Domestic Oblivion

You know that saying, “you learn something new every day”?  A good thing, supposedly.

I learned a very interesting factoid yesterday.  It was new to me, and very enlightening.  So much so that I feel compelled to pass it on to you.

Ready?

I learned that  IF an eight year old boy were so inclined as to clean up a spilled bowl of Cheerios and milk with the hand held vacuum, AND said vacuum was then put away for approximately a week, THEN when vacuum is turned back on the stench which is forcefully blown out the back and directly into your face is rather overpowering.

How overpowering?

Well. Strong enough to make a person vomit, right where they were standing and without warning, before even having a chance to switch off the vacuum.

Something new, every day, here at Chez Star.

I buy all the kids glasses at Lens Crafters.  I know it’s not the cheapest place (not by a long shot) to buy glasses, but I go there for two very specific reasons.  First, they have a one year replacement policy, at 1/2 price, for a whole year.  As many times as you need.  Second, they can fix the glasses there, and if they do need to be replaced, it only takes an hour.

Ask me how many times in the last six weeks I’ve needed to use the replacement policy, and keep in mind only the three boys wear glasses.

Well……

The FIRST time, Bowman came home from school with busted frames after a tether ball to the face.

The SECOND time, Bowman came home with really, really bent frames after a basketball to the face, and I broke them trying to bend them back.

The THIRD time, Cutter bent his frames while adjusting his ski goggles.  I heard “Uh oh” from the back seat of the car when he broke the hinge off while trying to bend them back.

The FOURTH time was three days after the third time, when Cutter’s new frames miraculously and mysteriously “just broke” while he was “just sitting” on the bus.

The FIFTH replacement came yesterday, when Mason arrived home from school, where he had tripped and broken the nose piece off the frames when the glasses slid off and landed under his hand when he caught himself.

So there.  Five new pair of kid glasses in the past six weeks.  This has led to a new rule here at Chez Star.  Mom will buy your new glasses every year before school starts.  She will pay to replace them ONE time.  After that, you’re on your own.  Oh, and because of the whole three day thing, I’m also charging them for gas.

Around Pleasantville are some very upscale properties.  These homes are on 10 acre lots, have barns and pools, and seem to all have long meandering driveways.  There are two such houses that sit facing each other, atop opposite hills, with the road running down the gulch between them.

I have been looking at these houses for years.  Years.  And if ANYTHING every embodied the saying “just because you have money doesn’t mean you have taste”, it’s these two houses.

One is a Mediterranean monstrosity that looks for all the world like it was designed by the same guy that did Caesar’s Palace, only he did this work after dropping a bunch of acid.  Everyone in the ‘hood refers to this house as “the Hotel”. The Hotel looks across the gulch at a house which everyone calls “the Hospital”.

Both of these properties have had a colorful past.  The Hospital built and inhabited by a builder and his family,a  nasty divorce ensued, the horse barn was vacated, and the Hospital eventually went back to the bank.  It has been empty for the better part of a year, in which time all vegetation has died and fallen over.  The Hotel was built as a spec house, and near it’s completion a whole bunch of stuff was done for a prospective buyer.  Of course, that buyer bailed, and the house sat empty, while all the palm trees (oh yeah, palm trees in Idaho, cause they go with the house) died.  Someone briefly moved in, the palm trees were replace, and then the house was vacated.  It, of course, sat empty long enough for the palm trees to die again.  New tenants moved in, the palm trees were replaced, a woman was struck by lightning in the driveway, and eventually  the house got repoed.

Happily, the third set of palm trees seem to have taken.

Recently, both properties have gotten new owners.  One of the things these new owners like to do is to turn on all their outdoor up-lighting at night.

To which I say:  SERIOUSLY?

As if we ALL haven’t see your houses for the past 5 years.  As if we weren’t well aware of your ostentatiousness during the day, but must be alerted to it at night as well.  Last time I drove by, I was able to count 17 lights illuminating 2 sides of the Hospital.  Why, WHY? I ask, do you need to light up the entire outside perimeter of your house when it’s snowing and you’re inside of it?

My theory?  It’s either a battle to prove whose house is gaudier, or they’re sending secret messages to each other through their up lighting.

I’ve taken a lot of heat, here at home, since the man cave post.  Although I have my geek’s permission and full support to write about his, um, idiosyncrasies, , it appears that the sharing of the feelings for the Dave Cave was too much.

What upset him the most, however, was the fact that I didn’t let everyone know that he did, indeed, pull up his manties and attend the concert with me.  I am here to set the record straight:  Dave attended a social event without a gun to his head or an electronic device in hand.  Sadly, the Reverend Peyton and the entire Big Damn Band broke down in Jerome, depriving us of his music, his wife and her washboard, and leaving us with only the opening band.

Upon returning from Las Vegas, my geek announced that he had made a decision.  This sort of announcement is almost never a good thing.  It usually culminates with things like the geek eating everything with chopsticks, walking around in his underwear, or napping in his motorcycle helmet. 

The big decision?

Response will no longer be elicited when references are made to the office, the Dave Cave or the man cave.

Yep.  The man cave has officially jumped the shark.

But, take heart all you men with special places that belong only to you.  This is the dawning of a new golden age; it is now the era of the Man Bunker.

Well, I must pat myself on the back.  On Thursday I finally broke down and went to the office supply store to buy my new 2010 calendar.  Why wait until January 21st you ask?  Because I buy the kind of calendar that is specifically made to appeal to profoundly lazy people such as myself….it comes with January of the next year. 

Anyway.  Off I went to Office Depot, to once again be astounded at the highway robbery that is day planner inserts.  I blame Franklin Covey for the phenomenon, but that is neither here nor there.  I’m not highly effective, I don’t have 7 habits, and I don’t use F.C. stuff, yet it still cost $26 for my calendar insert.

Or it would have, had I not had a “spend at least $20 and get $10 off” coupon.

And I was pleased.

Today I went to Wal-Mart, which I loathe, to buy cleaning supplies, tooth paste, Tampax and Ziplocs.  I was armed with Sunday circular coupons.  Along with scoring a free box of tampons, I also saved $12.75.  AND the best part?  I didn’t buy anything that I don’t normally buy and that I didn’t absolutely need.

So to recap:  that’s $22.75 saved in 24 hours, PLUS a free box of Tampax.

As I was pulling out of the Wal-Mart parking lot, which is a total goat fu*k of epic proportions and appears to have been designed by 4th grade boys at engineer-for-a-day camp, I saw something that actually made me stare.  Had I not been actively and vigorously chawing on my gum, I’m pretty sure  my mouth would have been hanging open.

Walking  across the parking lot were two blue hairs.  They were dressed exactly alike, with their white elastic waist pants, quilted aqua jackets and spiffy white tennis shoes.  This was not an accident people.  This was not meeting your BFF at a party, only to find you both wore the same Forever 21 sparkly pink tank top that makes your rack look fabulous.  Nope, this was planned.  Do you think they were twins?  I did too, until they got close enough for me to see their faces, and I realized it was a mother/daughter duo.  And the daughter was 65 if she was a day.

And that?  Is even creepier than grown adult twins who dress alike.  Adults?  Turns out they shouldn’t do that.  Just don’t.  No.

From there, I went to Winco.  Because we eat food here at Chez Star, and we had completely run out of the things that make my children happy, and were almost out the the stuff that makes me look like a decent parent.  First stop is always produce.  There, rifling through the oranges, I saw the most awesome thing I’ve seen in the grocery  store in the last year.

A very lovely Muslim woman, wearing a rather pretty purple head scarf.  The scarf was pulled tight around her face, so no hair was showing, and fastened under her chin.  She had her cell phone firmly tucking into the head scarf, enabling her to talk on the phone while engaging both hands in her produce shopping experience.  It.  Was.  Awesome.

Yesterday, someone found my blog by searching “plastic wrap people”.

That reference came from my post regarding wrapping myself in saran and duct tape to make a body form for alterations.

I sincerely hope they weren’t disappointed with what they found.

Wonder what they were actually looking for…..

Over the past few months, things have been happening around Chez Star.  Each one of those things probably wouldn’t be the cause of a situational meltdown, in and of themselves, but when you add them all together……it just sort of makes me want to get into my car and drive far, far, far away.

At the beginning of December, it came to light that one of my lovely, charming (apparently functionally retarded) boys decided it would be a good idea to use his pocket knife to carve large, satisfying chunks out of both the banisters and some of the other woodwork in the stairwell.   I’m pretty sure we won’t be able to fix the banisters, and fixing the woodwork calls for Bondo, sanding and repainting.  If you are imagining that I was not pleased, you are correct

Three weeks after that, I noticed all these weird notches in the door jam in the kitchen.  Closer inspection revealed the notches to be made by a blade of some sort.  Solving the mystery was not difficult:  the door jam is about 12 inches away from the knife block, and there was only one kid who had emptied the dishwasher the entire month of December.  Again, I was not pleased.

To my greater displeasure, it turned out to be a different kid than the child responsible for the banister debacle.

This morning I was cleaning the bathroom that is most frequented by the male types of my household.  As I was scrubbing the inevitable pee off the floor around the toilet, I discovered that, yes indeed, someone had peed in the air vent.

At which point I marveled that my life has come to this.

And then I wondered if stuff like this happens to other people, and they just don’t talk about it, or if I’m really as alone as I feel.

Did I wait for the kids to come home and clean the air vent?  Hell no.  Because A) no one in their right mind is ‘fessing up to that and B)  whoever got stuck cleaning it up would do a shit job that I’d have to come back and redo once they either went to bed or to school.  So I just did it myself.

When I finished that lovely little chore, I leaned over to get the chewed gum that had missed the garbage can and dried onto the tile.  That was when I discovered the straw (read “carving”) that will break the camel’s (read “my”) back.

And now I find myself gearing up for the following conversation:

“Who carved the perfectly symmetrical star into wall next to the toilet?”

I.  Am.  Not.  Pleased.

I’ve got myself a geek that works from home, mostly.  Sometimes he gets (has) to get on an airplane and gets (has) to spend a week working in a different location, eating out and meeting new people.  My geek doesn’t really look forward to these weeks.  He’d much rather be at home, working away all safe and snug in his man cave, which I affectionately refer to as the Dave Cave.

Unlike Davie-O, I like getting out.  I like crowds.  I like loud music.  AND I like Guinness on tap.  All this led me to purchase tickets to see the Reverend Peyton and his Big Damn Band at the Neurolux last week.  Normally, I never invite Davie-O to go to concerts with me because he doesn’t like crowds, doesn’t really like loud music, couldn’t name 98% of the bands I listen to, and he doesn’t like Guinness.  But this time, I invited him because I just knew he would put up with all the things he didn’t really like to be able to watch the Reverend’s wife play her washboard.  I promise you, it is a sight to behold.

The following conversation ensued when I issued my invite:

Me:  Want to come see the Reverend Peyton and his Big Damn Band with me tonight?

Dave:  Well.  Sort of.  But I have a lot to do.

Me:  If you have too much work, I understand.  (‘cause I try to be understanding about that stuff…)

Dave:  But…..well, maybe I can go.

Me:  It’s OK if you can’t go.

Dave:  No, I’ll go.  I’ll just bring my laptop.

Me:  No.

Dave:  Yeah, I’ll come and just bring the Dell.

Me:  No.

Dave:  What do you mean, “no”?  It’ll be fine.

Me:  No.

Dave:  Well, what am I supposed to do while we’re there?

Me:  It’s a concert.  Seriously?  We’re going to sit there, have a beer, and listen to the music.

Dave:  That’s it? 

Me:  It’s a CONCERT.

Dave:  Well, that’s a poor use of time.

At this point rescind my invitation.  He back pedals a bit, and then offers to come without the Dell.  Then I totally bust him by telling him he wouldn’t be allowed to work on his iPhone either.  He wandered off muttering about poor time allocation and the comfort of his Dave Cave.

Yesterday afternoon I walked into the living room to adjust the blinds.  While I was leaning over the couch, I just happened to look behind it.  Behind the couch was the 13 year old uber-geek boy.  He was wedged into the corner with a pillow and a blanket.  When I asked him what he was doing he said he was “reading in the boy cave”.

Really, at 13, he needs a cave? 

I don’t fully understand the man cave phenomenon.  It mystifies me, and leaves me feeling vaguely unsettled.  I wonder if needing a cave when you’re 13 increases or lessens your need for an elaborate man cave in adulthood.  I don’t believe I’ve ever met a woman who has uttered the words “I need” and “cave” in the same sentence.

Davie-O is in Vegas this week.  I talked with his last night,  and he told me about his fabulous accommodations and the great sushi he had for dinner; he followed that up with a rather lengthy, wistful yearning for being home in the Dave Cave.

This morning I was assisting in the event  that is getting everyone ready to ski/snowboard.  It doesn’t sound like much, really, but making sure 4 smallerish sort of persons have all that they need to stay warm, dry and full is no small undertaking.

I was making sandwiches to put in the cooler while the kids were eating their breakfast.  Mason was shoveling in his second bowl of Crispix when  I offered him a choice of sandwiches.  His reply?

“I’ll take PB&J.  And would you make me one to eat right now?  Because I’m starving.”

*****

I love popcorn.  I love it so much that it’s considered a decent meal around Chez Star.  And not the microwave crap.  Real, white corn kernels, popped in olive oil and sea salt on the stove top.  Nothing  is better, you gotta trust.

Bowman has inherited my love for popcorn.  He also feels that it makes a complete meal, and is happiest when given an insanely large bowl to eat without sharing.  His favorite part of popcorn?

The old navies.

That’s right.  Bowman loves the old navies left at the bottom of the bowl.  And I think this is so awesome that I haven’t once corrected him.  Because it makes as much sense as old maid, and it makes me smile every time he mentions them.

Because I am feeling so benevolent, I put New Year’s Eve to the people of Chez Star. 

Interested in knowing what passes for a good time here?

By unanimous vote of all four kids…….

TV dinners.

Hungry Man Salsbury Steak.

Clearly, I took a wrong turn somewhere.