July 02, 2006
I'm Stuck On You
I've been on vacation for the last 5 days, and it's been absolutely terrific in some ways. I've had a chance to get a bunch of stuff done, and a bunch of other opportunites to mentally berate myself that I haven't done enough.
One thing I've been kind of jonesing for is typing. So, through amazing feats of strength and mad geometry skills, I've managed to move my laptop from it's super inconvenient place on the side table by my couch to, of all locations, my lap.
I almost don't know what I've done to deserve to be this spoiled. I can actually get all of my fingers on the home keys, and type without constantly hitting the wrong keys. It's amazing, truly.
So in order to get back into the groove of things, I've decided to start to write about things that made me think, "Hey! I should write this down." when it happened, but never did.
One time, in the past few months, (let me just interject here quickly and state that most of my stories will be starting like that since I'm not sure exactly when they happened anymore. So, yeah, back to it.) Hubby and I were enjoying a day off together (which is another miracle in itself-after 8 years of never having a day off together, we had entire weekends where we weren't working off together, and now we're back to one a day, but let's get back to the damn point now, shall we?) and he was piddling in the garage.
I say "piddling" in the metaphorical sense, it's not where he likes to pee, ok, NGD? I also say that he was "piddling" because I was in another room doing something else that I deemed more interesting, like, say, anything else that's not out in the garage.
I should've known something was at hand that was evil and malicious when he kept pacing in and out of the house mumbling something about "damn thing doesn't work. What a piece of {insert your favorite derogatory word here}, I can't believe it's not doing what it's supposed to." That's when I should've paid attention to what he was saying, instead of enjoying my anything else that's not in the garage thing that I was doing. I really, really should've asked him what was up. Really. No, seriously.
All of a sudden, I hear this "POP!" noise, and Hubby saying "Oh SHIT!" just about simultaneously.
That's when it all started.
He runs in and puts his face underneath the running water in the sink and tells me that he was trying to use a can of this glue that is used to seal cracks in doors and stuff, and that it had exploded out in the garage and into his eyeball. He neglected to tell me at the time that the reason it exploded was because he was jabbing at the top of the can with a screwdriver. How come no one can just come out and say that they were doing something really stupid?
The glue's kind of like a quick insulation fix. It sprays out of a can and then dries in a hard foam kind of substance that is approximately twice the size of the original spray. All a person's got to do is wait for a while, let the alien substance that is this product harden into this foamy spongy type of stuff, and then it helps seal cracks and stuff in your doorways and wherever else is deemed useful.
When I went out into the garage I saw:
Liquid glue that was foaming up and expanding to ginormous proportions of mountainous magnitude all over the garage floor. That evil crap was also conveniently applied around the opening of the door to my stand up freezer and oozing down the front of it, laying in hugantic arcs of stickiness and misery all over the walls, and along the work area that has all of the drawers for holding small tools, which were also, to my glee and bliss and as an added bonus, all open and vomiting foaming glue out of each and every damn one.
I ran back into the house to see if Hubby was ok. He was still flushing his eye out (and would do so for another hour straight, but it all turned out ok. Surprisingly, with his luck, he didn't even have to go to the hospital, and he can still see clearly.) and was a little freaked out at the time. I mean, who wouldn't be? There wasn't a hell of a lot I could do except for ensure he was performing a successful eye flushing, which he was, so I ran back out to the garage.
I figured that the best place to start would be the freezer, because I was fairly certain that I would want to open it up again sometime, and I wasn't sure if the glue was going to prevent that in future attempts. I grabbed an old sheet and started to wipe at all of the puddles of glue. Of course, it's not an easy thing to do, since the thing you're wiping with is getting stuck to the stuff you're wiping. It reminded me of those W@rner Bros. cartoons where the glue is the strongest stuff in the world, and can actually stop moving cars, and trains right in their tracks. It was extremely slow going.
Plus, being the super coordinated, good looking, uber genius that I am, I managed to get a lot of glue stuck in my hair and on my hands, and at one point glued myself directly to the floor. It wasn't too hard to unstick myself, but I couldn't get the glue off my feet for a week.
I took out every freaking screwdriver, wrench, socket, and I don't know what the hell that was out of every drawer and cleaned all their handles off, wiped down the drawer, and removed any glue on the side of the drawers so they would (hopefully) open again. It was a blast.
I worked on it for about 3 hours, and went through about 4 different rags and such, each one winding up being stuck together where a hulking muscle man wouldn't be able to split them apart.
Hubby was doing ok-there was no glue in his eye, we gave him eye drops, he instisted that he didn't need to go to the emergengy room every single one of the 178564 times I asked, and so we chalked it up to a lesson learned.
Who knew that the lesson was going to be "Foaming Insulation is Evil, and You Should Never Try to Open Its House By Poking at It With a Screwdriver"?
The next day, there was some dried out rather anti climactic piles of spongy insulation sitting around stuck to the garage floor. I thought to myself, "oh crap-here we go again", and bent down to see just how stuck it was to the floor. Imagine my mixed emotions when the thing basically snapped right off in my hand, cleanly, with no effort whatsoever...
So, I'm going to try to show you a picture through Photobucket. Let's see what it looks like, eh? Hopefully it's a thumbnail:
We'll see how that turns out. If it's crap, there won't be anything there, and I'll hang my head down and berate myself for my poor HTML skills. That's from the Giants game Hubby and I went to on Wednesday. It was super sweet, we were 8 rows up from 3 base, directly over the Giants dugout. It was so absolutely awesome! They won too, and, as an added bonus, I got to see my very first live grand slam. Good times....
I've got a lot more to say. Oh yeah, since we're here at the bottom of the page, make sure you point and laugh at the counter saying what an uber cool non smoking stud muffin I am. 'Cause I blew it. I'll re-start it when I go back to being a quitter. But remember, no one LIKES a quitter! That's why I'm having such a difficult time, ok? clipchick at 12:25 p.m. All thoughts, ideas, and musings are � Clipchick. Please don't snipe my stuff!
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