Just got done Skyping with the wifey and the Sprog of Sprogs. And the peanut gallery of relatives in the background, to boot.
That's about all the contact I've had in some time with the family. They've gone and left me. Hopefully not for good, but left me they have.
There was a baby shower for my 'bout-to-be-nephew. Or is it for his mom and dad? Dunno. It's to benefit every and all, I guess. So Majesty blew town with my kid for that. And that means...
I finish dangerous and highly laborious projects here at the house. The ones that involve machetes and live wires and acid and stuff. I cleared out about 30 acres of dense jungle behind the house, to be used as the fort/swingset location. That is, if I can get one in there before the jungle reclaims the land I cleared. Cannot tell you how much this project took out of me. I'm still tired, 3 days after. I'm so old and decrepit.
Are You Sure Your Wife Knows About This?
I went to Le Home Depot and dropped about fifty thousand dollars on every single electrical switch in the store. And one of those Electrocuting Yourself the Easy Way 1-2-3 books. I have this weird GFCI code conversion thing I'm doing in Jack's erstwhile pink bathroom, and I haven't attempted to wire something like this in about 7 or 8 years. And I'm not intelligent. So I needed a primer, and my other books weren't cutting it. I figured I could do worse for handing over 11 bucks. And you know, some pride.
The guy checking me out... no... ah... er, the dude scanning my items for purchase got about three quarters of the way through the mountain of white plastic switches, and pulls out the book. He looks at it, scans it, and then moves on... and then mumbles, "Reading up on wiring, huh?"
I thought, "I know how it looks, Home Improvement Guru. My annual salary worth of electrical equipment and a how-to book. There should be a copy of my last will and testament in the basket, too." But all I managed to drawl back was, "Well, I can do the easy stuff, but I've got this weird setup in my kid's bathroom that I need some help on."
The guy kind of nodded knowingly, like, "I'm one of the last people on earth to see this joker alive. Hope this fool's life insurance is paid up so his kid can go to trade school!"
Cross Off Another One on the Bucket List
Oh! And I got... I got...
A TOOLBELT. Yes. I did it. I can feel the testosterone course through me just mentioning it. I've never had one in my entire life, because, y'know, I'm not a professional or anything. What's the point, right? But boys and girls, let me tell you, all machismo and Tim Allen clichés aside, this is the greatest step forward I've ever made in my homefixingupping prowess. Ever. It's revolutionary. All your thingamajigs are right there at your hip, ready to help you demolish a perfectly good house. Quick.
My belt has a HOLSTER. Not going to lie to you, did a few quick draws with my cordless drill just for giggles. For a rapidly aging man, I'm still pretty fast, kids.
So I've been swimming every day like a darn manatee. I did a good long Bataan death march type run Monday. Jumped in the pool right afterward. I've been wiring outlets and frying every single meal with the sole and notable exception of decaf espresso with Cheerios. I've been watching subtitled French gangster movies that Majesty probably wouldn't dig (the 2 readers of Interestive might know which ones). I am quickly freeing myself of my domesticky shackles, bound once again for the violent freedom of being, like a dumb and happy wild animal, male. I'm lucky I still remember how to use indoor plumbing, but even that's fading fast.
Speaking of food, I should horrify you with my culinary experiment while the family is away: I've been exploring exactly how many Mexican dishes one can make from a relatively finite stock of ingredients (onion, garlic, jalapenos, serranos, queso fresco, colby cheddar, masa, 6 month old (!) tortillas - I'm absolutely serious, they're 6 months old yet miraculously pristine - cilantro, Valentina sauce, eggs, tomatoes, potatoes, tomatillos, and flank steak).
It's been a complete blur of carne asada tacos, homemade corn tortillas, salsa verde, the dangerously ancient storebought tortillas (when the homemades ran out), huevos rancheros, carne asada tacos, chilaquiles, huevos con papas, salsa fresca and huevos con papas. It's incredible.
And I miss my babies. Terribly. I know it doesn't sound like it from the above, but it's completely true. Hearing The Dude's little babyish voice on the phone takes about 2 weeks off my lifespan. Kills me. Kills me. And like taking the needle out of the compass, I am without direction and purpose when my one twoo wuv isn't around.
Yeah, and H.M. decided to trip down a set of stairs and sprain her ankle. (Word on the street is that she was pushed by family members. I don't doubt that.) Anyway, they're sort of stuck over in Alabama for the moment. But Jack is having a blast hanging out with his (very married and very pregnant) main squeeze, Aunt Emily. Shameful. And he's getting tossed in the air during pooltime by his Poppa. And picking blueberries. He doesn't even need me anymore, he's got fresh fruit.
But rest assured, back in Texas, this thing is only going to get stranger.