I haven’t really put up a post that rolls up my weekend in a snarky way since some degree of normalcy returned to the house once Di got back on her feet after the Great Cartwheel Disaster of 2011. In fact, there is really not a lot about this weekend that was earth-shaking at all execpt the fact that the earth shook.
That last sentence up there was intentional. We actually did have an earthquake here in Kansas. Yes, Kansas. I had nearly forgotten the fact since it was largely buried in the intoxicated haze that Saturday night became and mercifully ended. My good and long-time friend Joe Coors dropped by on Friday after hearing I’d had a particularly odd week, and after a great impromptu one-arm curl competition (he won) he came back on Saturday night to let me try and kick his ass again but brought his buddy Jack with him.
I had spent at least a few hours working myself into a righteously aggrivated case of the ass while attempting to seal up some of the windows here in this 108 year old house. It came with the original double-hung ones backstopped with storm windows installed probably around 1965. I only speculate at that because they won’t come out anymore. Anyway, suffice it to say that the plastic saran-wrap shrinky-dink shit that you can tape over a window does an adequate job at getting the “r-Value” of these windows up into the realm of positive numbers. If you get it to take, that is.
By the time of this earthquake, I had largely finished, angrily noting that the sheeting I’d carefully put up was self-removing after a whopping 20 minutes of stopping cold air. That, along with the fact that Saturday was my “where the fuck did I just put my ____” (insert noun) day did nothing to improve my mood. Di had given up attempting to speak to me because I had mainly reverted to peppering strings of swear words with an occasional non-epithetic English term. I was seriously considering lawn bags and packing tape at that point, but of course couldn’t find the tape to save my ass.
Several forays into the yard to whack down the remnants of now-unproductive tomato plants and beans did nothing to take the edge of epic failure off of the night, though I have to admit that hacking away in the darkness, barefoot, with a machete is risky but cathartic. At least the mulch pile got more out of the garden than we did this year. Ah, I digress.
Sitting and checking email, hoping for that anticipated love letter from Salma Hayek (which I did not get either), it happened. Di didn’t even notice, and to be honest I about missed it. Then again, we’re both ex-Californians and have a high threshold for earthquakes. Turns out that Oklahoma actually had one of the 5.6 variety and merely felt it all the way up here. A Californian will just keep on doing whatever they were at without pause for anything that small.
And just when I was getting used to the idea of tornados.