Dipshoots and Ladders

I always start out with the best of intentions. Really, I do. As you may well know by now, however, I have a small problem with realizing my limitations yet still carrying on despite them. I like to think that I am challenging myself but, unfortunately, I usually end up just making an ass of myself.

Case in point.

Last year was the first year that I had put up Christmas lights on the house. I had always thought that lights made a house look pretty and wanted that for my house as well. I had seen my father do it with much success over the last few years at both his old house in Belleville and his new one in Millstadt and figured that I could do it as well. I don’t have quite the eye for exterior decoration that my father does, but I knew that at the very least I could string a couple of strand of lights up around the roof line of the house to add some holiday cheer for all those that pass by my home.

Sure I could.

I had actually been buying strands of lights for this reason for the past couple of years but had just never pulled the trigger on putting them up. So, when it came time for me to actually do it, I was stocked with everything except for clips to attach them to the house and an extension ladder. I was able to buy the clips at Ace Hardware (along with a couple of light up signs for the yard – one of which I’m using again this year and one that I have kicked and beaten to hell due to poor craftsmanship on the manufacturers part and a severe lack of patience on my part) and was able to get an extension ladder from my wonderful neighbors Joy and Nikki.

It was a cold day, but luckily the wind wasn’t blowing excessively hard so that I was able to accomplish most of what I had to do without freezing my buns off. I started off at the left side of the front of the house and, while not knowing what I was doing at all, was surprised by how easy this was and how quickly it was going. In less than an hour, I had run the lights all along the front gutter, down and around the metal posts that hold up the overhang to our front porch, and then around the overhang itself. From what I could tell, it was looking pretty nice. Additionally, I was able to accomplish all of this with my trusty 6 foot wooden ladder that I trust more than most things in my life. It is solid, sturdy, and has never let me down whether it’s balancing on four or even two legs. I would stand on top of this ladder juggling newborn babies while balancing on one foot – and I don’t even know how to juggle. I trust it that much.

But now it was time to use the extension ladder.

I didn’t like the idea of the extension ladder for two reasons. First, I don’t trust standing on things that have parts that extend. I vividly recall the scene in “National Lampoons Christmas Vacation” when Clark is at the top of the extension ladder when the safety gives way leading to him falling rung by rung down to the ground. Sure, that’s funny in the movie but I didn’t like the possibility of that happening to me. Given my luck with tools and any type of household project whatsoever, I was bound to be injured by something like that. Second, the higher you extend the ladder, the less stable and more wobbly it becomes as you move towards the top. Now I know that I could lose a few pounds, but I don’t see 200 pounds as being an excessive amount of weight to place on a ladder. I was well within the limits of the ladder (believe me, I checked), but whenever I tried stepping a few rungs up, I felt the ladder bend just a bit. This had me freaked out.

Having already started the job, however, there was no way I was going to pull them all down, nor was I going to just decorate what was essentially a straight line across the front of my house with a little pizzazz thrown in the middle. There was more to be done and I wasn’t going to let a fear of falling off a ladder and breaking my legs/arms/pelvic bone/ spine/skull keep my neighbors from enjoying my little bit of holiday cheer. This job had to be done. I had to climb the ladder to the roof.

As I climbed the ladder, I could feel it bow beneath my weight. I had never used an extension ladder before and really had no idea how high it needed to be extended for any particular job. My main goal was not to dent the aluminum siding on the house so I figured that the best bet was to rest it against the gutter (I never claimed to be a genius – oh wait, yes I have. Nevermind.). Lucky for me, I wasn’t going to be standing on the ladder for a long period of time and just needed it to reach the roof so my gutter was spared the indignity of being crushed beneath my weight. As I ascended the ladder further and it bowed even more, I finally reached a point where I could grab onto the front section of the roof (the part of the roof I was climbing was recessed from the main portion of the house) and use it to balance myself as I climbed the rest of the way up there.

Now, I had never been on my roof before. Come to think of it, I’m not sure that I’d ever been on any roof before. Needless to say, it was a little overwhelming at first due to both the lack of things to hold onto and the much steeper grade than I had anticipated. I had seen roofers just walking around on roofs like it was no big deal and thought that my experience up there would be similar. After all, I may not be the toughest guy around, but I have never really been hesitant about trying something after I’ve seen someone else do it and learned from their mistakes. The roofers didn’t have any problems so why should I?

I’ll tell you why.

I’m not a freaking roofer. I don’t have special roofer shoes that give me additional traction while up there (I really have no idea if such a thing as “roofer shoes” exist, but just go with me here). I also don’t have the experience of walking on multiple roofs over the years and learning the different balancing techniques that prevent you from falling and sliding down multiple shingles to near certain injury or death. I am just a man. A man who wanted to add a little holiday joy for his family and friends by putting some stinking lights up around his house. And now I was up on my roof, unable to stand up, but determined to finish the job that I had started.

As I began to maneuver my way around the section of roof that I was currently decorating, I began to get my footing a bit and realize what I could and couldn’t do. What I could do was hold on to the upper section of the roof for balance as I made my way towards the apex. What I could do was place the clips and the light in that section of the roof as I made my way up. What I could do was just jet the lights hang loose along the lower section which pretty much finished my small job up there. What I couldn’t do, however, was something that I had not really contemplated prior to getting up there. What I couldn’t do was a huge part of this whole process and without being able to do this I really couldn’t even finish the job. What I couldn’t do, was get down.

As I mentioned before I had placed the ladder against the gutter to prevent dings and dents to my aluminum siding. In doing so, I had extended the ladder quite a bit so that the ends would not be resting directly upon the gutter itself but instead would be high in the air. Now, while that worked on the way up on to the roof, it was proving to be quite an inconvenience on the way down. The way that it was currently set up I could not simply climb over the top of the ladder, but instead I had to turn around backwards to get back on the ladder so that I could climb down. The other option was to try and shimmy my way down the roof on my ass and try to maneuver my way around the side of the extended ladder without my weight pulling it towards me and both of us crashing into either a living room window, the burning bush which we had just planted, or the cold hard ground below me. I could have worked my way down the roof while holding onto the aforementioned front section like I had when I climbed up, but that too would involve turning myself around and I just did not see any good coming from that. I could also have jumped off the roof onto the grass below, but I have a fondness for my knees and would enjoy keeping my original ones for as long as humanly possible. As a result I did the only thing that seemed appropriate at the time.

I just sat there.

Carol’s mother was in town and the two of them had taken Ben shopping, otherwise I would have called for them to get their help in this situation. My neighbors whom I had borrowed the ladder from were also gone for the day so screaming for them (and it would have been screaming as I was on the opposite side of the house - and outside) was not even an option. I thought about possibly calling one of my buddies to come over and help, but a) I didn’t even have my phone on me, and b) I would have never EVER lived it down. As a result I just sat there.

I must have sat there for 10 to 15 minutes thinking of ways to get down. Ideally, somebody would walk by the house and I could call to them for assistance, but no one walked by. I also thought that maybe someone sitting at home might look out there window and see the doofus wearing the plaid flannel coat and the wool lined baseball hat with the ear flaps (I like to get into the spirit of things) sitting on top of his roof for an extended period of time and wonder if he needed any help, but that didn’t happen either. Eventually, after about 20 minutes, I decided that I really just had to take my chances.

The first few attempts at getting down did not go so well. I knew that I had to just suck it up, shimmy down the roof, get a foot on the ladder and take my chances of falling over, but I just couldn’t do it. I would position myself and make my way down, but would then second guess myself and climb back to the top of the roof. This probably went on for 10 minutes or so as I was still hoping that somebody might walk by and offer some assistance, but the assistance never came and I finally had to just suck it up and do it.

I began to motivate myself by telling myself how easy it was. I could do this. All of a sudden, I had motivational movie quotes going through my head: “Eye of the tiger, Scott. Eye of the tiger.” “Use the force, Scott.” “It puts the lotion on its skin.” Before I knew it, I had stood up, maneuvered my way down the roof, grabbed hold of that damn ladder and carefully swung myself around to where I was able to climb down. When I reached the ground I took a deep breath, looked around to see if anybody had witnessed the amazing act of bravery that had just occurred, and saw at least four different groups of people now walking their dogs down my street. Tardy bastards.

Well, eventually I finished the lights on my house and was pretty impressed with my work. For never having done it before, it actually looked like I knew what I was doing. The Christmas season came and went and, being the timely fellow that I am, I took the lights down on the last day of February. I never lit them after Christmas; I was just in no hurry to go out there in the cold to take them down.

But do you think I learned my lesson?

Of course not.

While I was generally pleased with what I had done last year, I was always a little bummed that I had missed the side of the house facing the driveway. The reason I didn’t do it was because it would have involved getting back on the roof right after I had worked my way down the first time. This year, however, I really wanted to decorate that portion also as I thought that it would really complete the feeling of holiday cheer that I was trying to spread. So first thing this past Sunday morning, I got out the extension ladder that my parents had gotten me for the prior Christmas and got my ass up on the roof. Again, it was steeper than I remembered and, with the exception of the chimney which leads to our nonexistent fireplace, I really had nothing to hold on to.

Despite this, I was able to easily add the lights to the frame of the roof by sliding on my belly on the way down and then clawing my way back up, but alas, when I was done I had the unenviable task of once again climbing down the ladder. I don’t know why I thought it would be any easier this time, but of course it wasn’t and I was left once again sitting on my roof looking for a savior. Again, I went over various options of how to maneuver my way back towards the ground and, again, none of them seemed like anything I wanted to do right then and there. Once again, I just sat there.

After about five minutes of contemplating my next move, I decided that I had no choice but to call for Carol (who I was smart enough to make sure was home this time around in case something like this occurred again). Just as I was about to call for Carol to come out and hold the ladder, my neighbor Nikki came home and I was able to call for her to come and rescue me. Still fearful about getting on the ladder as I was over concrete this time, I made the decision for her to move the ladder around the house to where I had my problems last year, but not before Carol had heard the commotion and had come outside so that they could both openly mock me. Eventually, I bear crawled my way across the length of the roof and was able to climb down after she placed the ladder against the house rather than the gutter at a 90 degree angle from me making it very easy for me to access the rungs with no fear involved at all.

What a novel concept. I’m gonna remember that for next year.

Who am I kidding.

No I won’t.

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Thanks for reading

Thankfulocity

It’s Thanksgiving and it’s time for me to sit back and ponder all of the things that I’m thankful for. Obviously family, friends, and gainful employment top that list, but I’m going to delve deeper in the dark recesses of my slightly warped and generally twisted mind to think of the things that make me thankful on a purely superficial basis. This list will never be complete because due to my childlike need for instant gratification, my wants, needs, and eternal search for temporary happiness changes by the day – if not by the hour. I will, however, attempt to compile as thorough a list (albeit in no particular order) as I possibly can in honor of this great holiday of ours.

I’m thankful for:

Snickers bars

Undercleavage

3 home run games in the Road to the Show mode of MLB 2010 The Show

Funderwear

No one giving a crap about Jon, Kate, or any of their plus 8 anymore.

Sporcle.com

Not having heard Adam Sandler’s Thanksgiving song yet this week

Hookers and coke (oh, wait. Nevermind. That’s on Charlie Sheen’s list)

Hookers

The first drink of Mt Dew of the day.

The Cardinals not making the playoffs

Junior Mints

Long hot showers on cold days

The rich guy from the DirecTV commercials when he kisses the miniature giraffe

Free porn

Fantasy sports

Lindsay Lohan’s successful rehabilit… I almost got that out without laughing.

Ice cold Stag

Reruns of “How I Met Your Mother”

Politically incorrect jokes (I have a new favorite)

Professional wrestling

Blowing your nose and having it empty out properly rather than having to dig in with a tissue covering your finger to get that one hanger-on so that you’re basically picking your nose but it’s “acceptable” because you’re doing it with protection.

The internet overlords not going through all of the websites on a regular basis and deleting those with low traffic

Side boobie

Finding “The Godfather” (1-2), “Shawshank Redemption,” “Training Day,” “Rocky” (1-4), “Goodfellas,” “Steel Magnolias,” and “Anchorman” on TV and not being able to do anything else until the movie is over.

Scotty time (and, no that has nothing to do with also being thankful for free porn)

Cereal

Waking up a few seconds before my alarm clock goes off so that I can turn it off before it starts to break into some random song that will be stuck in my head throughout my entire morning shower.

Wendy’s spicy chicken sandwich (2 please!)

Little chocolate donuts

Jack Black no longer being the “funny” guy in Hollywood

Hooters (the restaurant)

Hooters (the boobs)

The Blues and Rams playing well this year

Chocolate Chip anything

Freedom of speech so that the lady at Midas was able to freely ask me if I thought Larry King used Viagra to be able to “get his shit up” so that he could bang his money-grubbing wife.

YMP

Fleece in any and all forms. If I could take an actual live sheep and wrap it around my shoulders to keep me warm, I would name him Larry and do it in a second.

Chuckwagon!!!

Not being murdered about 12 years ago when my sister Melissa, my girlfriend Amie, and I went to Best Buy on Black Friday at 6:00 am to get my parents a DVD player and rather than wait in the long line I figured that I’d just wait around the entrance and walk directly in as soon as they opened the doors only to find out that a line of about 50-75 had soon formed behind me almost causing a riot between the people in the original line and the people who were in my line.

Circuit City being safely across the street.

Bristol Palin NOT winning DWTS

York Peppermint Patties

FX original series (between Always Sunny in Philadelphia, The League, and Archer I laugh at more inappropriate things than should be legally allowed)

Grandpa’s Thanksgiving dressing

Sneezing and having something chunky shoot out of your throat but because your eyes are closed when you sneeze you have no idea what it was or where it went. Those frantic couple of seconds following that sneeze are the best. The only thing that makes that situation better is when you can’t find it and you spend the rest of the day casually checking your clothing and surrounding furniture for anything out of the ordinary.

Bacon

Cee Lo Green’s “F*** You”

Plain ol’ regular cleavage

Maurizios all you can eat lunch buffet for $9.00 after I’ve been out drinking the night before.

Being dismissed from work early on days before holidays.

Southwest Airlines Wanna-Get-Away fares. I can buy a ticket for $59, go to the airport with no luggage, and wait in the TSA line where I can see naked women in the new x-ray scanners. As a bonus, after I get all worked up by the naked women I get felt up by security after I make it up there myself. It’s kind of like going to a strip club but much cleaner and much, much cheaper.

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At this point I have to share a joke. It’s not the politically incorrect one I mentioned above, but given my love/obsession with the topic, I thought you might enjoy it.

Did you hear that there’s a new shot called the Lindsay Lohan? It’s a red-headed slut mixed with a little bit of coke.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Thanks for reading

Every Day

I’ve been in a rock band

I’ve performed on the Muny stage in a production of Godspell

I’ve seen Pearl Jam in concert three times

I’ve sung “New York, New York” at three separate wedding receptions (including my own)

I’ve written numerous seldom-read blog entries about various aspects of my life

I’ve dated many wonderful women and successfully managed to not have all of them hate me when it was over

I’ve flown in private jets around the United States

I’ve set the single season RBI and hits records (so far) in MLB 2010 the Show on PS2

I’ve taken a girl (my eventual wife) to a Paul McCartney concert for our very first date

I’ve seen the St Louis Blues cap off an improbable comeback and clinch a playoff spot at home in the 2008-2009 NHL season

I’ve received numerous medals and honors for both playing the alto saxophone and singing solo and in groups in grade school music competitions

I’ve been elected to both Junior Class President and Student Council President while in high school

I drive a 1993 Buick LeSabre

I do a fantastic Shaggy impersonation (when drunk)

I’ve worked as an avon lady, trash boy, concession stand worker, video store employee, sales associate, lawn maintenance guy, waiter, meat carver, and various other part time jobs

I’ve worked as a payroll specialist, accounts receivable clerk, and a credit analyst on a full time basis

I’ve been a licensed massage therapist

I’ve drank enough beer and Mt Dew combined to fill a small lake (okay, a big lake)

I’ve been arrested, placed on probation, and eventually “forgiven” for my transgression

I can hear the first few notes of almost any song that’s not hip-hop, R&B, or country and can name it quicker than most people I know

I’ve graduated with a degree in English from an accredited University

I’ve peed next to Rick Edlund from News Channel 5 at a St. Louis Ambush game

I’ve been able to date girls way out of my league in terms of physical attractiveness due to my personality and charm (you may chuckle at this, but the evidence is irrefutable)

I’ve gotten a “thumbs up” from Ryne Sandberg in his last game ever at the old Busch Stadium

I’ve watched an estimated 2,600 hours of professional wrestling (probably more)

I’ve eaten my weight five times over in little chocolate donuts

I’ve run at least 3 pairs of boxer shorts up a high school flag pole

I’ve implemented new strategies and procedures at work

I’ve been on the prom court

I’ve won numerous radio contests based on my ability to quick-dial

I’ve been a Residential Advisor at my former college, guiding the paths of around 40 freshman

I’ve voted in every Presidential election since I turned 18

But I’ve never served my country

I’ve never had to devote years of my life to protecting others

I’ve never had to rely on food and water rations to make it through my day

I’ve never marched through the jungle, the desert, the mountains, or the beach with fear of being shot at from someone that I can’t even see

I’ve never had to point a weapon at another human being with the intent to shoot them for fear of being shot myself

I’ve never had to wait for the ringing in my ears caused by a nearby explosion to pass before I was able to hear what I had to do next to ensure my safety

I’ve never held my dying friend’s body in my arms waiting for help to arrive

I’ve never had to hope that my friend would do the same for me

And, I’ve never had to put my life on the line so that millions of people back home could live theirs without fear

To all of the Veterans out there, thank you. Thank you for your service, your selflessness, your bravery, your fear, your love of your country, and your willingness to fight for it. Thank you for being a symbol of hope, a pillar of strength, and a model of bravery. Thank you for being fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, grandfathers, great-grandfathers, cousins, uncles, brothers, sisters, and friends while you serve your country away from the very family that you love. And thank you for the freedom and the ability to do all of the things I listed above and more. For all that I’ve done and all that I’ll ever do, thank you.

Every day should be Veterans Day.

Good Vibrations

I may get in trouble for writing this one.

Back in the days when Carol and I first started dating, I was living at my buddy Chris’s condo in Bellevegas, IL. Carol and I had known each other since college, but had just recently reconnected and began dating. At this time, Carol was living with her sister and brother-in-law and their two children in a house in Shiloh and really didn’t have much privacy to speak of. As a result, any time that Carol and I wanted to be alone, we usually ended up over at my place.

After Carol and I had been dating for awhile, we realized that rather than have her driving home late at night after more than one cocktail had been imbibed, maybe she should just begin spending the night at my place. Being the gentlemen that I am, I of course offered her my bed while I slept on the couch downstairs, but Carol would have none of that and insisted that I sleep in my own bed. Seeing that it was a California king, there was little chance of us making contact with each other, much less even knowing that there was even someone in the same bed. Not wanting to upset my lovely new lady-friend, I hesitantly agreed to this proposed sleeping arrangement and our first sleep over was scheduled.

I should note here that this was not our first actual sleepover as we had once slept in the same bed in college. We were both dating other people and were very loyal to them, but a bunch of people had been watching a movie in my room and Carol and I had fallen asleep on my ground level mattress (yes, the one I later puked on via the Cheegle Incident). Being the good people that we are, we maintained our trustworthiness and slept back-to-back the entire night on a twin sized mattress. I have never had a worse night sleep in my entire life.

Anyway, when the time came to get ready for bed I went into the bathroom to change into my jammies and to wash up. When I came out Carol passed me in the hall with her overnight bag and said that she’d be back in a minute.

I didn’t really know what to expect at this point. Since we are both very moral and righteous individuals I assumed that if our relationship progressed to the next level that we would become husband and wife and consummate our relationship at that time. Now, I had heard stories of people doing that kind of thing prior to marriage and may have even engaged in that practice myself once or twice, but I knew Carol was a very morally upstanding girl so I figured that once she came to bed that we would turn the lights out and get a good night’s rest on opposite sides of the bed (after saying our prayers, of course).

But then I heard something.

I wasn’t sure what I heard, but I knew that I had never heard that sound come out of the bathroom before. Both Chris and I used that bathroom regularly and I had never seen anything in there that would emit such a sound. Curiosity left me no other choice but to get out of bed and move closer to the door to determine exactly what the noise was and as I got closer I froze in my tracks.

It was a buzzing noise. It was a buzzing noise that immediately set my mind adrift and my hormones in motion. It was buzzing as if something battery operated had been turned on and was being used in preparation for the night ahead.

HOLY SHIT! What kind of freak am I dating here? My mind immediately began to race as to what to do next. Was I ready for this? If she’s in there doing what I think she’s doing, am I going to know enough to make what I was pretty sure was going to happen next worth her while? Apparently she wasn’t the morally upstanding girl that I had previously credited her as being but instead was some sex crazed pervert who couldn’t even wait until she got to bed to get started. This was totally freaking me out – but in a good way. I had always dated nice girls and, a few interesting nights aside; everything had always been pretty “vanilla.” But this girl was freaky. This was going to be fun. REALLY fun.

As I hopped back into bed thinking of the incredible night that I was about to have with Grand Mistress Freakmaster and how we were going to keep Chris awake all night with the noise coming out of my bedroom, I heard the buzzing stop. I was really hoping that it was because the battery had died because if she was shameless enough to do that in the bathroom while knowing the entire time that I was able to hear, what would she want to do with it next? Would she want me to use it on her? Even scarier, would she want to use it on me? I was willing to be adventurous with my newly found sex fiend, but that seemed a little excessive, especially for our first excursion. But on the other hand, I really liked her and if it would make her happy I’d be willing to try anything once…

Luckily, before I was able to finish that train of thought and come to any type of decision on the possibility of her using that thing on me (pretty sure it would have been “no” – pretty sure) Carol emerged from the bathroom. Much to my relief, she did not run into the room holding a large vibrator in her hands with the intention of doing horrible things to my virginal rectum. Instead, what she was holding was a Sonicare electric toothbrush. I quickly let out a sigh of relief but, in that same breath, realized that I would in fact be going straight to bed that night. That was the second worse night of sleep I have ever had in my entire life.

That’s what I get for dating/marrying good girls.

Thanks for reading.

Couch Trip

My buddy Jeff has been the Warehouse Manager for a local furniture store for as long as I’ve known him. As a result, it is assumed amongst all of our friends and family that Jeff knows what he is doing when it comes to moving furniture in to, out of, and within houses. Time after time again throughout the years Jeff has proven us right in this assumption as he has captained the moving expeditions of almost all of us at one point or another, and some of us numerous times. He is so good and his knowledge is so well respected that his services have even been offered to and accepted by our families and friends of our families. The bottom line is, Jeff brings an expertise to the table that is unparalleled by anyone I know as he can fit the biggest piece of furniture into the smallest space possible all while making the job look easy. Every time I have ever doubted his abilities in doing so, he has proven me wrong.

There is one time, however, that I should have doubted him - and I would have been right.

In the winter of 2006/2007 Carol and I made the decision to buy new living room furniture. Because we were on a tight budget, we decided to forego the local furniture store that Jeff works for and simply go to a chain furniture store instead. Granted the quality of the furniture was not as nice as it would be had we gotten it at the local establishment, it was still a very nice set and we opted to have it delivered to our home after the three weeks that it would take to fill our order. During the three weeks in which we were waiting, Carol came up with a plan on how we could paint the living room a new colour and also add an accent wall which would really accentuate the new furniture and the new layout that she had envisioned.

Being the loyal husband that I am, I simply nodded my head because despite whatever protest I put forth, if Carol gets it in her mind to do a household project it is going to get done whether I like it or not. Additionally, Carol was about 5 months pregnant at the time and I was essentially scared shitless of her and her mood swings so whatever Carol wanted, Carol got.

While assessing our new living room situation, we were trying to determine what to do with the furniture that we already had in there. Luckily, it wasn’t very difficult because we really only had a zebra print chair that Carol had reupholstered back in the day and a Bassett couch that was, oddly enough, given to us by Jeff after he delivered brand new furniture to a customer who decided that they wanted him to take away this old couch. Now, when I say “old,” I mean it was only old to them. By all accounts, this was pretty much a brand new couch with no signs of wear and tear at all. It actually came with a matching loveseat, but Jeff gave that to our other friends Joe and Sasha for their basement as the set would not fit in either of our houses, but the individual pieces would work out perfectly.

We had gotten that couch in the house that we briefly rented on 11th St, and it had moved with us to our current house on 38th. I loved that couch as it was both very “nappable” and it’s deep beige tone would pretty much match any colour (yes, that’s the way I like to spell it) that we would ever want to paint the room that it was in. Unfortunately, after a few years in our houses and a few random parties that may have seen a few spills on it, the couch was now a little worse for wear and could definitely use a replacement. Hence, we bought the new furniture and it was determined that this couch was now going to go into the basement.

Upon my initial evaluation, I questioned whether or not the couch would actually be able to fit into the basement. First of all, we had the option of either moving it through the house or out the front door and around the house to the side door which was adjacent to the basement stairs. I was pretty sure that we couldn’t take it through the house as the amount of space we had available to turn it from the living room and into the kitchen was minimal but, knowing that I was no expert at this, I decided to consult Jeff.

Now Jeff has an amazing ability to recall pretty much any piece of furniture he’s ever moved and can also recall the floor plans of people’s houses just as well. Having moved this couch both into my old house, out of my old house, and into my new one, Jeff was very well aware of the dimensions of both the couch and my home. So, it was no surprise that when he said that moving the couch out the front door and around to the side door that I agreed with him. Jeff was the expert and I was the lackey who always ended up walking backwards when I helped him move. Jeff makes everyone walk backwards. In this realm, Jeff is king.

The night finally came for us to move the couch to the basement. Carol had an evening off work, Jeff was available, and our good friends Chris and Sarah had volunteered (a.k.a. been sucked in by the pathetic pleas of a pregnant woman whose husband almost flat out refuses to paint anything) to come over and help Carol paint the living room while Jeff and I moved the couch to the basement. Sure, I might have planned on helping with the painting when I was done with the couch, but I might have also planned on spending a lot of time in the basement rearranging things down there so that the couch didn’t offset the feng shui balance that I had going on down there (a.k.a. avoiding painting). Either way, my first priority was to move the couch.

Jeff came over after the suckers…I mean others…had already begun painting the living room and I was waiting patiently nearby. I tried to make myself look useful by bringing in lamps for better lighting and plastic and blankets to cover the floor, but I was really just doing anything that didn’t involved picking up a brush or a roller. I really, really hate painting. Anyway, when he got there we immediately took a look at the couch and went into the kitchen to size up the doorways and our options on getting it into the basement. It was obviously not going to make the turn from the kitchen door and down the basement steps because it was a ninety degree turn and we just didn’t have the room. So, like we had presupposed, our only option was to bring it in through the side door and turn it slightly so that it would go into the kitchen. From the kitchen we should be able to take it straight down the basement steps and be home free.

SHOULD be.

We went back to the living room, picked up the couch, and got it out of the front door with no problem whatsoever. Having moved quite a few pieces of furniture with Jeff over the years, I immediately turned around and started walking backwards (as I said, in this realm Jeff is king) towards the kitchen side door with Jeff on the other end of the couch. When we got there we set the couch down so that Jeff could assess the situation one more time.

Now, Jeff is one of the most confident people I’ve ever met. Given that, I should have questioned the look of concern on his face as he sized up our situation. But, having never really seen a look of doubt on his face before, I didn’t really recognize what it was and I assumed that maybe he was just gassy. Still, I had to ask him what was wrong and if he thought we couldn’t do this. I, myself was a little cautious as the couch was much longer and wider than I had envisioned (tape measures be damned) upon my initial assessment and I was beginning to question whether it was even possible to get it from the door and into the kitchen, much less get it from the kitchen to the basement. But, Jeff eyed it up again, said that we could do it, and all doubt was erased from my mind. Jeff knew what he was talking about.

As we picked up the couch and began moving it through the side door, we had a little bit of trouble getting it through the door frame. We were able to turn the couch so that it would fit, but even then it BARELY fit. Once part of the couch was inside the very small foyer area, our next trick was to shift it so that it could make the turn into the kitchen. Now, let me describe this foyer area for you. Coming straight in from the side door, it is no more than 5 feet from door to wall – and that may be generous. On the left is the doorway which leads to a staircase descending directly down towards the basement. On the right is about 3 feet of wall before you reach the opening for the kitchen. It is not a very big space, but one that Carol was very proud of. Oh, did I forget to mention that Carol spent a lot of time brushing coat after coat after coat of red paint on those walls to get it the exact color that she wanted to offset the kitchen that she also spent so much time painting to her exact specifications? That will be very important later in this story/debacle.

The couch was now mostly in the door and was pressed up against the far wall at the end of the foyer. We found this to be a necessary course of action as the more couch that was in the foyer, the more that we have available to us to turn into the kitchen. Unfortunately, when I tried to turn the couch I didn’t have much give. I turned and pulled a little harder and made some progress, but still not enough to make any major headway. I asked Jeff what he thought we should do and he suggested lifting my end up a bit in an order to “shorten” the couch. On his advice, I lifted up the couch and tried to turn it into the kitchen and was sort of successful, but not successful enough.

At this point, the couch was about 13% into the kitchen, 13% out the side door, and 74% in the foyer, at an angle, and lifted slightly upwards on my end with me holding on so that it didn’t scratch the wall anymore than I thought it already might have. We were sort of stuck but there were other options that we hadn’t tried yet to get this couch into the kitchen. While pondering these options, however, my arms began to get really tired from holding the couch and I decided that it might be best to just let it go and see if it would rest gently against the wall that it was wedged into. As I let it go I immediately regretted my decision as I could hear the plaster ripping off the corner of the wall as the weight of the couch pulled it towards the ground. I looked at Jeff and he looked back at me and we both knew that we were going to be in trouble for that one. I just wish that would have been the end of this ordeal.

After some discussion and more assurances that this could be done, we decided that we should lift my end of the couch up as high as it could go and see if we could turn the couch on its end within the foyer area and then lower it into the kitchen from there. As I pushed up on the couch with all of my might, I felt it rubbing against the walls the entire way. I knew that Carol was going to be mad, but I was so focused on getting this damn couch into the house that at that point I just didn’t care. Likewise, the forces of nature didn’t care that I wanted to get that couch into the house as eventually, I couldn’t move the couch upwards anymore and the ass end still was not completely in the foyer. In fact, we had pretty much wedged the couch in there and were able to let it go without fear of the couch going anywhere. It was stuck.

That is when Carol walked in.

Apparently, the sounds of two men cussing and grunting, furniture being drug along the ground, and the couch frame banging against and into the walls and doorframe are enough to attract the attention of a 5 month pregnant woman who takes a lot of pride in the way her kitchen looks. When she saw the predicament that we were in, she immediately noticed the walls. Now I knew about the aforementioned corner and the plaster that had been ripped off, but apparently in my efforts to wrangle the couch into the house, I had been oblivious to all of the other nicks and dings to pretty much everything in our path. I had anticipated slight damage, but not this. Needless to say, Carol was not happy.

I don’t remember what was said or if all communications were simply done through “the look,” but I knew that I was screwed and that Jeff and I had better get this fixed right away. My response was “I think the best thing to do is just to take the couch back outside, put it in the garage, and think of something else to do with it.” I don’t think Jeff was convinced yet that we couldn’t do it, but I knew at that point that one more scratch on the wall might result in an entire can of paint being shoved straight up my ass. I assured Carol that we had it under control and she left the room. The problem was, we had nothing under control.

Once Carol was gone we decided that, yes, we just needed to move the couch out of the foyer, take it back outside, and simply put it in the garage. Essentially, we had to swallow our pride. The only issue with that, however, is that when we tried to move the couch backwards, we couldn’t. We tried to move it this way and that but no matter where we went with it, it was stuck. We went over the methods that we used to get us in this predicament thinking that maybe if we just reversed our actions, then we could dislodge the couch and get it back outside.

Wrong.

No matter what we tried, that couch was stuck. Well, it wasn’t totally stuck, but anything that we would have to do to get it out of where it was at would cause even further damage to the already mangled foyer area – and that was not an option. At this point I was getting pissed (well, mostly scared of Preggo the Barbarian) and I just didn’t give a shit about the couch anymore. I didn’t even want it in my basement anymore and just wanted it out of the house. I suggested to Jeff that I should just go out to the garage, get an axe and that would be the end of our problems. He didn’t disagree, but was much more rational with his though process.

His solution was that we had already come this far in bringing it into the house, why don’t we just force it into the kitchen – walls be damned – and then try our luck with getting it downstairs. He even offered to bring patch kits and paint to fix up the foyer when we were done (as if Carol would even give us the option to NOT fix our handiwork). I decided that since the couch was definitely not going back outside and that an axe seemed a bit extreme, Jeff’s method was most likely the best so we pushed, pulled, pounded, and beat the shit out of that couch and the surrounding walls before finally maneuvering the couch into the kitchen – in one piece.

I should probably end the story here and continue it as a “part 2” later on as this there is still a lot more to this story and I’m already 5 pages in, but I really just can’t stop writing. The part of me that isn’t embarrassed by this story can’t stop laughing at the visuals that keep flying through my head of this night. So, I’ll keep going.

This was now our situation. We had finally gotten the couch into the kitchen, the walls and doorframe went scratched, dented, and flat out demolished in some spots, and in the living room were a pissed off pregnant woman and two friends who wanted desperately to laugh at our dumbassedness but who were probably scared to in fear of Carol turning her wrath towards them. The good news was that it was now pretty much a straight shot into the basement and we would be done. The bad news is that we hadn’t really planned on the basement door being narrower than any other god damned door frame ever known to man freaking kind!

I don’t think we even tried. We both looked at the doorframe, looked at the couch, looked at each other, looked back at the doorframe again, and sighed. Don’t get me wrong; it’s not an overly small doorframe, but having been through what we were just through, we were now intimately familiar with this couch and we knew that there was no chance in hell that it was going to work. Think in terms of Dirk Diggler encountering a virgin midget. Got it? That’s what we were facing.

We sat down on the couch and discussed our other options. First, as I suggested, we could just take an axe to the sonofabitch and take it out of the house one splintered piece at a time. Second, we could try and move it through our hallway which resembled the foyer in size in an attempt to take it out the back door and onto the deck. Or third, since it was already destroyed anyway, we could just force it back through the foyer and back out the kitchen door where it came in from.

We decided that the second option, though unlikely to work, was our best chance of saving any dignity whatsoever. The only problem with this (okay, one of the MANY problems) was that this route would be in direct view of the painting crew currently in my living room. That meant that any contact with the wall from me, Jeff, or the couch, would be met by the crazed stare of a soon-to-be violent pregnant wife. It also meant that any crazed stare would be back dropped by Chris and Sarah who were sure to be standing behind her mocking us in an attempt to get us to laugh, making Preggo the Destroyer even more irate.

Despite this definite no-win situation, we picked up the couch, tried to maneuver it into the hallway, bumped up against one wall, heard one deep sigh from Carol which non-verbally said “you better not f*cking ruin this wall too or I will place your nuts in a vice”, looked at each other in a state of panic, and backed right back up into the kitchen with the couch.

By now, we were out of options. Because of our collective inability to question Jeff’s expertise, Jeff and I were now facing a dire situation. Unless Carol wanted to have a full sized couch in the kitchen (which really didn’t match the motif) Jeff and I were going to have to figure out a way to get that couch out of there. At this point, I didn’t give a shit about that couch. I didn’t want it in my basement, I didn’t want it in my garage, and I DAMN sure didn’t want it in my kitchen. All of our exits were blocked off and we really only had one option. It was an option I had suggested before but was simply laughed off at the time as being too extreme. But, this had now turned into an extreme situation and I was left with no choice.

I went out to the garage and got the axe.

Before I was able to take the first swing Carol, Chris, and Sarah all came in to the kitchen to laugh at us for being idiots. We would have argued, but seeing as there was a couch in my kitchen with no way for it to get out, we had nothing to fight back with. That is when Carol saw the axe.

I quickly had to explain that we really had no other option. I reminded her of the wall, which she looked at in disdain (can I be any dumber? Oh just wait: yes I can.), and told her that unless we wanted to do more of the same, the couch had to die right here in this kitchen. Now, had we not been getting new furniture within the next week and had this couch not been free I think she would have protested a little more, but seeing as we were literally losing nothing but a spare couch in the basement, she gave in. She wasn’t happy – at all – but she gave in.

The three of them left the room and the only things remaining in the kitchen were Jeff, me, the couch, and the axe. Being the safe, calculating people that we are we took the cushions off the couch first and threw them outside because God forbid we ruin those freaking things. Anyway, I took the first swing and laid right into the framework of that couch. A few more abbreviated swings later (there’s just no room in a kitchen for a full axe swing – they should design those things better) and I had lain to waste the major structure of the couch. Jeff wanted to take a few get-out-the-aggression hacks and he beat the hell out of it as well. Finally, we were down to a manageable pile of wood, fabric, springs, and stuffing that we could deal with.

Now, have you ever noticed that when you do something stupid you sometimes don’t smarten up right away and continue to do more and more stupid things? Well, Carol was already mad about the walls and she was also mad about the couch being destroyed. As if that wasn’t enough, I figured why not add on to it? She’s only five months pregnant. How mad can a hormonally imbalanced person get?

I was about to find out.

Even though Jeff and I had destroyed the framework of the couch, the fabric was still stapled onto it making it almost impossible to carry outside. What we needed to do was rip the fabric away from the framework and into separate pieces so that we could carry the sad remains of this once proud piece of furniture out to the garbage. Now, I simply could have gone outside to my garage and into my workshop and found something, anything that would have been sufficient, but that was just too easy. Something in my brain was telling me “be stupid, be lazy, you won’t get caught, she’s busy painting.” And, like most times in my life, I listened to that voice. I found something in the kitchen that would work just as well.

Needless to say, Carol eventually came into the kitchen to find me huddled over a pile of wood and fabric, holding nothing other than one our steak knives which we had received as a wedding present to stab and then rip apart pieces of fabric on the couch. To make matters worse, when she asked me if I was using it to rip apart the fabric I lied and told her “no.” Right to her face. While I was holding the knife in my hand. AND I WAS COMPLETELY SOBER!!!!! She still brings this up to me…

To make a very long story just a wee bit shorter, we eventually got the couch apart (with the help of the steak knife once Carol left the room again.HAH! Never knew that, did ya, Carol?) and took the sad remains outside. Jeff went directly to the basement and just sat in the dark. I’m not sure that he had ever been wrong about a piece of furniture before and I’m not sure that he’s been wrong about one ever since. As a result, this hit him pretty hard and he pouted in the basement for a good long while before coming back upstairs to face Carol.

Pregnancy hormones being what they are, Carol had calmed down considerably by this point and was putting the finishing touches on the living room walls. Chris and Sarah quickly said their goodbyes for fear of the Babybeast being awoken again and Jeff left with promises of returning to help me fix the walls that we destroyed. Carol even helped take the final pieces of the couch out to the garbage can and was okay with it enough to even take a picture of me lying on the still-intact cushions while pretending to sleep.

So, what did I learn from this experience? Was it to always question Jeff when it comes to furniture type things? No, he has proven his worth time and time again for both me and my family and we are all grateful for his help. So, if that wasn’t it, shouldn’t there be something? Shouldn’t I have taken some lesson away from this utter failure on all accounts? Shouldn’t I have learned something? Anything?

Nope.

Thanks for reading.

Voting For Dummies

First of all, I want to apologize to anyone who was offended at the lack of humor in last weeks blog "Cuts Like a Knife." I'm SORRY that I wrote something that wasn't humorous or funny. I'm SORRY if I tried to show a little versatility in my ever blossoming writing style. I'm SORRY that it didn't involve Ben, drinking, farting, puking, enormous genitalia, or any humliation on my behalf From now on, I promise to stick with the insanely idiotic crap that you're used to. Jerks.

Anyway...

Seeing as today is Election Day across this great nation of ours, I thought I would take this time to tell a little tale of my brief foray into the political forum.

Sometime during my sophomore year of high school, I became aware that student council elections were approaching and, despite the fact that I had only a small close-knit group of friends, decided that I should run for Junior Class President. I had no idea why I decided to run, nor did I have any inclination as to why I thought that I might win. And I really don’t know why if I wanted to run for office that I didn’t just go for something like class representative. Why go for the whole enchilada? What I did know is that it sounded like something fun to do at the time so I submitted my name and began the campaign process.

Now, I would never have the audacity to call myself shy, but I have always been what I like to refer to as “reserved” in situations where not everybody around is familiar with me and my sense of humor. Inevitably in any social situation, I will say something that I find funny but usually ends up in blank stares focused in my direction. As a result, I usually keep my mouth shut right away until I’m ready for such a reaction. This was especially true in high school where I always had feelings of not being good enough and sometimes just not fitting in. All of that eventually changed and as I got older (after the horrific acne cleared up) and I became very comfortable in my skin, but at this point in my life I was really unsure of my exact place in the Althoff Catholic High School hierarchy. I was always polite to people as I hadn’t yet fully developed the sarcastic wit that I pride myself on today and, as far as I knew, I didn’t have any enemies currently plotting my demise. But, outside of a few close friends, not a lot of people had really seen the Scott Hopfinger that I was.

That was all about to change.

When I began campaigning, I did it with little more than a few posters and some stickers for people to wear on their shirts, backpacks, or even affix to the bathroom walls. I don’t remember ever really “campaigning” as there were really no issues at stake, but I also don’t remember ever really trying to sway people’s vote in my direction. For the most part, I just remained sweet, polite self and relied on great friends like Chris and Donnie (and many others that know who they are and to whom I am eternally grateful) to shamelessly spread the word about me as a candidate. Eventually, I saw a lot of people wearing my stickers and was taken aback at the amount of support that I was being shown. Despite that, however, I was running against a few people that were far more popular than I was and I knew I needed to step up the efforts. It was time to be goofy.

I don’t know how or when the idea struck me, or even why I thought that it would be a good idea. For some reason, however, I went home one night, got a piece of poster board and a few markers, sat down at our living room coffee table, and began making a sign. I believe I used alternating colors of blue and hot pink for every other word and at the bottom of the poster I taped a picture of my dog. I’m not sure of the exact wording either, but this is either very close or spot on. It read:

“Do you know that saying every dog has its day? Well, the other
day I was talking to my dog (trust me) and he said ‘do you know
what Scott? It would really make my day if you were elected
Junior Class President.’ So please, help make my dog’s day and
vote for me, Scott Hopfinger, for Junior Class President”
{Picture of my dog with
the Label “My Dog”}

It wasn’t the wittiest of posters, nor was it even that outwardly funny. What it was, though, was a declaration of my stupid sense of humor. This is the kind of stuff that goes through my brain on a daily basis and I was finally ready to share it with others. Of course, those of you that regularly read my blog might think of that as the official beginning of the lunacy, but I don’t care. If I kept all of this crazy inside of me I just might end up in a little white room with padded walls. It’s best that I get it out of me in this fashion.

Anyway, I walked into school the next day and hung it on the second floor where the majority of the sophomore students had their lockers. By that afternoon, I had received a TON of positive feedback on it and actually saw people stop to read it and then walk away laughing. I even remember a couple of people walking away smiling while shaking their heads and saying “Hopfinger…” I’m not sure if that got me any additional votes, but I do know that when the polls were closed later that week, I had won the election and was elected Junior Class President.

After that, I was off and running with my idiocy. I now felt free to be more of myself and actually started feeling a lot better about who I was. One outcome of that, however, is that I kind of busted out of my shell and became a lot closer to the guy I am today, but you’ve already read some of those stories and some more are still to come. Some, however, I just can’t share. My mother reads this blog for Christ's sake. Maybe someday I’ll need to make a “Peach Pit After Dark” version of my blog where all of the really nasty stuff comes out. Maybe.

Probably not.

Thanks for reading.