It all started innocently enough, but as the weeks have gone on I can see now it’s going to get nasty. A few weeks back there was some kind of falling out between our maid, Streeba (what the hell kind of name is that) and The Princess. I guess I should have seen it coming; Streeba’s rather high-strung, confrontational and let’s be honest, does not like to work. And The Princess, well…let’s just say they are not a good fit.
I remember coming down the stairs and just catching a glimpse of Streeba’s rather imposing hind quarters heading out the front door. “What’s up,” I innocently asked The Princess. “Oh for God sakes, I just offer her some constructive criticism and next thing I know it’s, I don’t have to take this, I’m outahere.”
“Ok, I don’t know what you said, but you’d better get her back; we got no other options.”
“No way, if she comes crawling back here AND apologizes, maybe.
So we got ourselves a good ol’ female stand-off here, and I’m worried. No one wants jobs like this anymore, you know, the one’s where actual work is done?
So now things are getting ugly, literally. We got dust bunnies the size of well…bunnies. There’s one, I’d swear it was in the living room last week; now it’s upstairs! Last week the pest control guy came in here, saw one, and asked if we wanted him to go out to the truck for a “live trap.” Everyone’s a comedian. The neighbor’s dog saw one, cornered it in the garage and barked at it for 10 minutes.
Man, I hope those women call a truce soon. There is some hope though of finding different help. I’ve been thinking…maybe we could put an ad on Craig’s list looking for a “bunny farm worker!”
While we’re on the subject of the home premises, I know some my neighbors read these posts, so I’ll just apologize here for the funny smell out front. We think some cat has decided that the bushes in front of our garage belong to him, so he keeps spraying there. I’d say that next to a dead skunk, that’s the worst smell there is. After considerable research I’ve found something even more obnoxious to spray out there that’s supposed to take care of the cat spray odor. I’ve also bought a “boundary spray” which, for some reason, when the cat smells it, he’s supposed to think “Ew, that’s awful, I’m movin’ on. So, sorry about the smell. But listen, if this isn’t a cat, and some neighbor is just peeing in my bushes, as some kind of a comment on my performance as president of the HOA, message received; no need for a follow-up!
Great tractor news. Remember how in the last post I mentioned I needed to find a professional welder to fix the oil filter bracket? It finally dawned on me that Dr. Fullofit possesses this talent. I popped that thing in the mail Friday via Priority Mail (yes, $5.20 on the Cost-O-Meter) and got it back Wednesday, yes another $5.20 on the Cost-O-Freaking-Meter. But I’ll tell you, don’t ever pick on the U.S. Postal Service in my presence. Where else could you get something like that out to the West Coast and back in less than a week for 10 bucks and change? No where! Oh, and that reminds me…I know…I’ve got outstanding jam orders I need to mail…but don’t pressure me.
(Photo Courtesy of Nurse Minnie)
What do you think, Dr. F, she look good enough to fit on that fire truck you’re restoring? By the way, in the picture below you can see the bracket that Dr. F welded. It’s behind the canister and attaches it to the head.
Thanks again Doc for your speedy work. By the way, normally the canister would be red like the rest of the unit, but I decided to shine up the aluminum and put a couple a coats of polyurethane on it instead. I like the contrast. Now I’m trying to figure out what to do with the bracket Dr F worked on. Since he bead-blasted it, it’s silver now too. I think I’ll probably paint it red, even though it looks pretty good the way it is.
I’m gonna wrap this up, as I wanted to get something out to you faithful readers before the long holiday. Just a brief, final comment though. The holiday weekend always serves as a reminder to me of what a great year 1969 was. The Princess and I got married on July 5th, and (God knows why) she’s stuck by me ever since. This event was followed by the U.S. manned space flight to the moon. And then to put the icing on the cake, in December, in the first ever military draft to determine who would serve in Viet Nam, my birthdate was picked out of a hopper at the Selective Service in Washington DC, number 351 out of 365. I remember like it was yesterday, The Princess and I sitting in the kitchen of our first apartment, listening to the radio and waiting, and thankfully waiting for my birthdate to come up. From that year’s lottery, they went through 25o birth dates in the call-up, and I think not infrequently if my date had come up earlier, what if?
Happy anniversary Cindy, and you others, have a wonderful 4th, and thanks for reading!