Oh Lordy, I should have stayed in bed today. Really I should have stayed in bed yesterday too, but then I wouldn’t have been able to do all the shopping I did with the money I won at the casino on my birthday. (That’s right, the bitch won some money which was awesome because I’ve never won anything gambling before.)
Back to staying in bed today: I should have. It’s only just after 9 o’clock and this has already turned into Terrifying Tuesday.
So our sink backed up again yesterday. This is (by my count) the third time since we moved here in November of last year. It wouldn’t be so terrible if it were as simple as pouring some Draino down the thing, but when this sink plugs up there is sludge and slime and food from last year spewing out of it. Sometimes it spits – literally spits. Other times it just globs.
The downside is that the dishwasher can’t be run and it was already full when it happened. I had tons of dishes left to do as well, so had to finagle getting them cleaned before the water and sludge spilled everywhere. It was a nightmare. Terrifying Tuesday comes in when the apartment complex maintenance came by this morning just to tell me that they probably weren’t going to be able to come by until probably tomorrow.
Now while the horrifying, puke-smelling gruel sitting in my kitchen sink is enough to make anyone feel pretty terrified, I suppose I should be happy because this means I can’t cook dinner. I hate to cook so this is a plus in my book.
At What Point Do You Say “This Is Some Real Bull Shit Going On Here!”?
Then my mother called at something like 7:30. I am not typically up this early in the morning, which would have made such a phone call particularly egregious had I not happened to get up early to try and make breakfast before the maintenance people came (as you can infer, was a waste of my energy since they came only to say they weren’t coming).
So my mother’s conversation went something like this: first she informed me of the details of her hillbilly husband’s ongoing “land and trailer” drama; second she shared with me the color of my grandmother’s bowel movements.
Apparently Hillbilly Husband (they eloped just six months ago) has been trying to sell his “land and trailer” in New Mexico for some time now. There has been some ongoing drama with it, leading me to believe that the guy is never going to actually sell his “land and trailer” and is just making up the most far-fetched stories imaginable to satiate my mother. One of the stories even included the real estate agent going to jail for punching out the title transfer guy. Well in the newest drama, the “land and trailer” had reportedly been sold – about a month ago actually – and my mother came back to California to find a place for them to live as happy newlyweds. Hillbilly Husband was staying in another trailer on the sold land and paying rent to the family of fifteen Mexican migrant workers that bought the place. But this morning he supposedly learned that the people have changed their mind on the purchase of the “land and trailer,” despite the fact that it has been about a month and all fifteen of them already moved in to that one, tiny trailer.
At what point do you say “this is some real bull shit going on here!”?
…and On the Note of My Mother…
My poor little Pookie woke up this morning whining because she is still traumatized by a conversation she had with Hillbilly Husband the other day. Every time my mother engages in these marathon telephone conversations with Hillbilly Husband while at our home, she always forces everyone to say “hi.” Sometimes she puts the phone on speaker and starts shouting dramatically “okay, everyone is going to say ‘hi’ now!!” Other times there is a long and drawn-out game of telephone where we literally pass the phone around and listen to this guy’s ridiculous anecdotes.
So Hillbilly Husband actually has little to talk about. The guy was in the military for a while. He abandoned his wife and kids a long time ago, so there isn’t much to talk about there. He is now retired and lives in a trailer in the middle of nowhere in New Mexico, playing his Xbox all day and wolfing down a steadfast diet of hot dogs and Coors Lights. Hillbilly Husband wasn’t always like this, though – he and my mom met in high school (they reconnected at their high school reunion last year and eloped shortly after); and in high school he was the captain of the football team and a real “straight shooter.” A “dream boat,” my mother says. I guess he and my mom never dated back then because she was dating his friend; bros before hoes and all that nonsense – plus he likes to tell everyone that while they were always at the same drive in, he was actually watching the movies. Needless to say, the majority of the anecdotes Hillbilly Husband has to offer are about their experiences in high school – a better time when life wasn’t so hot dogs and trailers.
During the telephone pass-around the other day, he apparently informed Pookie that what he always loved about my mother was “her in her bikini.” I assume he meant in high school – my mom was a catch back then. Now, to say she’s let herself go is an understatement (sorry, but it’s true); in fact, to quote my own father (who has been divorced from my mother for 21 years now): “that woman’s got more curd on her ass than the entire cottage cheese aisle at Ralph’s.” When I talked to my mother about the inappropriateness of Hillbilly Husband talking to Pookie about the whole bikini thing, though, she smiled, laughed and said “well, he thinks I’m hot.” Today, while Pookie still whines I realize that she will get over it, but my mother has officially lost it. I mean I knew she’d lost it before, but she is -like- completely insane at this point.
I will be having some wine with my Terrifying Tuesday, that’s for sure. I do have to say, though, that despite how horrifically absurd this day has been, it can’t get much more hilarious. I’m off to pick up my books for World Book Night and to pout about the sink until my dad buys us dinner – who knows what else is in store. Terrifying Tuesday indeed.