First world problems are still a motherfucker.

There is a personal sized pool in my back yard.  It is super small and takes up 85% of the whole yard. No grass, no dirt.  There are beautiful tropical plants surrounding it in the spring/summer/fall months.  Around Halloween I put all of the plants in storage.  There really isn’t a “fall” in Texas.  I just use Halloween as the guideline to bring in the plants.

So, it’s December.  The back yard is bare, naked and sad.  The pool is full of fucking leaves.  We don’t even have a tree!  There isn’t a single tree in the backyard and the pool is fucking full of leaves.  They cover the bottom, the stairs, and float on top.  I have no idea where they come from.  Obviously from trees, smartass, but whose trees?  Not mine.  That’s for fucking sure.

Sweet husband bitches and whines about cleaning the pool.  All the time.  It’s true he is the only one who ever cleans the pool.  Just like I’m the only one who ever does the laundry or cleans the floors.  It’s just become his job by default.  Still he rants and raves about filling the pool with concrete or moving to a house without a pool.  NOT an option by the way-I tan on a float covered in oil and I’m not sorry.  Yes, I know that I’ll wrinkle and die of cancer.  It’s what I like so leave me alone.  So he’s King Baby all the time about cleaning out the pool.  It gets old.

The whole family has been under tons of stress lately.  TONS.  I’ve been  trying to be a sweet wife (stop laughing) and I’ve gone out several times and cleaned the pool.  This is gross.  Leaves turn into slimy poison in there.  It’s nasty.  There is a pool sweeper thing.  I named it “Alphonso” because anything that climbs my leg should at least have a name.  Alphonso is a dick.  The hose is permanently bent and he wraps himself in a corner where he is worthless.  When he’s not stuck in a corner, he’s trapped himself on the stairs and is hosing down the back door.  So that you get soaked just trying to help the little bastard.  He’s a total douche nugget.  He doesn’t pick up any leaves because he’s too busy humping the corner or blasting the door and windows with water.  Total.Assface.For real.

Yesterday was actually a pretty good day until I tried to be nice.  No good deed goes unpunished. I went out to the pool to untangle Alphonso from his corner.  I got the long scrubby brush thing and swept the leaves in the bottom of the pool to the center.  The leaves hide in the other corners of the pool because they know Alphonso won’t go over there.  It is like calling “Base” for leaves.  So I’ve got Alphonso rolling around the pool sucking up leaves.  This is totally by accident because he was just on his way to the corner to tangle up again.  I was prepared for that move, with the long scrubby brush thing, and  reached across and blocked him.  Score one for me!  He then rolls around the pool again, accidentally sucking up leaves, on his way to trapping himself on the steps.  Long scrubby brush to the rescue again!  I was totally winning.  I knocked that bastard off the stairs several times making him roll around over leaves.  He kept coming back to the stairs. He really wanted to piss on the door.  Wanted it bad.

I’m sure that to the average viewer I looked like Steve Irwin molesting a crocodile.  I was poking Alphonso with the brush thing and he kept making his loop around and coming back.  I then made the fatal error.  I forgot the cardinal rule about going out to fuck with the pool.  Don’t you know that the next splash I heard was my phone, falling from my sweatshirt pocket, straight to the bottom.

It was amazing how fast that thing went down.  Like it was lead or something.  At the bottom of the steps. Not one of the 2 that I could have reached.  No, all the way to the bottom.  So I, with ninja like reflexes, start to try to sweep it with the brush thingy up the steps.  Nope, won’t go up.

So, in December, I strip naked in my backyard and walk down the steps of the pool to retrieve my damn phone.  It was too cold once it got to my chubby tummy, so I’m trying to pick it up with my monkey toes.  By this time the sweet husband has figured out something is up (naked is his best clue) and he’s giggling at the door.  You know how people ask moronic rhetorical questions that you feel the need to answer?  Like “What are you doing?”  “Why are you naked?”  “How come you are in the pool?”  I’m less than gentle when I ask for him to shut the fuck up and get me a fucking towel.  That works well.

This shit is NOT funny.  And I was pissed.

The good news is that this is Texas and it’s been in the upper 70’s all week.  It wasn’t that warm in the pool, but it could have been a hell of a lot worse.

The bad news is that I got a new phone in May and am not eligible for an upgrade.  And no I don’t spend the extra money on insurance for my phone.  Because I’m an idiot, OK?

So, now it’s Sunday and I can’t go and spend all of the holiday shopping money on getting a new phone until noon.  Because the world doesn’t want me to be happy.

I know, really.  Boo FUCKING Hoo, you dropped your iPhone in your swimming pool.  It sounds awful and there are gazillions of people with real problems out there.  THIS, however, is my problem today and I’m going to piss and moan about it.

 

PS- I would love to post a photo of Alphonso.  Guess why I can’t?  My phone is my camera!

PSS- I tried leaving it in a bag of rice, like it said to do out on the internets- didn’t work.

Once upon a time…

So, here goes.  Since it was suggested to me, twice, that I should write a blog…here I go.  This may be the first and only post.  It may be the first of many.  Having the attention span of a gnat, there’s no way of knowing.

How I chose a title.

I, being me, went to Google and looked up “how to start a blog” and then started reading.  Naturally the only thing that I really noticed was an article, somewhere, that said, “You don’t want a stalker.”  It’s like they were reading my mind.  No, I don’t want a stalker.  Yes, I am self-centered enough to imagine that throngs of readers will flock to my blog and hang on my every word.  One of them may be a deranged bad guy who wants to be my stalker.  Do. Not. Want. So if you are a person who happens upon my blog and thinks, “Hey, I’m going to be this gal’s stalker!” I’ll say to you, no thank you.

Then I started wondering, since I’m obviously going to use my name as a title, what the hell am I going to use?  I rolled it around in my mind for a little while.  My husband made a suggestion of calling it “KristiJoSueLynneMarie”.  Well, that’s just silly, I thought to myself.  Then I wondered about some catch phrases that apply to me.  And my family’s all time favorite came to mind.  And so I used it.

How it happened.

Years ago my then fiancée took me and my daughter snow skiing in Breckenridge.  There were many disasters on that trip.  So many that he’s actually never taken us again.  The child, not being an athlete, really wasn’t too interested in skiing so much.  She decided to spend an afternoon in the cabin with the daughter of the other couple who traveled with us.  When we come back from skiing, the girls were REALLY happy to see us.  This is unusual.  So the child begins to tell the story.  While the girls are playing around on the computer, someone knocks on the door.  The child goes to the door and opens it, and no one is there.  Back to the computer and more goofing off.  Then knocking, again.   Child goes to the door, doesn’t open it, look out the window.  Nobody there,again.  Getting a little miffed, she was.  I guess this went on for a while and the 2 girls got themselves good and freaked out.  Eventually my child sneaks over to the window and peeks out and sees…

a woodpecker.

Keeping in mind that this is a twelve and thirteen year old telling this story.  Lots of drama, flailing and running around, the anticipation was killing me.  And I uttered perhaps the stupidest sentence ever.  Yep, that’s it.

What was it pecking?  This was followed by the most insane and out of control laughter that has ever happened anywhere.  Then comes the oh so creative answers to my question.  “The house, Mom, it was a housepecker.”  “A tree, it’s a treepecker!”  “Snowpecker?”  “Don’t be a hatepecker.”  It went on and on.  Still does.  And now I know what they’ll put on my tombstone.  Great.

This brilliant question, comes back to bite me in the ass, A LOT.

I’m not saying that I haven’t said a ton of stupid stuff.  Sometimes, when I open my yapper, words just fall out.  I don’t know what to tell ya.  It happens.

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