New Doors Are Opening. Or Are They?

We bought new doors for the front of the house.  Gorgeous things.  The inside door had to be special ordered - this house is so old.  Anyway, the doors are finally in and the man stayed home from work to install them. 

How wonderful.

So I'm sitting in the back room studying:  I have 3 exams, 1 oral presentation and 2 papers due in the next 3 and a half weeks.  I'm working really hard on linking social theories to each theorist, getting in a groove, words are flowing, the light bulb is on and everything is clear and making sense, when I hear the words "fucking HELL" being yelled from the living room.

me:  (yelling) What's wrong?

him:  (yelling) They measured the hinges on the door all wrong.

me:  (getting up)  Are you sure?

him:  Yah.  See?  Look.

me:  You need to shimmy it up on the left.  Here I'll help.

*pause*

Well, wouldn't you know, the door fits!!  Great door.  Been waiting weeks for the thing.  Expensive as hell but SO worth it.  It’s so beautiful!

I go back to work.  It's hazy at first, but the groove starts coming back.  I'm in a zone.  The ideas race through my head and I'm writing like a crazed person.  It's beautiful.  It's art. It's so academically out of this world that the professor will be bowing at my feet and tossing honourary doctorate degrees at me. 

"Fucking SHIT!!"  

me:  What's wrong?

him:  There's no instructions for the new door handle.

me:  You sure?

him:  Yeah.  Fuck!!!

*I go off to look*  Yup.  No instructions.  So he returns to the store and comes back with instructions.  Dandy.

I go back to study.  The ideas have stopped flowing.  I'm fading.  No problem, I will just change topics.  I'm writing an essay on how distance education is a viable option to traditional study methods.  I open up the Word document, read over what I've done and make a few revisions.  It's a strong essay - excellent use of sources - fantastic sentence structure.  I'm quite pleased. 

"FUCK"

me:  What's wrong?

him:  Oh, I just drilled a hole in the door and fucked the whole thing up.

*pause*

me:  What?

him:  Fuck!

*pause*

I get up to look.  Yeah, he drilled a hole through the door, but when I put the handle there, it covered it up.  Confused, I say, "but it's covered up when you put the handle on."

him:  I know but it sticks out.

me:  so?

him:  I'm going to get the (some sort of saw) and see if I can flush it out.

me:  I don't think so!  You'll totally ruin the door then!!

*stomping back to my room*

I go back to my essay and leave it to him to figure out.

Stupid door.

Why didn’t we just PAY someone to do this?

I go back to work.  I change subjects again.  Let's look at the Dimensions of Aging. The oldest members of the baby boomers are starting to retire you know.  Guess what this means?  By 2031 approximately 25% of the Canadian population will be over 65.  I shit you not. And since the national birthrate is down, there are fewer young Canadians to offset the increase in the elderly.  Talk about the kinds of effects this will have on our social and political institutions!  So I turn to that. It's a fascinating topic.

"FUCKING HELL!"

me:  What's wrong?

him:  There's no screws in this box.

me:  Are you sure?

him:  Yah.  Fuck.

me:  Do you have any?

him:  I'm using them but they're the wrong ones.

*pause*

He calls the store.  As long as he has his receipt, not problem, they will give him a new installation kit.  Fantastic.

He grabs his keys.

Where's the receipt?

Well, apparently when he went to the store the first time to get the instructions, he left the receipt at the store.

I told him to channel the "wrath of Michelle" and get it anyway.  He did.  I'm so proud.

He's back at it again.  We're going on the 7th hour of the New Door Installation period.

I'm blogging.  Homework?

Nah, I'm on my second glass of wine now.

*Update with Pictures!!*

See spot run.

The boy started Drivers Ed last week.  I went to a parents meeting that lasted nearly 2 hour long.  It takes 5 years for a new driver to get their licence regardless of their age.  Five years!  When I was a kid they kicked your ass into a car, told you to drive, and gave you a licence if you remembered to use signal lights when changing lanes.  Seriously.  Now though it's a gradual process --  4 hours a week of classroom time for a couple weeks until he gets his learners permit, followed by a further 4 hours a week of classroom time and 2 hours a week of driving time for another 6 weeks.  Talk about a time commitment.  He keeps his learners permit for a minimum of 9 months, followed by the road test ... followed by a year or so with certain limitations, followed by another few years with other limitations.  There are so many rules and regulations for each process that I've forgotten what they all are.  My point being is that my little boy will be driving.  Why, it was just last week he was 3 and asking for a cheese samich.  Now he's 15 and a half and....is asking for a new car.

Zoom Zoom.

The Red Rocker

I read Sammy Hagar's autobiography over the past couple days.  I had to read it fast because it's due back at the library and both of us wanted to get our hands on it. We had waited over 2 months to get it and the waiting list is still crazy long.

The first 3 chapters are so poorly written that I very nearly gave up on it.  I'm glad I didn't though. It's as though his co-author finally took over after that.  I mean, the entire book certainly isn't the finest piece of literature out there, but it's not the worst book ever written.  Did you know Sammy was into numbers and astrology?  I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but it sure sounded smart to me.  And did you know that with a few of his friends, he founded the first mountain bike business in California?  Sold that business for millions.  He invented his own brand of tequila too and eventually sold that business for a cool 100 million dollars. His chain restaurants support local charities.  His Cabo Wabo Cantinas support local rockers. But it was his relationship with the Van Halen's that was most interesting to me.  Biased?  Oh hell yeah, but it still makes for a really cool read.  Those brothers, according to Sammy, are extremely fucked up in a very fucked up sort of way.  But even he admits that when the times were good, it was magic. 

Makes me want to download everything Sammy and Van Halen now.  Isn't that what the book is supposed to do?  Well it worked.

Rock on.

Puzzling.

The man and I went to one of those big chain restaurants on Friday night.  We don't normally do that.  I figure not only can I make a better meal but I can make more of it for about a quarter of the price.  However, we hadn't been to a decent (?) restaurant in some time and figured we probably should.  This particular one makes this killer (killer) spicy sausage and potato soup and a really good salad.  They used to have these mean breadsticks but it seems hard-as-rocks breadsticks are now the rage.  Anyway, we're sitting there slurping back our soup (so, so, so good!), and a couple sits down at a table to the side of us.  She's carrying a novel; he is carrying a sudoku puzzle book.  They sit, glance at the menu, confer for a minute, and she turns to her book; he to his sudoku puzzle.

Seriously?

They go out for supper but can't possibly spend 40 minutes or so to talk while they break bread? What's the point. 

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There's one thing I'm really struggling with at school.  I'm having a hard time with the dress code.  If I dressed like the majority of students, I'd be up 5 minutes before the bus arrived, still in my pyjamas.  I'd have serious bed head, wearing sweats, and t-shirts, and those mind numbing, truly atrocious things on my feet called... uggs.  I know, right?  Terrible.  Where's their sense of pride?  How can they go all day in public looking like that??  I'm up at 5 every morning.  I shower.  Put make up on.  Put some thought into my wardrobe.  And I even put deodorant and perfume on.  I like to look nice.  There's no excuse for them to look the way they do. 

Kids these days.  I just don't understand them.

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