Paul Can’t Listen – And I Sew For Cute Kids
Posted by thedarwinexception on September 4, 2007
Paul never listens to me. Never. I tell him something and he’ll look at me, say “yeah, yeah, yeah” then dismiss what I’ve said out of hand. Why he thinks that I have nothing valid to offer on any subject whatsoever is beyond me. I know him. I know how he thinks and what he’s capable of and what’s going to come back to bite him in the ass. If he listened to me once in a while, he would realize that I’m
generally always right, that I know what the hell I’m talking about, and maybe – just maybe – he wouldn’t end up hearing me sing the “I Told You So” song so often.
Sunday he wanted to move the van out of the driveway to the back lot. Now, I hear shit. I hear the conversations he and his buddies have when they’re sitting around drinking beer and making wild ass pipe dream plans. I know that one of the wild and stupid fucking ideas they’ve come up with is to move the van to the back of the Harley barn, putting it under the door that is on the top floor of the barn, and using the roof of the van as a deck. Yeah, I know, no fucking kidding. Stupid ass goofy fucking idea. Who would do this? Only a bunch of drunk teenagers, that’s who.
But I’ve heard the rumors that this is what Paul wanted to do. Or at least what his drunk buddies have been suggesting he do.
So Sunday, he decides that today is the day he’s going to “get that damned truck out of the driveway. I say “Why?” Like I don’t know anything about the “truck as deck” hare brained scheme. He says “Oh, it’s just an eyesore there – it will widen the driveway up – we need the room in the driveway.” Uh-huh.
So I tell him – “Look, Paul, don’t move that thing all the way around back – the satellite dish is on that pole smack dab in the middle of the pathway that goes behind the barn – and there’s not enough clearance there, you’re either going to end up hitting the pole or hitting the barn, and neither one is going to end well. If you really need to move the van just to make room in the driveway, move it to right behind the house.”
He looks at me and says “yeah, yeah, yeah”, which means “Get our your dancing shoes, baby, because you’re going to be singing the “I told you so” song.”
He’s moving the van (with the help of two or three of his buddies who are no brighter than he is), and I’m in the house, when all of a sudden the satellite dish goes out. Now why in the world would that be? Why would something like that happen – for the satellite dish to all of a sudden go out just like that? Any guesses?
So I go out back, and the van is in parked all nice like behind the house – in the exact spot I told Paul to park it to begin with if he really felt he needed to move it at all, and everyone is acting all nonchalant, like nothing just happened.
I say to Paul “The satellite dish is out.”
He looks at me and says “Yeah, I bumped it.”
He “bumped” it. The fuck he “bumped” it. The fucking pole was laying on it’s side on the ground. Bumped it? Kiss my ass.
I didn’t say another word. I came in the house to call the Dish people to come and fix it. Paul came in after me, I think he knew how pissed I was. When I’m a little pissed or even not pissed at all, I’ll yell at him or say something sarcastic, or argue with him or even just break out into singing the “I told You So” song. If I’m more than a little pissed, well, I don’t say anything at all, since I’m way too sarcastic and way too volatile to be trusted to say anything to anyone if I’m really fucking mad.
But I was really mad – in fact, I was livid. Because it takes the Dish people a week to get out here to fix the dish. Minimum. And closing arguments start Wednesday in the Spector trial, and I don’t like living without TV. It sucks. I hate it. And to live without it for a week because a bunch of fucking drunk morons want to use a fucking van as a fucking drinking deck? When I TOLD the son of a bitch not to fucking try it to begin with? Yeah, I was more than mad.
So Paul followed me in the house and sat on the couch next to me as I waited on hold for the Dish people for like 20 minutes. When I finally got them on the line, I was so pissed that when they asked how they could help me, I said “Some moron backed over into my goddamned pole that holds my dish – I need you to come out and here and fix it RIGHT NOW. The asshole that broke it is willing to pay extra if you can be here by Wednesday.”
They refused my offer to pay extra – but they are going to be here Wednesday morning.
And Paul tried to go out and fix the dish. He put up a new pole and mounted the dish onto the new pole and tried to aim the Dish the right way. It half worked, I can get channels on the higher band, but not the local, lower channels. Which means Court TV comes in, so even though I’m still pissed, at least I got someplace below livid and I didn’t have to waste an opportunity to sing and dance to the “I Told You So” song.
He really should just listen to me to begin with, you know. He really should.
In other news, I got a picture of my friend’s little girl wearing the crazy outfit I made her with all the psychedelic colors and prints. How adorable is this little girl? She’s so cute she’s outlawed in 5 states, you know.
It really, really pays to make clothes for beautiful children. No one notices the clothes – they’re too busy saying “Oh my God! Look at how gorgeous she is!” I could make the ugliest damned outfit in the world, slap it on this kid and every one of you would say “Oh, yeah, Kim, the outfit is nice – But HOW CUTE IS THAT KID!”
I need to find an ugly kid to sew for, so I can really test my sewing skills. I need to hear at least once “Wow – ugly kid – but man, that outfit is GORGEOUS!” *Then* I’ll know I have some sewing skills!