa. Oh, speaking of the new sofa- the one that was too high- here are some photos of that...
By comparison, here is the old-current sofa and the new too-tall sofa's armrests.
I'm not sure if you can see the difference, but the arms are narrower and sleeker overall.
Anyway, I begged him not to rearrange the furniture. It would be too much work. Don't do it. He did it anyway. He moved the fish tank to where a bookcase was and moved the bookcase (and completely messing up the order of my books) to where the dog bed was. BUT, it freed up that window the fish tank had been blocking. Then he removed all the DVDs from the giant DVD cabinet. We have more than a thousand by now. We stopped counting at around 800.
Here is a photo of most of the DVDs (there were more on the loveseat).
Then, he took a spacer he built of matching wood, connected the two pieces into the giant cabinet... except by then, I'd gone to bed. It took him all day to do just this little bit of work. (he refused help offered and would only ask for it when it came to moving the real heavy stuff). What I awoke to was an atrocity that any housewife would have freaked out over. The giant cabinet was taking up the whole wall (blocking an entire window). The sofa was moved over to the stairs- which is fine- and the loveseat was in front of the sofa. It was against the wall, but blocking half of the sofa. Anybody sitting on the loveseat would be partially blocking the TV view for who would be seated on the sofa. Plus, it was right there- I could put my feet on the loveseat from the sofa. The arm of the loveseat was an arm's length from the sofa. I really wish I had taken a photo. It was awful. I don't even remember where the chair was anymore.
Hours later, DG is up and I ask him what the hell he was thinking. I mean, if this was a temporary solution for the night, fine, but it damn sure wasn't staying this way. Now, the giant cabinet, while facing it (from the sofa view) was TV on the left, DVD cabinet on the right. I asked why he put the loveseat where it was, blocking the sofa. And he went off on me. Yelling at me that it would be fine to leave it there, it wasn't bothering anyone, I'm the only one complaining about it and I should just shut the fuck up about it as I "never" sit in the living room anyway (not entirely true).
I said, "Whoa! What the fuck are you yelling at me for? I just asked a goddamn question!"
And I can't recall all the words he was yelling at me, but he was swearing and gesturing wildly about the cabinet. "The fucking doors won't open if the loveseat is there and its fucked up! It will stay here because it FITS HERE!" and his voice kept raising. And I'm a bitch... you can't out-bitch a bitch. So, I yelled back. I admit it.
I asked, in a raised voice, why the DVD cabinet was on the right instead of the left- as was originally planned. "BECAUSE I ALREADY DID IT THIS WAY! IT WENT THIS WAY FOR A REASON!" and there was some swearing in the screaming.
I took a breath, I tried not to totally lose it. "But when you did this originally, you had it on the other side. Why isn't it on the other side?"
"BECAUSE I PUT THE SPACER THERE! RIGHT FUCKING THERE!"
Me: "But why isn't it on the other side? I don't get why-"
DG: "ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?" (say what? like I'm gonna let that go?) "I PUT THE FUCKING SPACER THERE!"
It went back and forth like this for a few moments, including him getting up, opening the DVD cabinet to show me how the doors wouldn't open with the loveseat there. And each time, he wouldn't answer my question about why. Why that side?
I got him to stop yelling long enough to listen to me ask: "Why didn't you put the spacer on the other side?"
DG: (after a pause) "BECAUSE I DIDN'T THINK ABOUT IT!" Finally! A Disabled Guy answer.
So, I asked why he couldn't change it. The yelling resumed about the spacer and how he cut it at the bottom to accommodate the bottom of the DVD cabinet. Except it wasn't quite as well-put as that. He was screaming about it and using a condescending tone, as if I were a child. He dropped that "are you fucking stupid" line a couple more times. So I got up. And I acted just as immature as he was. I gestured the same way he was, at that spacer thing, and asked, "WHY COULDN'T YOU BUILD ANOTHER ONE FOR THE OTHER FUCKING SIDE THEN? HOW MUCH FUCKING WOOD COULD THIS TAKE?" (the problem with the Disabled Guy is if you present him with a two-part question without giving him time to answer, he loses the plot and forgets what he was trying to say, but I was tired of his yelling and calling me stupid).
So, he sat down and crossed his arms. "I'm done! I'm fucking done! I'm not talking about it any fucking more!" and that was it. He turned his head away from me even.
When Ceej asked me a question about the other sofa- which I couldn't answer- I asked him (it was a basic question, not related to anything we'd just argued about). He refused to answer. Even looked away. I said, "You can stop being a fucking dick and answer the goddamn question."
So he did, with two words. I asked a follow-up question. Again, no answer. So I said, "I'm not talking about your precious cabinet of doom, you can answer the fucking question."
It went on like this for a while. And when Ceej dared to ask why the loveseat was blocking half the sofa, he went off again: "FINE! I'LL PUT IT THE FUCK BACK! EVERYBODY CAN SHUT UP ABOUT IT BECAUSE I'LL PUT IT BACK!" and he stomped around for a bit.
Now, we don't know what set him off. We have no idea why he was so pissed off about the whole thing. Normally, he only gets like this if I'm picking at him and I won't stop. Not nagging, but close. But that day, he just totally lost his shit for nothing. As I'm typing this, I'm deep into my nightly pain meds, so I'm sure I'm leaving some stuff out and forgetting the sequence a bit, but that's how this all went down. I don't remember where I had to go, but I left for about forty-five minutes and when I got back, he'd gotten all the DVDs out of the cabinet and was removing the spacer (he'd been working for longer than forty-five minutes, that's just how long I was gone). When he got the spacer out, he paused and looked at. Then he turned it and looked at it again.
I stepped over and I said, "Don't let your cheese slide off your cracker, but listen..."
He listened. "Why can't you just flip this over and use it on the other side?" I asked. I even showed him. "You've got scrap wood you can use and fix this- [I pointed to the groove he was talking about] and you can just flip the cabinets."
He said, "That won't work! It'll look like shit."
I replied, "Who is gonna see it at the bottom of the cabinet?"
A few minutes later, after I sat back down, I said, "Can't you just take off that piece of wood and put it on the other side?"
After all this... after him screaming at me, this is what I got:
I got a fibro flareup that caused my skin to start itching so bad it made my eyes water and I got a half-hearted mumbled, "I'm sorry" for the screaming freak out he had.
But, I also have a whole window I can open up, an almost-finished new-new sofa, and a giant mega-cabinet that takes up one whole wall and blocks a window that used to be blocked by a loveseat. (which is to the right of this photo).
These DVDs don't count the bunch Ceej and Jase have in their rooms or the handful Kat has in her apartment in the town where she lives. Also, there are two shelves in the bottom of the TV cabinet that are full.
The Disabled Guy-ism in all this is when I ask him now what the fuck flew up his ass that day, he tells me: "I was possessed."
I ask: "By what?"
DG: "An asshole who can't rearrange furniture."
Me: "If he comes back, I'll sic the blankets on him. Then he'll be sorry." (The Killer Blanket Story)
We had another discussion last night about how the blankets attack him in his sleep. Which is why he's constantly piling them onto me. Apparently, with my two arms, I can better fight them off than he can.
Also, the Disabled Guy realizes his eyesight is getting worse. From the sofa, he can't see the TV so well. Good thing he has that chair to sit in that's closer.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
"I'm glad I'm not a fish"
I've been having a rough day- but I have a blog for that- I was just explaining as to why I was still in the process of getting ready for my day at 10 AM Central US Time. As I was blow-drying my hair, I had an episode of "Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom" on Animal Planet. It was an episode about tiger sharks ("Tiger Sharks in Danger", I believe was the title). At any rate, the show was talking about this area in Bimini where a wreck happened and they quickly built a sandbar to keep the chemicals and such from going into the freshwater areas where other fish spawn. And those fish were a huge food source for some sharks. And those sharks still come to that area, despite the sandbar. Well, that sandbar was washed away by a storm and the sharks were there and becoming increasingly impatient and frustrated and would start eating any fish in the area.
And that's when DG told me: "I'm glad I'm not a fish. Unless I'm the biggest, baddest fish out there." I started to say, "Then you'd want to be a whale shark" when he added, "With a tattoo on my fin that says "make my day". Yeah."
Me: "Really?"
DG: "Yes."
Me: "So, how do you get this tattoo?"
DG: "People would come down and give me a tattoo, but if it hurts, I'm gonna eat 'em."
Me: "You know tattoos hurt [he has one, I have eight], so you'd eat a tattoo artist and have a half-finished tattoo. How would you convince other tattoo artists to come down to the ocean every time?"
DG: "I wouldn't tell them I was gonna eat 'em! Sheesh, woman!"
Me: "Soooo... let me get this straight."
DG: "Yes?"
Me: "You're the biggest, baddest fish out there, with a tattoo on your fin- your dorsal or your pectoral fin?"
DG: "Its a surprise."
Me: "I see. So, big, bad fish, with a 'make my day' tattoo- done by several artists because you eat the ones that make the tattoo hurt."
DG: "I'd be like a piranha- swimming around, eating everything... except I'm way bigger than a piranha and with-"
Me: "-with a tattoo."
DG: "You know it."
After a pause, he started up again: "I'd have a song. You know like Spiderman has that lady who sings that song." (I only assume he was talking about in the movie when that street busker is singing the Spiderman theme song).
Me: "How would you hear it?"
DG: "Hear what?"
Me: "Most song writers are human."
DG: "Oh, I'd have to hear it from the shore. They'd come down and play it for me. And if I didn't like it... I'd eat 'em."
Me: "But you can't go on shore."
DG: "I'll tell them I like it and when they come to the shore to shake my hand-"
Me: "Fin?"
DG: "Whatever. When they come down to shake my fin, I'd eat 'em!"
Me: "So, you're a big, badass fish, with a tattoo who eats things like a piranha does, who ate several tattoo artists, and will eat any composers who write a song you don't like. Right?"
DG: "Yes."
Me: "Too bad you don't sing [see the videos where he tells us he's not singing when he clearly is], because you could write your own theme song."
DG: "Don't be ridiculous! I'm a fish. Fish can't sing!"
Me: "But you're telling me this story and if fish can't sing, then they can't talk."
As I was walking downstairs, he called out: "Don't you write about this!"
I replied, "Too late!"
And he said, "Damn!"
I posted as my status update on Facebook:
I have to write a disabled guy blog about how he's glad he's not a fish. Unless he was the biggest, baddest fish out there. With a tattoo. And a theme song.
And I got some replies. And one of those replies was from Michael Mock
The song:
"I am the baddest of the very bad fish.
Bad like me? You can only wish.
I've got big teeth and fins that swish.
I am the baddest of the very bad fish.
There's a tattoo on my fin.
I a broke a fishhook and I'll do it again.
Don' mess with me, I always win!
I'm the baddest fish there's ever been."
(as this was posted when I started writing this blog, I asked if I could use it and was given permission).
Apparently, DG didn't like this song. I did. The kids did. DG said, "Not like that! Like 'Jaws' but cooler."
And also, it is a theme song, it has lyrics, but seeing as he's a fish, he can't sing them (because, as you know, he doesn't sing anyway).
As I was drawing this post to a close, this question was posed over on my status, by Carol, "If he can't talk, how did he tell the guy what to tattoo? Or did he do that himself? One-finned, you say?" (the "one-finned, you say" is a running joke we have about him doing stuff one-handed).
His reply: "I don't know. I'm not a fish."
Me: "But I'm hearing this story about how you're a fish."
DG: "No, you're wishing you were hearing this story."
And after a pause, he said, "That'd be cool, though."
And that's when DG told me: "I'm glad I'm not a fish. Unless I'm the biggest, baddest fish out there." I started to say, "Then you'd want to be a whale shark" when he added, "With a tattoo on my fin that says "make my day". Yeah."
Me: "Really?"
DG: "Yes."
Me: "So, how do you get this tattoo?"
DG: "People would come down and give me a tattoo, but if it hurts, I'm gonna eat 'em."
Me: "You know tattoos hurt [he has one, I have eight], so you'd eat a tattoo artist and have a half-finished tattoo. How would you convince other tattoo artists to come down to the ocean every time?"
DG: "I wouldn't tell them I was gonna eat 'em! Sheesh, woman!"
Me: "Soooo... let me get this straight."
DG: "Yes?"
Me: "You're the biggest, baddest fish out there, with a tattoo on your fin- your dorsal or your pectoral fin?"
DG: "Its a surprise."
Me: "I see. So, big, bad fish, with a 'make my day' tattoo- done by several artists because you eat the ones that make the tattoo hurt."
DG: "I'd be like a piranha- swimming around, eating everything... except I'm way bigger than a piranha and with-"
Me: "-with a tattoo."
DG: "You know it."
After a pause, he started up again: "I'd have a song. You know like Spiderman has that lady who sings that song." (I only assume he was talking about in the movie when that street busker is singing the Spiderman theme song).
Me: "How would you hear it?"
DG: "Hear what?"
Me: "Most song writers are human."
DG: "Oh, I'd have to hear it from the shore. They'd come down and play it for me. And if I didn't like it... I'd eat 'em."
Me: "But you can't go on shore."
DG: "I'll tell them I like it and when they come to the shore to shake my hand-"
Me: "Fin?"
DG: "Whatever. When they come down to shake my fin, I'd eat 'em!"
Me: "So, you're a big, badass fish, with a tattoo who eats things like a piranha does, who ate several tattoo artists, and will eat any composers who write a song you don't like. Right?"
DG: "Yes."
Me: "Too bad you don't sing [see the videos where he tells us he's not singing when he clearly is], because you could write your own theme song."
DG: "Don't be ridiculous! I'm a fish. Fish can't sing!"
Me: "But you're telling me this story and if fish can't sing, then they can't talk."
As I was walking downstairs, he called out: "Don't you write about this!"
I replied, "Too late!"
And he said, "Damn!"
I posted as my status update on Facebook:
I have to write a disabled guy blog about how he's glad he's not a fish. Unless he was the biggest, baddest fish out there. With a tattoo. And a theme song.
And I got some replies. And one of those replies was from Michael Mock
The song:
"I am the baddest of the very bad fish.
Bad like me? You can only wish.
I've got big teeth and fins that swish.
I am the baddest of the very bad fish.
There's a tattoo on my fin.
I a broke a fishhook and I'll do it again.
Don' mess with me, I always win!
I'm the baddest fish there's ever been."
(as this was posted when I started writing this blog, I asked if I could use it and was given permission).
Apparently, DG didn't like this song. I did. The kids did. DG said, "Not like that! Like 'Jaws' but cooler."
And also, it is a theme song, it has lyrics, but seeing as he's a fish, he can't sing them (because, as you know, he doesn't sing anyway).
As I was drawing this post to a close, this question was posed over on my status, by Carol, "If he can't talk, how did he tell the guy what to tattoo? Or did he do that himself? One-finned, you say?" (the "one-finned, you say" is a running joke we have about him doing stuff one-handed).
His reply: "I don't know. I'm not a fish."
Me: "But I'm hearing this story about how you're a fish."
DG: "No, you're wishing you were hearing this story."
And after a pause, he said, "That'd be cool, though."
Friday, February 18, 2011
There's a long video conversation today...
He's bored. Despite the warm-up in the weather, DG hasn't been out in his shop. Anyone care to guess why? C'mon... you know him. What's he like?
If you said "rich guys driving in circles for four hours every week" you're right. NASCAR is upon us. This past week has been full of NASCAR practices, interviews, the Bud Shootout, and who knows what else.
With all that going on, he hasn't been going into the shop- where he has a half-built sofa waiting to be finished. (Oh, that sofa... there's a story there, but for another time). So, NASCAR it is... The TV stuff ends in the afternoon, but that's "too late" to go out into the shop. I have no idea why, but that's how he works.
And today, he was bored. NASCAR was over, "Spartacus, Gods of the Arena" isn't on for hours. He stood about ten feet to my left and started making noises. I asked what he was doing. He said nothing. Then he'd make a noise, then make a face, then act like he wasn't doing anything. Back and forth (what are you doing? Nothing. *face-making*) for about ten minutes. It continued when I went upstairs (I have to walk past him to do that). When I sat back down, he kept it up. So, I picked up my camera.
I couldn't point it AT him, of course. Because he stops acting silly when he knows the camera is on him. So, unfortunately, you get a view of my horrifyingly messy desk. Then I sit for a while on a photo frame you've all seen before, then on to the computer monitor for the blog page. Eventually, I rolled back a little so I could see that he was making faces. And he was, but there are none on the video. Just him. Talking, singing, making noises and denying that he's doing any of those things. Its about seven minutes long.
Enjoy.
And I'll tell you the sofa story in a few days.
If you said "rich guys driving in circles for four hours every week" you're right. NASCAR is upon us. This past week has been full of NASCAR practices, interviews, the Bud Shootout, and who knows what else.
With all that going on, he hasn't been going into the shop- where he has a half-built sofa waiting to be finished. (Oh, that sofa... there's a story there, but for another time). So, NASCAR it is... The TV stuff ends in the afternoon, but that's "too late" to go out into the shop. I have no idea why, but that's how he works.
And today, he was bored. NASCAR was over, "Spartacus, Gods of the Arena" isn't on for hours. He stood about ten feet to my left and started making noises. I asked what he was doing. He said nothing. Then he'd make a noise, then make a face, then act like he wasn't doing anything. Back and forth (what are you doing? Nothing. *face-making*) for about ten minutes. It continued when I went upstairs (I have to walk past him to do that). When I sat back down, he kept it up. So, I picked up my camera.
I couldn't point it AT him, of course. Because he stops acting silly when he knows the camera is on him. So, unfortunately, you get a view of my horrifyingly messy desk. Then I sit for a while on a photo frame you've all seen before, then on to the computer monitor for the blog page. Eventually, I rolled back a little so I could see that he was making faces. And he was, but there are none on the video. Just him. Talking, singing, making noises and denying that he's doing any of those things. Its about seven minutes long.
Enjoy.
And I'll tell you the sofa story in a few days.
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