Yesterday we got news that our apartment is nearly finished, having had to be rebuilt from the studs up following that burst water main during the Big Freeze back in February.
Yes, we’ve been living in a hotel room since then. But now, there’s light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak, and we’ll be able to move back into our place over the next week or so…
…which is when I’ll be at Boomershoot.
Think kind thoughts and say a few good words for New Wife, as she struggles to rebuild the nest without me.
But before anyone gets any strange ideas, you have to know this about her: she lives for this kind of thing, and I don’t. In fact, I am the worst possible person during a move: I rage at stuff, I slam fingers in doors, I drop boxes, I kick stuff, I throw things into the pool out of frustration — all that, because of one of my life’s guiding principles:
I refuse to take any shit from inanimate objects.
She, however, is the complete opposite: nothing makes her happier than organizing stuff. So she’s going to be puttering around, re-packing kitchen cabinets, hanging clothes, singing happy songs and bossing the movers around — yes, I’ll be arranging for a moving company to move all the heavy stuff from the garage back into the apartment (a distance of a few feet only, but there are doors to wrangle the sofas and beds through — and when they don’t go, that’s precisely when I see red, descend into rage and start to break things).
Had I not invested so much into Boomershoot already, I’d have canceled it — but it’s too late for that at this point, so there it is.
My sainted grandmother referred to it as “The innate cussedness of inanimate objects.”
Not to predict anything, but I suspect “household objects at velocity” may still occur, but not until your victorious return from Boomershoot.
Some years back a neighbor suffered a similar but substantially less serious event that necessitated very temporary removal of kitchen cabinets along one kitchen wall to replace drywall and repaint. Six weeks later he was still using his Swiss army knife to open cans and bottles because the several openers he was sure they possessed were MIA.
Sixty percent of what The New Wife puts in place during your absence will be in a different location. It will not be in the wrong location, just a different one. Your domestic discovery adventure will last several weeks; if you run across a roadside merchant selling Scottish or Irish Patience during your return journey it might be a good idea to procure several bottles.
And, probably, a spare corkscrew.
One of my huge pet peeves is backtalk from “digital assistants.” It’s not cute. It’s infuriating. I’m not sure about the others, but apparently shouting “don’t sass me!” at Siri makes it go silent when it would normally backtalk from then on.
I don’t cute error messages in computer programs. I don’t want to have to ask my phone “nicely” to do something. It’s an emotionless object. I refuse to anthropomorphize it.
So that’s why a coworker of a few years ago always addressed Siri as “Siri, you bitch.” Premptive deployment of “Don’t Sass ME.”
Least the temporary digs are not a tent. Yes once you are moved you will be looking for stuff for months.
If your wife is like mine, she might prefer you be several hundred miles away while she gets the household set back up.
“I refuse to take any shit from inanimate objects.”
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A long time ago I bought a brand new belt sander and upon installing the belt and turning it on the first time the belt skewed and started sawing right through the side of the housing. I adjusted the tension and turned it on – the same thing happened. Went through this 3 times and on the 3rd chance I ignited and the whole thing got slammed on the concrete floor. I take and take and take and finally I explode. Sometimes I regret being that way, but usually not. Pressure valve.
I hear you ghostsniper. I haven’t deliberately destroyed anything since I was a child and yanked the wire attached tweezers from the Operation game after about three frustrating days since getting it.
These days, when I’m fixing something and it won’t go back together even though it came apart easily, or if I’m trying vainly to assemble something that has instructions in readable, understandable English (not something translated horribly from Chinese), I start semi-seriously thinking about taking my geologist’s hammer to the thing. Which end? The hammer or the 6 inch pick? Then I go away to calm down and tackle the bloody thing later on.
Shooting things that go BOOM! sounds like a very good way to vent such frustrations. I wonder how many targets at Boomershoot will have Biden images on them. Have fun, Kim.
I hear tell that opposites attract, but damn.