I love rain. It makes me feel all cozy and smuggly, even if it’s warm outside. And Colorado’s endless sunshine makes every rainstorm an opportunity for a rainbow, which I also love. The only time I don’t like rain, I guess, is when I’m stuck outside in very cold rain, or when I’m in my laundry room, and it begins to rain from the ceiling because our master shower (which is elaborately tiled and thereby inaccessible without major demolition) is leaking from SOMEWHERE above the laundry room. Our “plumber,” (I use the term loosely, because while he has been successfully plumbing things in the house, and is a licensed plumber, he also works for himself and tends to show up at the house wearing shirts with half-naked nurse graphics on the front and telling stories about car shows), has given us a list of tests we can do. A process of elimination of sorts, wherein we can catch all the water from the shower in a bucket, to rule out the pipes. Then let it run down the drain to rule out the drainage. Then possibly cut an exploratory hole in the ceiling of our laundry room. Then possibly raze the entire bitch house to the ground to see what our tolerance for pain might be. And the elimination would be easier if it happened every time, but it’s really only about every 3rd or 4th shower that makes it rain. Fun fun fun.
Can I bitch about some more things house-related? Please?? Thank you for understanding.
I still have two holes in my kitchen ceiling that need to be patched/textured/painted by Steve the painter. He was supposed to be here two hours ago. I’m not a very good disciplinarian with contractors. I don’t want to offend them, lest they fail to complete the work at all. Usually I’m just grateful to see them when they deign to show up.
And our AC is still patchy, but both Chris and I are afraid to call the HVAC guys to yell at them because they made it work SORT OF, and we don’t want them to take against us and not come to fix anything ever again. I mean, the house is markedly cooler than it was when we moved in. I’d be cheerful about saying “good enough!” But Chris feels differently.
The GE Profile dishwasher runs silently and cleans all but the top rack of dishes. An epic MEH. Who fixes dishwashers? I know if I call someone that they’ll charge me $200 just to show me a latch that I failed to activate or something, and I’ll feel like a giant asshole. GE won’t tell me how to clean the filter on the thing, so for all I know there are human body parts lodged in there somewhere and I can’t reach them to get it functioning again.
And the (also GE Profile) fridge door has some lever that means it won’t close without a purposeful full-closing motion. I’m used to just nudging the door as I walk away and having it shut tightly. So most of the time the fridge door is left open until I notice that my nudge was ineffective. I’m afraid to break the lever off. Chris is, too. GE Profile is starting to really piss me off.
And there’s still a fancy-pants Electrolux Icon induction range sitting in its box in the garage waiting for installation, only neither of us know how to do that, since it may involve filing down a 1/2′ of granite tile to make the opening big enough. And, if we’re being totally honest, both of us are afraid to eff something else up and have to call another repairman of some variety.
The TV just turned off by itself. I don’t want to know what that means.
Wait… it’s back. I guess that was just Comcast’s little joke. You so funny, Comcast!
And I bought a yellowjacket trap to put outside, but then when I assembled it inside I spilled a teensy drop of the pheremone on my shorts. So I’m pretty sure if I go outside, I’m going to be carried away to some underground lair of the yellowjacket queen and eaten, piece by piece, like a Twizzler Pull N Peel. But then I got panicked that they’d smell it inside and start coming through the vents into the house like a bad episode of the X-Files. So I opened the back door and threw it into the backyard. I’m sure Chris will be delighted to come home and fight his way through a swarm of horny hornets, all amped up on pheremones, to place it somewhere further from the house, and also maybe in a hanging up position.
I bought a squirrel feeder, but now I can’t hang it because I’m worried about the yellowjackets that might weasel into our yard at any moment. Whores. Nothing cheers me up like squirrel watching.
And finally, La-Z-Boy took a two week “break” in July, so our furniture (ordered in late May) won’t be here until mid-August. Which means I’m not really putting together our main living area until then. So we’ve got three bedrooms and a dining room completed. All the other rooms are kind of rumbling around between 70% and 90% completed. Each just needs a few finishing touches, (like not raining from the ceiling), which is craze-making.
I did make about 100 tamales this week, though, so I’ll post pictures of that either later today or tomorrow. They’re DELICIOUS. God bless tamales.
Am I the only one who gets totally pissed off about the “Amurrica, f*ck yeah!” commercials that Kraft Singles has rolled out lately? Where they talk smack about Roquefort and other cheeses and say that American cheese (specifically Kraft Singles) are the only surefire way to patriotism? And how “only in America” could we come up with a cheese like Kraft Singles (this I actually believe. Americans love them some processed crap.) It’s two steps away from being a total North Korean-style propaganda campaign.