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Thursday, February 23, 2012

My Dishwasher is Broken And I've Got to Blog OR Oh, Carp, Is It Almost Thursday Again?

Sometimes writing a blog is like banging my head against a wall.  I don't really want to do it, but that pesky wall is in the way and needs to broken down.  So, randomness may occur in this blog because there's been a lot of stuff on my mind.



Most importantly, my #$%^!! dishwasher is broken.  I don't know how many years it's been since I've had to handwash a dish but I'm going against the political correctness of today's realm and am using paper plates and plastic utensils.  (But they are being recycled, so I'm kinda doing the right thing.)  (And you remember those old Palmolive commercials where your hands come out soft after doing dishes because your husband won't help, well they're complete poopoo.  My hands are so NOT soft and pliable afterwards.)


In any case, Pain in the Ass Man has made a guest reappearance by declaring, "I can fix that."  He pulled out the dishwasher, disconnected all the lines, did some other stuff, AND ordered a drain pump.  We shall see how this budding blog-wannabe-event shall turn out.  Could be explosive stuff.  I might get to see his butt crack while he's got the dishwasher upside down.  (My life is chock full of little thrills like this.  Seeing the crack certainly makes life entertaining.)  (TMI?)


The scintillating conversation we had about the dishwasher.  HIM: "I can fix that."  Me: "It's not supposed to be full of suds like that when it finishes.  And I'm pretty sure that all the water is supposed to be drained."  HIM: "They trusted me to fix Missile launchers during the first Gulf War."  Me: "If the dishwasher launched tactical weapons at incoming enemy aircraft, you'd be the first one I'd call."  HIM: "I can fix it."

And let me tell you about a mistake I made.  I went to the dollar store the other day with my child.  I saw this woman, which has nothing to do with the mistake, but I couldn't help myself.  It was fifty degrees outside and I couldn't figure out why anyone would be wearing a full-length fur coat, much less into Dollar Tree.  So did she get the coat because she shops so much at Dollar Tree or is she just a cheapskate?  You figure it out.  (Incidentally, taking a picture of a complete stranger at Dollar Tree is loads of fun.  They look at you and not in a good way.  Then the clerks look at you and that's saying a lot from the clerks at Dollar Tree.)



Back to my mistake.  Dollar Tree had a wall full of play type stuff and I looked down and said, "Hey, Cressy, they've got duck whistles."  This was the mistake.  It wasn't that Dollar Tree had a duck whistle or that I saw the duck whistle, it was that I pointed it out to my daughter.  Who had to have one.  And I listened to the duck in the back seat of the Explorer all the way home and then run around the house chasing the cat, who doesn't like ducks, apparently, and all through the evening.  (I had a maniacal plan for the duck whistle to disappear during the night, but my child slept with the bleeping thing.)  Fortunately for me there was school today and I had to tell her that the school probably didn't want ducks in the hallway or the classrooms.  (Oh, the look she gave me at that.)

In conclusion I'm still doing dishes by hand listening to a duck whistle.

5 comments:

Andsetinn said...

You obviously talk too much.
First you told your husband that the dishwasher was broken, instead of calling dishwasher-repairman straight away.
Secondly, as you've already suffered for, you told your little angel about the duck whistle. I wonder how she will react when she can't find the whistle when she gets home from school. :)

Carwoo said...

It's true. I do talk too much. That's why I blog. Hahahaha.

Anonymous said...

We don't use our dishwasher. You pretty much have to wash them when you put them in the darn thing otherwise they come out with carp baked onto them. However, don't get me started on my clothes dryer.
Mark

Carwoo said...

I might start having to use the clothes washer for the dish washer. Wonder how many dishes I would break/melt/other. Hmm.

Gail said...

Hmmm...worked a part-time job at a market in my youth - the kind with inside stands. One day, a woman parked her Cadillac right outside the set of doors closest to us, marched her stair-stepped children inside, all wearing ratty clothes with shoes that had broken down heels so they could wear them, bought jowl bacon, which she paid for with food stamps, and marched them out - all while wearing a FULL-LENGTH fur coat.