Resolution?

When I last signed in, we were up to our ankles in washing-machine drainoff down in the basement. I called our regular plumber, who came out the next night and looked at things only to confirm our suspicion that it was the pipe leading to the sewer that was clogged. Unfortunately, said plumber doesn't have the equipment to clear out a sewer pipe (and really, why would you? After having experienced it, what a disgusting job to have) so he gave me the number for a guy he recommends for just these situations.

What luck! The sewer guy was available that same night. I was relieved, because I didn't want to take time off from work to have him come the next day, or wait with sewer leakage until the weekend...

No worries, he came right out (when he said he would, even!) and began the dirty, disgusting job of snaking the clogged sewer pipe. At one point, he came upstairs from the basement for more equipment (always a bad sign!) and asked us how long we'd been having the problem. When I told him just since the night before, he was completely astounded. I took that as a bad sign, too--the problem was sounding worse than I'd originally feared.

So, the sewer guy was there for about 2 1/2 hours snaking and whatever, and then my husband (who was watching the whole process with some sick sort of fascination) tells me the guy's going to have to come back the next day. Grrrrrr. I'm going to have to miss some work, after all.

So, the guy comes back at 7:30am the next day. He's there until 10:30, still no resolution. He tells me that he is going to have to "jet" the sewer line. Not sure what "jetting" is, but he doesn't have the equipment to do it...apparently, the boss is the only guy with access to said jet, and he's on vacation (of course) until Saturday. Grrrrr.

Fortunately, Saturday morning was the first we started having backup in places other than the washing machine...the toilet and shower were very slow to drain. Not a problem, I figured, the sewer guys are coming back out today and this won't be a problem anymore.

It took only about a half an hour, and the guys were ready to roll. Note to all sewer dudes (not sure what the official term is for yous): MAKE THE DANG EQUIPMENT AVAILABLE TO ALL YOUR WORKERS! I guess I shouldn't complain though--like I said before, this could've been SO MUCH worse--the toiled could've started backing up much sooner than it did, or we could've been without water completely. Or the guy could've been unavailable for a month...

So, the story ends well. We're flushing, we're washing, we're shiny happy people.

Stay abnormal, everybody.

Oh what a night!

I'm a new homeowner--just closed on our first house June 15th, and moved in a week later. It's been great--no need to worry about other tenants in the building who might be loud, think we're loud, leave doors open, let stray cats in (that's a story for a whole 'nother blog)...it's quiet, it's perfect, it's OURS.

But, as is the case for all homeowners, owning property comes with responsibilities and stress. Take, for instance, what happened last night:

I guess it all began a week ago Sunday, when my husband cleared the poison ivy plants I had sprayed with "Death to Poison Ivy" (not product's real name) from our front yard. He was very careful to keep all skin covered--long sleeved shirt, long jeans, gloves, boots--but his caution was for naught, as he got a poison ivy rash several days later on his arms, legs and stomach. Unfortunately, at the time he was doing the yard work, my mind was not in the right place, and I didn't tell him to keep his clothing separate from the rest of the laundry. He did keep his jeans and boots separate, but not his t-shirt, and I'm not sure what became of the underwear. So, on Sunday night, when hubby informs me he needs clean shirts for the week and he's going to do laundry, I asked him if we could put it off until Monday night, since I wanted to buy gloves to wear while separating the laundry, since I knew some poison-ivy-infused clothing was in the hamper. Sure, says he. (By the time he informed me on Sunday night of the dire need for clean clothing, the stores were closed.)

So, we get home after dropping my car off at Hyundai for service last night, and I start preparing dinner. I had a nice recipe for grilled salmon with cheese sauce (aside for Tash: I usually don't eat seafood, but salmon I tolerate with a nice sauce to camouflage the fishiness) and I prepped some veggie kebabs to go with the salmon, since we needed to use the veggies before they turned.

Most normal people would realize that transporting almost perfectly round vegetables (slices of zucchini, yellow squash and whole cherry tomatoes) on a flat cutting board would be a bad idea. Do you have that voice in your head, the one that goes, "STUPID ALERT. STUPID ALERT. WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO DO WILL END BADLY!"? That voice that is so easy to ignore, because you figure, "Naw, man, I'm good at balancing stuff, surely I can carry a flat cutting board loaded with skewers of round veggies out the back door down one step to the grill on the back deck without incident. Especially since you, oh voice-of-the-stupid-alert, have already warned me, so I'll be extra careful."

Famous last thoughts.

I made it to the back door. I almost made it through the back door. To my credit, one of the kebabs remained on the cutting board.

When I yelled for my husband's help, it was already too late. He came strolling (he only runs for exercise, not for anything else) out to "help", and when he saw the veggie carnage, could only say, "That's my wife".

The salmon was good.

It was about that time (probably due to the residue of veggie marinade on my tank top) I remembered the laundry. Fortunately, on the way home from Hyundai I had remembered to buy gloves. So, while my husband took over the grilling of the salmon and the one remaining veggie kebab (for obvious reasons, I'm not allowed near open flame), I began sorting the laundry, and loading the machine with my husband's shirts.

Immediately after eating, I heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like water pouring onto a floor. I muted the TV, listened carefully, and the sound I heard reinforced my suspicion. So I ran down the stairs into the basement where the laundry is, and saw (to my horror) water gushing out of the drainage pipe from the washing machine. It's just gushing and gushing and it's not stopping and I'm yelling for my husband and he's strolling calmly down the stairs and I'm frantically searching for a bucket and the water's spewing and hubby coolly turns off the washing machine and peace returns. Except for the sound of water dripping onto the soaked floor.

Oh, it could've been MUCH MUCH worse. The laundry could be located on a main floor of the house, not in the basement where the sump pump is. My husband could've been just as dumb as me and not realized that turning off the washing machine is the immediate solution to wayward water flow. I could've electrocuted myself on the combination of water and electricity everwhere (I didn't). However, it looks as though the main pipe leading to the sewer is not only clogged, it's leaking, which is icky, and which means it's not just the water from the washing machine that's leaking, if you know what I mean.

To quote anyone who's ever heard a story from a new homeowner about something that's gone wrong in the new house: "Ah, the joys of homeownership." To quote my smartass brother: "Why don't you call the landlord?"

I love my house.

Stay abnormal, everybody.

Laughter

A comment I received on my last post got me thinking. I reread the post I had written, and realized that perhaps my complaining about the soap-spot on my sweater (nope, didn't dry nicely, it's still a huge wet-looking blob on my front) sounds self-absorbed and petty. I mean, wars are going on, people are dying, terror alerts are being raised, it's a frightening world we live in, and I'm complaining about a dumb soap spot on my shirt?

I can’t let myself get hung up on the little things—it would drive me bananas. If I freaked out every time I got a spot on my clothes, I’d be in constant freak-out mode! I try to see the humor in everything...small problems and big, good times and bad. That's what I try to share. I think it's darn funny that if I'm wearing white I'll pour coffee in my lap but if I wear black I dump a carton of yogurt on myself...even funnier that I would stain myself with the stuff made to remove stains…my complaints are good natured and (to me, anyway) humorous.

It’s often when things are really at their worst that we see all the good we have. When my husband asked me to take him to the hospital because he was having extreme abdominal pain (he ended up having his appendix out), I got a call from my brother, asking if I wanted him to come to the hospital to wait with us. When my husband needed to stay in the hospital two nights, my brother came to stay with me when I was having panic attacks at the thought of being alone in my house. Really bad time—for my husband and myself—but I learned that my brother is always there for me, and that’s a precious lesson to learn.

I joke around and complain about silly stuff, but I know what’s important and I’m thankful for it.

I’m thankful every day for:
1. My husband
2. My family
3. My friends
4. Laughter
5. That my health problems are manageable, not terminal
6. My life
7. My job
8. My new house
9. My faith

Oh, there's more, but my brain starts shutting down about 5:30 every day, so I can't currently think of any more.

So, in closing, thanks to the commenter who may have meant something 180 degrees different from how I took it, but regardless, it got me thinking and I'm glad for that.

Stay abnormal, everybody.

Why me?

I'm sure eventually the novelty of the blog will wear off and I won't update 3 times a day anymore, but for now, I've got things to get off my chest and this is the way to do it without irritating anyone...people are busy, can't be bothered hearing/reading about my issues--unless they choose to by coming to the blog and reading them. In which case it was your dang choice and I don't want to hear about it.

So I was having a pretty normal day...managed to make it through breakfast without spilling coffee on my white shirt or yogurt on my black skirt (I have discovered there is no "magic" color to wear--if it's light, I'll spill coffee, if it's dark I'll spill yogurt or makeup), no runs in my stockings, and apart from the pistachio incident (which, let's face it, is pretty normal--I mean those dang pistachios occasionally take some force to bust open, and me without my nutcracker) managed to escape cuts, bruises and falls. Then I go into the bathroom, press down on the liquid soap dispenser pump, and SPLOOSH, soap rockets out of the dispenser onto my purple sweater. Ok, so it's soap, no big deal, right? Except for I had to rinse the soap out with wet paper towels, so now I've got a huge wet spot on the front of my purple sweater, along with bits of white paper towel (which is SO attractive). And you know this wet spot ain't going to dry nicely--there will still be soap in there that I didn't manage to rinse out, so the spot will probably be visible through the rest of the day. Good thing I never meet with anyone who judges me on that sort of thing.

Stay abnormal, everybody.

Ow

I just took the skin off my thumb shelling (peeling?) pistachios.

Well, THAT was anticlimactic...

After just one post, most of you don't know me well, but those who DO know me well would've expected an exciting story of blood and gore (or at the very least, of losing something precious or vital) after my trip down the Farmington River in an inner tube yesterday afternoon.

Allow me to make a slight aside here, to explain the title of my blog...you'd expect that someone as klutzy as me would consistently hurt herself when attempting anything requiring the least bit of grace or coordination. That would be far too normal for me...just when you think you have my number, I go all abnormal on ya, taking things in a totally unexpected direction...

That being said, there were NO incidents to report after the 2.5 mile trip down the Farmington River. There were three sets of "rapids", which were fun but not all that awe-inspiring. I mean, if I came out without even a bruise, they can't have been real rapids. Just my speed. It was actually very relaxing--there was a lot of calm water where you could just float and stare up at the trees. Of course, the 1 1/2 hours spent in 68 degree water took its toll...by the end, I was shivering...my husband had to tow my tube the last 25 feet to the shore, since I was literally paralyzed with cold. Thank God we went in August and not June...I can't imagine doing that trip in any colder water than what we had.

Now, a quick note for females considering water sports...DO NOT wear a thin white bra and a thin white tank top, particularly when the water temperature is 68 degrees. Particularly if you're well-endowed. Just a tip. I, and the other three female-halves of couples on the bus back from the drop-off point, did NOT appreciate getting squished and shoved in the uncomfortable bus seats as the male-half of the couple craned and pushed to get a better view of the display--aforementioned thin white bra and thin white tank top plastered to a set saggy double-Ds--and let's not forget it was cold.

I think you get my drift.

Stay abnormal, everybody.

As if I have anything important to say...

Hello everyone, for the first time from my very own blog. Welcome any comments (please, be gentle), as it will be interesting to know if anyone ever reads these, or if everything I write will be a form of personal journal. Either way, I think I like it...

So, here I am, a perfectly abnormal 31-year old. What defines me? Depends who you ask, but these days, here are the hats I'm wearing:

VP of statistics at a market research/consulting company
Wife
Aunt
"Mommy" to a 6-year old fish named Deuce
Sister
Daughter
Granddaughter
Niece
Daughter-in-law
Sister-in-law
Homeowner

Amazing, how little the hats tell you. I'm also a health disaster--I have diabetes, hypothyroidism, high cholesterol, anxiety disorder and to top it all off am a consummate klutz. That's right, folks--breaking glasses and cutting myself on the pieces wasn't enough for me, I had to graduate to ripping off chunks of skin with plastic. How that's even possible is beyond me. Or, I guess it's not beyond me, since I've cut myself on plastic consistently. Plus I fall all the time. Trip up stairs, miss a step walking down stairs, fall off curbs with frightening regularity, can't walk through a doorway without smacking one or the other of my shoulders on it (and I'll never be mistaken for having broad shoulders...) I once decided it would be a good idea to rest my knee on a glass-topped coffee table while closing a window, only to break the glass into 3 large chunks, one triangular-shaped piece of which fell point down into the top of my foot, requiring a trip to the emergency room, 3 stitches, a tetanus shot, X-rays and the nurse asking me if I had any "problems" at home. Well, YEAH I have problems at home--I can't stop falling, breaking stuff and cutting myself...oh, wait. You mean problems at home. I had to laugh. My husband doesn't even kill the bugs in our house, much less throw glass at me...when he (the afore-mentioned husband) entered the hospital after parking the car, I jokingly told him the nurse wanted to know if he beat me. My husband, dead serious, looked at the nurse and said, "I wouldn't have to. She does it to herself." Truer words never spoken. WHY we haven't bought stock in BandAid and restocked our kitchen cabinets with acrylic dishware is beyond me.

I'll close for the day, leaving you with 4 things that make me smile:
1. The sound of my husband snoring. 7 years of marriage, and his little snores still make me smile.
2. Looking at my fish fluttering around in his bowl.
3. Looking at pictures of my adorable baby niece, Alyssa Rose.
4. Seeing dogs who can't go on their walk without carrying a toy or stick in their mouth.

Thus the first installment of "Perfectly Abnormal" draws to a close.

Be abnormal, everybody.