Aaaand this morning Mr. Congeniality decides to come talk to Tony about the dogs. A conversation that started with “Do you think it’s right to just move into a neighborhood with those damned dogs that bark all the time?”
Tony, being the calm and patient sort, pointed toward Mr. C’s house and invited him to have a nice day.
I expect that a deputy or two will be dropping by soon-ish. Which is fine - we’ve done nothing wrong - but damn!
Now my oldest son is puking over his bed.
Lordy me! It’ll probably be my daughter that comes down sick next.
They always take it in turns.
When my father visited us recently, he was appalled to see that we just scrape the end of the block of butter over the hot toast, smearing it on like a stick of glue.
It’s just easier that way, since we keep it in the fridge and it’s usually as hard as a rock we want to use it.
Sure you get a few crumbs on it, but Pshwah! What of it!?
(Now crumbs in a tub of margarine, that’s just gross! And the people who take too much margarine or butter and then return the excess to the tub, all smooshed up and crumby, THEY are the very children of the devil!)
It could be worse. My eldest daughter once puked in my hair. We were sharing a bunk bed on vacation. She got the top and I got the bottom. Then she got sick. I was generous enough to forgive her after several shampooings.
I went to the orthopedist this morning about a bad ankle sprain the other week. I am told I have a chronic ankle sprain. Best case scenario is several months of physical therapy. Worst case scenario is surgery if that doesn’t work. Frick. The ankle pretty much throbs all the damned time. I’m going to be 44 on Memorial Day and I am broken.
It’s a good thought, though - I’ll get into my Twitter settings and see what I can find.
Hah! (I’m laughing with you, not at you.) “I’m just going to paint the bathrooms - the rest of the main floor looks fine,” said me, before we painted the entire main floor. 
Agh, I’m so sorry to hear that, for you and everyone involved. I lived in a neighbourhood with a hoarder house once - you really could smell the stench just walking by. There’s no doubt in my mind that it truly is a sickness.
Sorry, I can’t get behind you on the barking dog. Our neighbour across the back alley has a barker - he gets up on their balcony and broadcasts to the whole damned neighbourhood, so loud that we hear him over the tv with our door closed. Dog barks are loud!, and when it’s not your dog, you start to wonder why you have to listen to someone else’s personal choices.
This was the only time my father would allow bread on the table at dinner, was so that he could load up a piece with butter and then roll his corn on the cob on the bread. It still looked gross to me, but it sounds better than the other way.
We are on the third day of house guests. Very nice people, but it’s true what they say about guests and fish. They are starting to just ever so gently get on my nerves. They leave tomorrow morning. Whew!
Not trying to be a bad neighbor here: first, we’re on almost 5 acres, and intentionally sited our house and fence as far away from the neighbor’s as possible. There’s about a 50 foot buffer between our fence and Mr. C’s yard, and another 150 feet across his yard to his house. Second, the barky dog is probably outdoors about 2 or 3 hours a day in good weather. When it’s too hot or wet, she goes out long enough to relieve herself. While she’s out, she might bark at a vehicle driving by, or at the kids riding their ATVs in the field on our north side. But when she barks because the neighbor or his yard man are outside, I bring her in.
Believe me, all of our other neighbors have commiserated with us. Mr. Aycock lives approximately the same distance away from the asshole, diagonally across the road. His dog fence is behind his house. Mr. C compains about the noise. Remington the husky lives another hundred yards past Mr. Aycock. Mr. C complains. The Beasleys own the well service next door to Mr. C, and their extended family owns both of the other homes on this road, and all of the rest of the land. Mr. C complains about the noise from their work equipment and tractors. (Mr. C bought his house from the estate of the founder of the well company. The business was there for a half century before he bought the house, so he can’t exactly complain that it was a big surprise.)
Mr. C is just a big ol’ curmudgeon. If I were the vengeful sort, I’d give him some noise to complain about: we own the wooded strip behind his house, and I have fantasies about having that timber harvested. It’s the entire buffer between his house and the 4-lane bypass around town. If he gripes, I’ll tell him we needed the money for a better fence!
I am positive that collecting is a mental disease. I love cats, I’ve devoted my life to rescue. I would never, ever allow myself to live in the conditions in that house. It was terrible. After we got home, we stripped in the garage, bagged up our clothes and tossed them in the trash and then got into the shower for about an hour. I really doubt that my husband will come with me next time. He’s a very kind and gentle man and I think the experience was just too much for him.
Mental illness just sucks.
Next time he complains, mention that because you want to be a good neighbor you want to build a better fence so the dogs won’t see him and start barking…however, you can’t really afford it unless you have that timber harvested. He might start thinking twice about complaining.
Every neighborhood seems to have a Mr. or Ms C. I used to live next to ours and there really wasn’t any satisfying her. Having a threat like that available could come in very handy.
Here’s hoping for a “best-case” scenario at least.
That sounds like a real bummer.
I started reading your post before looking at poster name. The point where I cut off is where I thought “oy vey let this not be flatlined!” and looked at the top left corner. 
Phew.
I was about to hit ‘reply’ to suggest that you’re probably new to the kid puking routine…no self respecting parent would ever think that one single puke episode was going to be it. You *never *turn the washing machine on until at LEAST 24hrs has passed…
But then I saw your later post about your daughter also joining in the Chunder Choristers…and I figured you’ve probably got enough on your plate now without the likes of me pointing at you and doing a Nelson.
Hard to resist though. 
Tried to fix something. Actually made it worse.
Bugger.
And just leave a puke-soaked sheet and blanket festering in the bathtub!?
We normally run the washing machine 2 or 3 times a day as it is. Seriously, our living room is usually dominated by a mountain of laundry that the kids just excevate when they need to find a pair of socks.
The wash also had to include the boy’s slightly soiled undies and trousers.
It was actually kind of sweet to hear my normally surely adolescent son calling to me from the toilet, feebly but politely saying,
“Dad . . . ? Sorry to trouble you, but could you please bring me some fresh pants and trousers?”
He’s much better now, as it seems to be just a one-day thing, but when I got home at around 9pm tonight my daughter was already in bed (suspiciously early for her), so I left a plastic bag and a towel by her pillow, just in case.
Not feeling that good myself, actually.
(Reaches for the bucket.)
Yes, definitely glad my Tony was one of the principals here instead of flatlined’s Tony! That would have been :eek::eek::eek:!
Silver lining: For the first time in my entire life - nearly 45 years - I was able to “get away” with an off-color joke in my famously-straitlaced aunt’s presence, thanks to Mr. Congeniality! I went to visit my uncle at hospice, and was visiting with various people while the patient napped. One of my cousins asked me about the situation with Mr. C, so I had to explain the background to my aunt and another visitor. After my description, my aunt nodded and opined that my neighbor must be a bachelor. Before I could stop myself, I replied that “no, but I’m pretty sure his father was!” Aunt Irma just laughed, after a lifetime of primming her mouth and scolding all of us “kids” if we even hinted at improper language! 
I guess I’m a grown-up now!
So the bathroom is put back together, mostly. Towel rack isn’t back up and I painted only half the room because we needed to go to the dump and drop off books for the sale or they wouldn’t be leaving until next year. New floor is down, new toilet put together and placed on and we turn on the water…
And the supply valve promptly starts leaking. It wasn’t before, unless it was hidden in the other mess of leaking. So we have to go out again and buy a new supply valve, but at the same time we can return items not used so that’s good. The blue looks as nice as I’d hoped it would though, and I think it will be nice in the kitchen too when I go to do that to hide the ugly Kermit the frog green…
Kermit the Frog green - lovely. 
We’re looking at lots of houses now, and some of them really stand out in the colour department - a different bright colour for every room in the house, etc. We wouldn’t turn a house down just for that, but damn - how do you sleep in a bedroom that colour?!?
Before you go out and buy another supply valve, make sure the one you have is tightened securely at both couplings. It may be that the valve is not bad, just a loose fitting.
Bless you. You prevented a lot of future suffering.
Regarding butter for corn on the cob, there are dispensers that hold the butter for rubbing on the corn. Leftover butter just stays in the dispenser until next time. It’s not a lot of good if you only have corn on the cob every once in a while, but not bad if you have it fairly often.
Is the link still showing the Triceratops cob holders? I want those.
Already done, it still leaked so we got a new valve and it’s on now, and all is good to go but the bolts are so tall BF decided to lop the top off so we could put the covers on… and displaced a bolt so we have to take it apart again to get the bolt reseated so the toilet won’t wiggle and reinstall the toilet.
I better not have to take apart any toilets again until I go to renovate the bathroom, which is a few years down the road.
Cat Whisperer: I guess not so much Kermit green, you see it’s almost too bright to be Kermit… more like a lime sherbert. The living room was sage and brown, it’s now a lovely vanilla cream and doesn’t feel so gloomy anymore. Paint is one of those things where you see them discussing it on the house buying shows and you want to smack them because it can be changed… but you still question people’s taste.
Bother, quote isn’ working again and I can’t be arsed to hung and copypasta.
WRT vomiting - I have been long in the habit of getting a very large [like one gallons minimum size] to hurl in when ill. Vomiting in a plastic bag is so limiting, with a cook pot I can roll over and hurl into a nice wide and deep basin. When done, dump it out [it can hold several good hurls-worth of vomit] and wash it up.
What? After soap and good hot water it isn’t clean? Bullshit.