The Way Things Are



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Weíre pumping mud.
2006-04-21, 5:45 p.m.

I am a fount of valuable information about what to do when your aged, withered body starts to embarrass you in public.

YES, spray deodorant on your feet. I just slipped my Target shoe off my fat little foot, smelled it (the shoe), and noticed nary a stink. Iím hoping I can keep this no-stink momentum up for the entire summer, because whatís more mortifyingly embarrassing then taking your shoes off at the airport and stinking up the whole security gate? Nothing, thatís what.

Oh, sure there are other embarrassing things, but when youíre right there in the moment of stinking up a large area filled with tired, cranky people, it feels like thereís nothing else.

And YES, vitamin A. I came up with this theory my freshman year of college, when my skin objected strenuously to the changes wrought upon it when I moved from Dallas to College Station. From hard water to soft water, from moderate humidity to The Place Where Humidity Comes From.

Really. I used to tell people that College Station is the reason Houston is so humid.

My brother had done a round of Accutane, which is a high dosage synthetic vitamin A. Because real vitamin A in such high doses would KEEEELLLL you. So I reasoned that if I just took ďquite a bitĒ of it, as opposed to a ďhigh dosageĒ (SCIENCE!), it might do the trick, and it did. I cleared up and became human again.

I remembered this last week, and got myself some A. Just the regular kind that you take orally. I take a multivitamin, which has 70% RDA of your A, and then I take two extras of those little vitamin A globules or pustules or whatever they are. Those little yeller things that look like lizard eggs.

Donít drop them on the floor, because you wonít be able to find them. But your dogs will use their tingly dog senses to find them and eat them, and then they might burp fish oil at you. And thatís NOT GOOD.

It seems to be working, and Iíll tell ya: I took three of them yesterday just to see what would happen, and I did indeed have a headache. Feels like a nagging tension headache. Not terrible, but very unpleasant, and itís a sign from GAHD that youíre overdoing it.

****

We have an actual well service company at our house today doing Ė GUESS WHAT Ė some service on our well. Just like it did a few days before Christmas, the cold water into our bathroom stopped running, and itís due to silt or sediment or lizards or hobbits or whatthefuckever in our water lines.

Bad, bad DIRTY water. Oh, itís safe to drink and everything. Itís very clean sediment.

In my usual easy going manner, I panicked and threatened and whined and fretted, even going so far as to say ďItís a shame we spent so much money building a really nice, big bathroom for ourselves that we canít even use. We sure could have saved a ton of money if we hadnít,Ē for I am a manipulative, passive aggressive beeotch. DW LOVES that bathroom, and there I was, practically wishing it out of existence.

But honestly, thereís my big-ass bathroom thatís bigger than my old bedroom, with a tub you could water livestock or raise catfish in, and we canít even use it.

Well, passive aggressive manipulation works for me, because I got to have this conversation with DW today:

Him: Iíve got a well service coming out today. Blah blah blah raise up the something because weíre in the silt blah blah blah not going to trust Plumber because heís only right 95% of the time, and we need someone whoís going to know 100% of their shitÖ

Me: Do you know how hot it gets me when you say the words ďwell serviceĒ?

Him: It all comes down to sex for you, doesnít it?

Me: Well, I tend to panic when the water doesnít work, and for me not to panic, Iíll need to be on anti-anxiety medication, and when Iím taking that, I have no sex drive. Wells already skeeve me out*, and when our water is too dirty to run through the pipes, I get panicky. I wonder what the hell is going on down there that we canít see. Itís like thereís a major calamity lurking just under the surface.

Him: So if I want to ever have sex again, I need to make sure our water is running.**

Me: Exactly. You can explain the situation to them if they donít understand how important this is.

My friends, I hate to keep boring you with my tales of the well, but godDAMMIT, why go to the trouble of building a big-ass house if one of the four necessities of life isnít going to work there? I could have stayed in town in our tiny 2-bedroom and had all the running water I ever wanted, and be within walking distance of several bars when I got tired of all the water and wanted something a little stronger.

And godDAMMIT again, why does it take 6 months for DW to finally understand that getting our well serviced is a minor expense compared to what we spent building this stupid house with its unreliable water? Weíre not pumping water, weíre pumping mud. Itís a little hard on the pipes. Plus, this just lights a far under his ass to get the stupid water storage tank fixed up, because thatís where you let your sediment settle.

If I ever form a band, Iím going to name it Pumping Mud.

*There are two things Iím afraid of, and one of them is deep, dark, water-filled holes. The other is giant cockroaches.

**That, plus bust his move within 3 minutes of me getting into bed. In a perfect marriage, you never stop learning how to get laid about your soul mate.

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