I haven’t written a blog in a while so a lot of really annoying thoughts have been rolling around in my head clamoring for release. They make it very hard to sleep so I thought perhaps someone else should be on the receiving end of all of this mayhem and then I can purge my mind. Thus, I reach deep into my pit of pithyness to bring them to you. I apologize in advance for any pain this may inflict.
The preacher man came to see us recently, always an enjoyable time. He’s a large, boisterous, thoroughly likable man (typical Southern Baptist) and we had a nice, long visit. I always love to spend time with the man, even though he has dubbed me the Pennsylvania Princess. Hey, there’s nothing wrong with living in the wrong state as long as you eventually get to the right one. But I digress (a nasty habit of mine). After chatting for a while, he looked around my place and asked me why I was living in an apartment. Uh, because they gave me a key and my furniture doesn’t fit in my car? But don’t you want a house, he asks. Let’s see, I said, pondering the concept. Mow my own grass (which I actually do not mind), do my own repairs (I do a lot of these anyway) and pay twice as much (this is a definite no)? I don’t think so. Besides, I already own a house. In Pennsylvania. Now if I could only get my ex-husband to move out of it.
I have neighbors (yes, I do), who live in a three bedroom apartment like mine. Mom, Dad and six (yes, six) children. In a three bedroom apartment. Apparently they are very generous people because last winter they invited a friend to live them. A single mom with three kids. Ok, 8 + 4 = 12. Three bedroom apartment. I guess they were feeling overwhelming generous last month as they invited another friend to stay. With her two kids. So that’s 8 + 4 + 3 = 15. Yes, in a three bedroom apartment. Oh, and did I mention that all the children are under the age of twelve? And that, between the four adults, they only have one car? So Monday through Friday, they pile all the wee ones in the car and take them to school. Pick a lap. Then they repeat the process in reverse in the afternoon. Now if I did that, I’d most assuredly get pulled over and arrested. But that’s just my luck.
I have discovered recently that Walmart’s website sells over seven hundred types of toilet seats. Y’all are probably wondering how I know that and no, I don’t view websites for toilet seats as a rule. I was actually looking for something else but had to weed through all the these to get to it. Enlongated seats (for those with extra long legs). Cushy seats, the kind that make the sighing sound when you sit (kind of like they’re saying “OMG, lose weight, fatty.”) Seats that close themselves (um…for those too lazy to do the deed?). Seat tattoos (oh, yes they do). Anti microbial seats for added sanitation. And for those who love that extra fresh, just showered feeling after you tinkle, they have seats with adjustable rear and front washes. You can add an adjustable warmth dryer to those for a mere $150. Anyway, after learning all there is to know about every possible type of toilet seat, I get to the section that has what I wanted to look at in the first place. A replacement tank cover for one of our toilets. Broken, I might add, by a certain overactive three-year-old (slamming it made a really cool sound). What I learned from the Walmart website, other than the fact that there are over seven hundred types of seats, was that tank covers are an extremely rare, overpriced breed. Does anyone have an unused toilet I can swipe the cover from? Because I’m definitely not paying over $50 for a plain white piece of porcelain that just sits there getting dusty.
All this talk about toilets brings me to my next random thought. A strange one but would you expect anything else from me? When a person has to go pee in the middle of the night (yes, I’m going there), why does one lay in bed in obvious discomfort and think the urge is going to go away? I don’t personally do this but I’ve heard stories…ok, so I do. It would be so much simpler to get up out of bed, do my business and return to blissful dreaminess but I lay there trying to go back to sleep knowing full well that it just ain’t gonna happen. Is it that difficult to move? For me, the answer is yes.
Another item that just came to me as I sit staring out the window trying to collect my thoughts…what do you imagine a bird sitting on a wire is thinking about? Did you ever really think about it? I am because there’s one outside my window right now. There it is, looking around, not moving much. Just a ruffle of his feathers once in a while. Is he (or she) wondering where the humans are going in such a hurry? Is it deciding which car (or head) to poop on next time he gets the urge? Wondering what possessed the person in the Mini Cooper to strap down what looks to be a king-sized mattress and box springs to the top of his car (it just drove by, true story)? Or is this bird merely waiting on the next unsuspecting bug to fly by so he can swoop him up for lunch? Most likely this is the answer but you never know what goes through the mind of a bird. And why do I care? I don’t. Just wool gathering.
And I’m gathering wool because my computer (thankfully the one at work, not home) is being doctored by my helpful IT person. I have a Trojan virus (no doubt named after the popular condom brand whose failure helped to create my second child) that came from only the person who created the virus knows where. Which brings me to my point…yes, I do have one. Who are the people who get their jollies from creating viruses? Why do they do it? Are they evil people or are they just bored? Or are they perhaps manufacturers of computer hardware trying to increase business by destroying our hard drives? My theory, and I’m not being paranoid or jaded about this, is that all the viruses come from those who create and sell virus protection software. Because if you think about it, without viruses we wouldn’t need their programs and how would they make their millions if we didn’t? In addition to that theory comes the thought that, if they didn’t create the problem in the first place, how do they know how to fix it? My theory brings a sarcastic snort from my ever-so-talented IT guy. Eh, what does he know?
Well, the pit is empty. The well is dry. For the moment. At least until I try to go to sleep tonight. And just an afterthought, this blog sounded funnier in my head than it does when I’m reading it. Too bad. I’m posting it anyway. And I’m glad I apologized in advance.
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