Thursday, August 18, 2011

Priorities, people.

It has come to our attention, rather suddenly, that our new house is settling. Drastically. Like, the old owner had it propped up with sticks and magic and for him, all the doors opened and closed properly. But then second he moved out, the house let out its breath, and now none of the doors work. And there are some spots. Just a few, tiny spots. Where I can see sagging.

I have visions of that movie, The Money Pit, the one where Tom Hanks gets stuck in a hole on the second story and we all learned the "Rick Rick Bo Bick, Bananafana Fo Fick" song. Because I am just sure - SURE - that the house is going to crumple in on itself like a rotten peach at any given moment.

Other than that, though, it's fabulous!

I finally dropped the dime and ordered living room furniture, so people won't think they've walked into the house that Craigslist built anymore. I finally just grew tired of having furniture worse than what I had when I was 19, and decided to buy something - ANYTHING - and make it work.

I think it's gonna be beautiful. And if it's not? NEVER TELL ME. I am something of a decision cripple, so once I decide on a purchase - especially if it's over $32.00 - I don't want to hear any words except ones about how it's so perfect and beautiful you want to make out with it. Anything else, and I will stick my fingers in my ears and run crying from the room.

Mr. Meat and Potatoes hung up his new giant TV in the basement, and you'd think we'd had another baby. You see, I was getting things ready to take Johnny on his first plane trip, which is no small feat. Also, I had some important meetings to attend. And, my first meeting with a personal trainer. I had all this going on Wednesday night, and the clock was ticking on my packing deadline. I was busy. And beat. And just like labor, which comes whether you have time for it or not, my husband was having a TV. He decided that particular Wednesday was THE DAY to install the TV, regardless of what else was happening in life. Regardless of the fact that he was about to have 3 days sans wife or baby in which to jack with said TV. But no, like birth, it had to happen NOW - no waiting.

And I was the dutiful father to the laboring mother. I went about my business calmly while he grunted and sweated and cursed, and finally a TV was born.

And I have to admit, it really is a thing of beauty. He loves it like another son. I love it like a massive distraction, which is as good almost.

I'm off to Dallas this weekend with Johnny, so Mr. Meat and Potatoes is going to sit in his basement, in the dark, drinking beers that come from his little fridge right next to his chair, watching bad movies that I refuse to sit through, for three days. It is his own personal heaven.

So, there we will sit, me on my beautiful new furniture, him in front of the TV of his dreams, while our house shrugs forward and dies around us. But we won't care. The pool will survive.


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