Tag Archives: dumb

I Wish I Had A Hobby


Last night I decided that I needed to do something about my bathroom floor. Immediately. Because it’s been 10 months since my bathroom died and left  a giant hole in my bathroom floor. Flash forward to last night : I went to amazon.com and lowes.com and then pintrest. By about 1am I had decided that I would do a faux leather floor using the paper bag technique AND do a penny border…I woke up this morning, rolled out of bed with purpose and drove to Lowes. After spending an hour debating the pros and cons of peel and stick vs. fake wood snap together, outloud, to myself, I went with snap together fake wood. Just one box so I could see what it would look like and if I would like it. I knew I wasn’t going to like it. I wanted tile. But I had talked myself out of tile because I have very low self esteem and exceptionally bad handyman karma.

As I was driving home I had a session with myself about why I felt like I didn’t deserve tile. I can do that because I have a degree in psychology. That’s about all I can do with my degree so I do it often. Makes me feel better about not defaulting on my student loans.Why did I think I wasn’t capable of installing a tile floor? I am 42 years old and I have accomplished more than I ever knew I was capable of. Like cleaning various smelly, runny, moldy and dead things from numerous places in my home and installing a screen door. Granted, the screen door only lasted about a month until it fell off…but what a lovely month it was…I have wanted to tile my bathroom floor since I moved into this house 9 years ago. Ya know what? I deserve tile. Not only that, tile will be much easier to work with. Because I am going to get the small tiles that are held together with webbing which I do not need a tile saw to cut. Decision making skills are sort of my super power.

Since I was half way to the other Lowes, I went there and bought 3 boxes of tile, grout, and mastif (it’s not mastif but that’s the only word I can think of at the moment…) and I drove home. Now, I know that I am supposed to start in the middle of the room and work my way out. But…I’m sort of a rebel. I start where I want to. I know that it is a bad idea to start around the toilet but I do anyway. I lay out all of the tile and step back and look…And from what I can see I am going to need about 7 more boxes of tile. Because measuring is for losers. At this point, I wasn’t fully committed to actually installing the tile. I was on the fence which is why I had only grabbed 3 boxes. So, after seeing the tile laid out I decided that I needed to commit or get off the pot. Back to the first Lowes I go!

I go right to the flooring department and grab 4 more boxes, even though I had guesstimated I needed at least 7 more boxes. Why? Because doing things the hard way is the way I was raised. I never have the proper tools for the job, I never begin or end the easy way. I drive home and lay out the rest of the tile. It seems like it’s all sorts of uneven. I guess that’s what those spacers are for huh? I stand there and have to talk myself into doing this the right way. Spend the extra money and do it right. I will be happier. In my moment of doubt, I call a flooring guy from craigslist. But he didn’t answer so I left a message. Anyway,back to Lowes I go for spacers, a tile cutter, tape for the gaping hole in the floor and a grout smoother thingy.

I got home and cracked open the mastif and started gluing that shit down! And by shit I mean my elbows, my shorts, my hair, some tile, and my pinky toenail. I’m a messy worker. I know this about me so it is not a surprise or anything. I was almost fully covered in tile glue when I stopped and again had a small crisis of faith. Who did I think I was? This is going to look like crap, I am going to hate it and be so disappointed in myself. And just then, the phone rang. It was the craigslist guy. He said he could do it for me…for 300 bucks. Yeah, my faith resolved and I suddenly had a burst of Bob Vilia and I said “Thank you craigslist guy but not today! Today, I tile my own floor!” And I hung up and went to town on that mofo!! I cut a couple of tiles with my hand held tile cutter, I glued down every piece of tile I had, I taped the hole and glued over it. As I worked I remembered that I have a sense of humor, that every house in town is crooked and no one has even floors and that the Native Americans design a mistake into every pattern they make to stay humble. So, my bathroom floor is a tribute to my humble sense of humor. Or maybe it’s a tribute to Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes. I’m not really sure. Those mastif fumes were pretty intense.

This is not the end, my friends. Tomorrow, I grout. Four trips to two different Lowes today and I have to go back one more time. It may not be the easy way but it is my way…it’s Frank Sinatra’s way…Stay tuned for the final reveal.

After the second trip to Lowes...scared to commit.

After the second trip to Lowes…scared to commit.

Some people use gloves and tools and shit...they all fancy...I'm an American. I'm an American with tile glue in my eyebrows.

Some people use gloves and tools and shit…they all fancy…I’m an American. I’m an American with tile glue in my eyebrows.

This is how it looks tonight as I go to bed...tomorrow I will buy one more box and grout the snot out of it and then, THEN I will be happy. I think it was Buddah who said "lay your own tile floor and find the path to happiness" Pretty sure he said that...

This is how it looks tonight as I go to bed…tomorrow I will buy one more box and grout the snot out of it and then, THEN I will be happy. I think it was Buddah who said “lay your own tile floor and find the path to happiness” Pretty sure he said that…

Dear Diary, So, This Is What A Concussion Feels Like


Yesterday I decided that I could no longer live with the bathroom looking like something that was inside a crackhouse. I had been planning for months, ok, years, to fix it up. It needed a through cleaning, paint, and a good talking to. My head is really starting to hurt so I am going to summarize.

Painted all day yesterday. The walls and the floor. Since I am not a painter by trade, it went like this : Paint the walls, get some on the floor, paint the floor, get some on the wall, paint the wall,  get some on the floor, paint the floor, gets some on the wall….you get the idea. I made the kids use the neighbor’s toilet because I was pretty sure they would somehow track paint onto the carpeting in the hallway…oh, no, that would be MY job…

Today, I finished up the painting. I painted a small chest of drawers that we use as a medicine cabinet. That of course involved repainting the floor, then the wall, then the floor, then the wall, then the floor, then stepped in the wet paint on the floor, laughed at myself and fell forward, grabbed the freshly painted wall to steady myself, repainted the floor, repainted the wall, repainted the floor…

Sat down for a bit to regroup. Decided to shower. Got out of the shower and instead of flipping my hair toward the door (which is now freshly painted) I decided to flip it towards the tub, so the water would fling off of my hair and into the tub thereby not getting water spots on any of the newly painted surfaces. I toss my head back, arch my shoulders (you see where this is headed don’t you?) and with a sudden burst of energy that I didn’t realize I still had in me, I flipped my entire upper body forward as hard as I could and smashed my head right on the edge of the tub. Hard. Real hard.

My first thought was “Oh dear Lord please don’t let me pass out naked” my second thought was “Oh My God I wish I could have watched me do that” and I yelled “HOLY CRAP THAT HURT!” and then I laughed like a lunatic because it was so funny! Then , I stopped and tried to remember what I was thinking when I decided to smash my head as hard as I could on the edge of the tub…was I thinking bad thoughts of someone? Was I thinking bad thoughts of myself? Growing up when I would bite my tongue or stub my toe my great grandma would say “Well, that’s what you get!” I would say “For WHAT? I wasn’t DOING anything wrong!” And she would say ” You might not have been doing anything wrong right this minute but I am sure you have done something wrong and so….THAT’S what you get!” That logic has stayed with me…

I wrap up in a towel, stumble out of the bathroom and ask my youngest to go get me an ice pack out of the freezer. She comes back with a hard frozen brick one that goes in the cooler. I said “How about a soft one?” She goes back down and comes up with a soft ice pack that isn’t cold… I say “Ok, how about ice cubes in a plastic bag?” She comes back with 3 ice cubes, because that is how many were in the ice tray, because no one ever fills up the ice trays, wrapped in some saran wrap because we are out of plastic bags. I say thank you and here I sit, in my towel with three ice cubes melting on my head and dripping down my forehead.  Cause That’s what I get.



Dear Diary, Come ON!!!!


Drove to Connecticut. Dropped the kids off to a concert. Went to the mall. Went back to get the kids and found a great parking spot at the closed gas station on the corner. But…I had told the kids I would pick them up in the overflow parking lot. I texted them. They didn’t answer. So…I went to the over flow parking lot to wait in case they didn’t get my text. Kids came and then it took over half an hour to get out of the parking lot. That’s annoying. But that was only the beginning.

This is what we looked like when we saw the hookers and guns....

This is what we looked like when we saw the hookers and guns….

The next day we drove to the train station to take the train into NYC. We drove to the closest station. There were drug dealers and hookers with guns just walking around outside the station so we decided to go to the next town over and get the train there. Good thinking. Using the gps on my phone we got lost. Ended up in a very nice suburban area with pretty homes and manicured lawns…no hookers with guns but no train station either. So, I use my daughter’s phone’s gps. We wind up in a very rural area still with nice homes still no hookers but still no train station. One of the kids calls the train station that we are trying so hard to get to and asks for the exact address. The other kid uses her phone’s gps and eventually we get there. It is a nice train station….no hookers, no drug dealers and no guns. We hop on the train (after I double check with everyone else on the platform that we are indeed headed to Grand Central). General consensus was yes, that is where the train is headed. Good. We were finally on the right track (Don’t roll your eyes at me…that was a perfect joke).

We get on and start going…but slowly..very slowly…the conductor comes on and apologizes for going so slowly but there has been a fatality on the tracks at the station we are headed toward so they are trying to clean that up…that sounds about right. I mean for me, on vacation…of course there has been a fatality on the tracks. Horribly sad. But we get past the station, the train and the mood picks up.

Going soooooo slowly...

Going soooooo slowly…

We get to Grand Central and I am so motion sick from not eating and riding backwards and reading I was about to vomit. We find me a pretzel and coke and walk on my brotha…to the subway. Now, here is how I take the subway. I figure out the train I need using the exact wrong app, I go down, swipe my metro card…walk down some more stairs, look around, over-think it, go back upstairs, exit the subway, rethink it, go back down, re-swipe my metro card (which will only let me swipe it 3 extra times after the first 3 times because it knows I am an idiot and it doesn’t want me anywhere near the subway) so I make one of the kids sneak me in thru the door with alarms going off like I just won the lottery or something. Take the subway to the hotel.

Hotel only sleeps three. That’s what they think but I have a blow up bed in my suitcase! So, we put on a big act about our friend meeting us here and going up to the room to get ready as if anyone cared….threw on our fancy clothes and went back to the subway to get to the restaurant. This time we hopped on the subway, on the correct train but apparently going the wrong way. We simply needed to go about 5 blocks…instead we went to Brooklyn, got off, went up the stairs, down the stairs and back on the subway to get to 5 blocks from where we originally started. Had dinner. It was so lovely and perfect and wonderful. We started walking towards the theater to see Rocky the Musical and I made it about a block and a half in my Coach high heeled shoes and that was it for me. We ducked into a tourist trap and bought 12 dollar flip flops. And it was raining which was making my hair ginormous. So, I started out pretty cute, but riding to Brooklyn by accident, the mist frizzing my hair and flip flops in an evening dress….yeah…well, this about sums up my life. We go to the show and it is FANTASTIC best show I have seen in many years!!!

Yes, that's me on Broadway in flip flops...my friend Dave would be so grossed out. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Yes, that’s me on Broadway in flip flops…my friend Dave would be so grossed out. But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

Leave the show, get autographs, the kids see that skeevey guy I don’t like and run over to get his autograph…that takes forever but I entertain myself by taking pictures of the NYPD…There is definitely something about a man in a uniform…..we get lost trying to find the subway. We find it, take it successfully and go up to the hotel room in shifts so we don’t let on that there are actually 4 of us not 3. The room is so small, the blow up bed just fits on the floor next to the single bed. When you sit down on the toilet the sink is in your lap and your feet are in the shower. It was small. Went to sleep.

Woke up dead tired exhausted.Took a handsome cab ride around Central Parksort of a downer because our guy only told one joke.  Oh Bloomberg, you outlawed humor too?

At the "Friends" fountain...the 2 groups before us posed nicely...we almost lost the oldest backwards into the fountain

At the “Friends” fountain…the 2 groups before us posed nicely…we almost lost the oldest backwards into the fountain

Took the subway with minimal screw upedness to the fashion district because we love it there. Then got lost looking for the subway we needed to get to Grand Central. We needed the “S” train. Finally find the “S” train go down the stairs (carrying 4 heavy suit cases and a blow up bed) swipe metro, go thru and down another few flights of stairs and there is a bench where we sit and wait for the S train. For 45 minutes we wait for the S train. While we were sitting there waiting I saw my friend from home…how random…I screamed her name and waved and we laughed and off she went and there we sat. We asked the lady next to us about the S train, she replied something about stairs and a board. We didn’t know what she was talking about. We asked a guy and he also mentioned something about stairs and S being a shuttle not a train. Ok wize guy. Whatever you say. We finally made the kid go push the button on the intercom on the wall and ask where and when to catch the S train. Pretty sure that button wasn’t really connected to anything so she was just standing there looking at the wall….which we found hysterical.

I know, we were literally maybe 2 blocks from Grand Central. We could have just walked. We could have actually paid attention to the people who tried valiantly to help us. Instead, we sat there for almost an hour discussing when the S train would get there. Then one of us had a lightbulb moment and said “Maybe we should just go look up those stairs…just to see what is up there” Ok, what the hell, we ain’t got nuthin to lose. And as we reach the top step, there sits the S train with doors wide open a light shining down and angels singing (there were no angels…there was a violin player tho) We got on, sat down and laughed until we cried. You had to have been there but it was so damn funny! 3 people told us to our face, in English, that we needed to go up the stairs and all 3 times we nodded and thanked them and then turned back around and said “I have no idea what they are trying to tell me”

Literally one stop…total of maybe 1 minute and we get off at Grand Central. We get some food, use the rest room, check the board and see our train is leaving in 10 minutes from track 18. We walk over to track 18 and sit on our luggage and wait for the train. We are the only people ON the platform…hhmmm…..After about 15 minutes we decide we should ask someone. We ask the Sneezy, the guy who has been there as long as we have but is waiting up near the entrance. He says he is waiting for his friend coming in from CT so yes, we are in the right spot. We wait another 10 minutes and decide to ask someone with a little more authority. Ya know…some one in an orange vest.  They said yes yes, we are in the right place for the train to CT. Okkkkkk,….20 minutes later a train guy comes down in his cart and says we are NOT in the right place that there was a fatality on the tracks and a fire so this train is not coming and we need to be over on track 24 and that train is leaving right now. Isn’t this the perfect ending to the perfect beginning? I really never knew train riding was so deadly. We haul ass over to track 24 laughing all the way, not because of the fatality stuff but because really….this doesn’t happen to other people ever. Just us. We walk the whole length of the train and finally find seats. Settle in. All is well.

Until……….until the conductor calls the West Haven stop. Then, we are suddenly all confused about if we parked at West Haven or New Haven… I decide we parked at  West Haven but just as I jump up and run for the door…the train pulls away from the platform. Now at this point, the kids start freaking out. I wasn’t. It was dumb, but so far I haven’t gotten anywhere the smart way so no biggie. We get off at the New Haven station which is very beautiful….we get some food, we get back on the train and ride for about 3 minutes and get off at West Haven. Get in my car and proceed to get lost going home because gps is something Satan himself controls.

Overall, it was a very fun trip with TONS of laughs. Memories made, mission accomplished.

Our Super Model pose....nailed it.

Our Super Model pose….nailed it.

Dear Diary, It’s A Lovely day In The Neighborhood

This is why I can't pay my bills.

This is why I can’t pay my bills.

Except that it is 11 degrees, the snow has melted to reveal the massive amounts of dog poop on my front walk and I jammed my ring finger toe on the step stool in the bathroom. Let’s begin with the 11 degrees thing…

It’s March. It’s the end of March. This should be sweatshirt weather. Instead, we are still hunting for hats and mittens. One of the perks of living where I live is the changing seasons. So, when winter decides to not leave when it is supposed to we feel jipped. Or maybe righteously pissed off is a better phrase. But it has been sunny! Which has helped all the snow to melt. Which means the dog poop is all exposed.

See, it has been so cold that my kid has been just opening the front door and letting the dog do his thing while she stands inside. So, “his things” are all over my front walk. This was a non issue when we had snow covering it up. I have to wonder about the food I feed this dog. I feed him the higher end stuff that supposedly has no chemicals or fillers… then why the hell doesn’t his poop disintegrate? If the sun is strong enough to melt the snow and ice, I have to conclude that it should be warm enough to melt the poop.

The mail lady left a note in my box that I had to go to the post office to get the mail because the front walk wasn’t shoveled. I think that is just a nice way of telling me she doesn’t want to walk through the mine field of  dog turds. I don’t blame her. I also am not going to the post office to get my mail because, why bother? I’m not going to make an effort to go collect bills and collection agency notices and bounced check alerts. It’s just depressing.

So, let’s look at this in the positive. It’s March and 11 degrees which means I don’t have to look at my fat arms in a tank top for at least another two months and the dog poop has successfully kept all of my bills at bay! Really, what do I have to complain about? Nothing!

Except my toe. How does it happen that you see the step stool, you are walking in what you deem (at 41 years of age, having at least 40 years of walking experience) a reasonable distance from the step stool and yet you pick up your foot, sort of lift it up behind you and then SLAM it into the stool you are looking RIGHT AT. How does that happen? Of course it is the most pain I have ever experience in my life including child birth and the canker sore.

Now I am not one of those high drama people like my bff who sounds like she just discovered a dead body when she stubs her toe. No, I am more of an immediately violent person. I want to smack someone and I spill swear words that even I have never heard before. Then I walk it off, laughing because I don’t want to cry. What the hell is that about? It’s like biting my tongue. I have had the same tongue in the same place for 41 years. How the hell can I accidentally bite it. And bite it so hard it bleeds. Or missing the last step of the staircase in the house where you have lived for 8 years. Same amount of stairs, nothing has moved and at least once a month I just forget that there is that last step and give myself a minor heart attack.

All in all, I suppose it’s not a horrible day. Then again, it’s only mid-afternoon.

Sometimes I get water up my nose in the shower through my eye. That is never as fun as it sounds like it would be.

This is what the first day of spring looked like here. It looks like bullshit to me.

This is what the first day of spring looked like here. It looks like bullshit to me.