The Chiropractor said I should be able to move with little to no pain in a few days. The fat lip will take time. I have someone very important to me whom I need to impress tomorrow.
Today I attempted to set up my room and bathroom for a nice, extended stay with my parents. The neighbor boy was very helpful yesterday moving furniture and stuff, yet I suppose I should have had him over again today as I located the structure that is now my room desk.
I’m on the computer a lot – writing, Facebooking, Googling, LinkingIn, Matching and playing around in Photoshop, creating yet another spreadsheet, you get the idea. A personal desk/work area is important. Naturally, all the furniture upstairs serves a purpose so I was on safari downstairs…..and out in the backyard.
Here, at my childhood home, yard is another word for extended storage space. The neighbors were probably happy when dad built the three-car garage in the back supposing it would hide what all is there. Think Sanford and Son. Think me being embarrassed when a date would come to pick me up and there is a motor hanging on a chain from a tree over the front driveway. Think me not having many dates while in High School.
Underneath the back deck, on a patio that begs for an entertaining lifestyle, is a yellow, 1950ish Ford Thunderbird, firewood, some air hoses, two wheelbarrows, cinder blocks, mom’s old kitchen table now blackened with machine shop juice and a vice, an old rickety, rusty , couch-like outdoor swing, carpet remnants, machine/motor parts and pieces, bicycles and my new desk.
It’s perfect. It is constructed like the old timey, redwood, crossed leg, picnic table yet is taller. I can’t quite stand at it comfortably and it is too high for a standard chair. It is supporting a power head from an outboard boat motor…I’m guessing the boat that is nearby with cow poop in the hull. Imagine how clean this table is. The power head didn’t seem to be too heavy and is now safe in a wheelbarrow bin. It wasn’t until a bit later that I think I pulled something in my back.
Mom has 24 rugs in the house. The house is carpeted. I had eight rugs in my house. I had wood floors. I am happy to say I have saved my parents from what could have been a painful accident. I was moving boxes and stuff down to my room – which is coming together quite nicely with an 1970s rec room, auto part store flair – and tripped over a rug. Tripped, launched box of loose shoes I was toting, and smacked my mouth on the edge of the rust-colored, sectional couch that was formerly a home to mice. That’s going to leave a mark. Not only does my back now hurt more, I have a fat lip. Getting fatter by the second. Did I mention my parents’ ice machine does not work?
I really want to be peeved right about now. I breathe in deeply. I think of the wine I will be enjoying later on. I throw away all the rugs. I carry on.
There are three, 1960s sized, clothes closets in this house, a coat closet and a 6’ x 4’ cedar closet downstairs. Dad has half a one. I purchased two, bi-level, 50’ wide, rolling garment racks from Target on which to hang ALL of my clothes and coats. No tools needed for assembly. Right up my alley. I dialed up Pandora on my phone and set out to assemble my new closet and sing my heart out to Katy Perry’s “Firework.”
Parts A, B, C, D and so on. All is going well. I’m kind of proud of myself, this is going together so easily, I’m a Firework. Oops! Hmmm. Two part Gs and no part H. Open box two to see if same deal or if I can rob Peter to pay Paul. Two part Gs in here, too. What’s this? A card in the box…”Are you having difficulty assembling this product? Missing parts? Please do not return to the store, Call Whitmor’s Customer Service Department.” So I did.
Recall Bill Cosby’s sketch about going to the dentist? Recall yourself going to the dentist, receiving Novocain, and afterwards experiencing the sensation of having no lips? Of course they are working fine; you can’t feel them so you slur your words, beverages spill out of your mouth. What was the name of the character on Fat Albert who spoke with Bs in his words? “I’mba going toba theba dentista.” That was me on the phone with customer Service.
“Honey, (in a wonderful Mississippi drawl), having two part Gs and no H in both sets is nothing (she whispers into the phone) to have to drink about.” *sigh*
Tonight’s wine is improving my back and my slur. I’m worried about the swelling of my lip – I have lunch tomorrow with a former advertising professor who I am hoping will connect me back into the biz (read I want to stand straight, look smokin’ and enunciate intelligently). I’ve decided I won’t worry about that right now, I’m going to eat my ice pack for dinner and watch Idol. Nothing like a good Nebraska steak.
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