Posted by: kerryannekay | March 2, 2018

The Washer Machine is Dead – Part 5

“I need a new washer machine,” I said to the lady at the fourth store I visited.

“I would be more than happy to help you,” Barb, the sales lady, said back to me.  “What type do you want?”

“A top loader,” I said plainly.  I then added, “That one…” as I pointed at the washer I wanted.

“Oh,” Barb exclaimed in surprise “That was a quick decision.”

“Yes,” I sighed, “I’ve been to three stores now.  You’re the fourth… I wasn’t impressed.” I casually explained.

“Oh?” Barb asked as she lead me over to her ‘desk’ in the middle of the department.

“Well, at the first store, the lady almost passed out,” I explained.

“Almost passed out?” Barb asked as she stopped typing on her computer.

“Yeah,” I said, “She had the flu or something and misunderstood what I told her.  She thought I had drowned my pets in the washer machine…”

“Ugh,” Barb remarked in sympathy.  “What kind of sick mind…” she started then stopped mid-sentence.

“The clerk at the second store told me that I should consult my husband before making such a large purchase,” I explained.

“Oh, my,” Barb remarked in clear disgust, “Like you can’t make those decisions for the house by yourself!  How did you react?”

“Well,” I sighed, “I told him that I didn’t need anyone else to tell me that clearly he didn’t deserve my commission…”

“True,” Barb sympathized with me.

“And the last store I was at was the same thing… Big macho guy telling me that I don’t know how to pick out a washer, giving me bad advice, asking about my husband, pointing me towards more machine than I need, you know, typical big box improvement store machismo,” I explained.

“Oh, I hate that,” Barb sympathized, “Like I can’t fix a sink just as well as they can!”

“I’m sure you can fix it better,” I assured her.

“I can.  And I do,” she added, “My caulk jobs are always neater than theirs.”

“I’d hire you on that alone,” I reassured her.

“Guys can never handle their caulk well,” she added.

“Well,” I muttered under my breath, “I know a couple that can…”

“We are still talking about repairs, right?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” I sly said.

Barb turned bright red and continued to type on her computer. “Uhh,” she said clearing her throat, “Will we be disposing of the old machine?”

“Yes.  It’s dead.  There may still be some water in it.  It died mid-wash,” I explained.  It may have some… left over wash stuff in it…”

“Left over?” she was clearly puzzled, “Like what?”

“Okay, I do a lot of pet laundry,” I started.

“Yes,” she said giving me a look.

“It’s all used towels,” I continued.  Barb nodded her head.  “That’s what killed the machine…the towels…”

“So, did you remove the towels?” Barb asked.

“Of course,” I said.

“Then what’s in there?” she hesitantly asked.

“Some of Fred and Lamont’s poop,” I said.  Her reaction to my statement was totally unexpected.

“Wait!” she let out, “You’re Fred and Lamont’s mom?!?! Oh my goodness!  Can I, oh my goodness!  I totally saw what those two did to your washer machine!  I mean, I totally saw that video on line!  Those bad boys!”

“Okay, yes, I’m Fred and Lamont’s mom,” I agreed.

“This machine will be able to handle them… er, their laundry.  Wow, those two can poop!” she excitedly told me.  She began typing on the computer.

“Uhmm?” I asked, “Is this a good machine I’m buying?  I mean, I think that’s what you said…”

“Oh, yea,” she exclaimed, “This is a great machine!  Can I have your address?”

“No,” I told her.

“How are supposed to know where to deliver it?” she asked me.

“OH, oh, ohhhh,” I let out, “Sure, sure…” I gave my address to her.

“Did you think I was going to stalk you?” Barb giggled.

“No, urhhh, perhaps,” I shyly admitted.

We talked about the boys for about a half an hour, I paid, and said my goodbyes.  As I was walking out she asked, “Oooo, oooo, does this mean I’m going to be famous?”

“Uhh,” I replied, “Define famous…” I asked with a giggle.

“In a blog?” she asked.

“Oh, yea,” I said turning away, “Those comments about caulk are priceless…”

My washer machine was delivered about two weeks ago.  I think I have managed to wash everything in the house three or four times.  It does an awesome job on the boys’ towels.  Don’t worry, I got the extended warranty; after all, we are talking about Fred and Lamont here… – KA

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Posted by: kerryannekay | February 23, 2018

The Washer Machine is Dead – Part 4

“Boys?” I called upstairs, not expecting a response, “I’m going out to shop for a washer.  Behave yourselves.”  I heard one of the guinea pigs rumble.  “Behave!” I commanded and grabbed my keys from the hooks.  There was silence.  ‘Good,’ I thought, ‘I hope they don’t make a mess…’ also came to mind.  Oh, the joys of living with two crazy guinea pigs.  I was off.

I had done a bunch of research before I walked into a store.  I had four machines in mind:  two top-loaders and two front-loaders.  As I stood at the first machine on my list a sales lady approached me.  “Hello! I’m Tara!” she said in a cheery voice, “May I help you with anything?”

“Yes,” I turned and smiled at her, “I have some questions about four washers.”

“Sure,” Tara smiled back, “I can help you with all of your questions.  Is this the first washer you have a question about?”

“Yes,” I acknowledged, “It’s a top-loader, obviously.  My guinea pigs killed my last top-loader.”

“Whaaa…” Tara got out before turning sheet white.  I thought that she was going to pass out.

“Are you okay? Oh, my goodness,” I said grabbing her arm to make sure that she wouldn’t fall over.  “Here, lean on me,” I said as I took some of her weight and began to frantically look around for some of her fellow employees.  A male employee walked out from the refrigerator section.  I frantically waved at the other employee and yelled, “I need some help here.”  He trotted over and saw the situation.

“Let me get a chair,” he said breathlessly.  The employee quickly returned with a rolling chair.

“That’s a temporary solution,” I told him.  I looked up and read his name tag.  We helped Tara sit down in the chair.  “Mike,” I explained, “Putting someone on a rolling chair that’s unstable already isn’t a good idea…  Go get someone that has medical training and water.”  As he got on his phone and went to get another chair.  “And get a cold wet cloth,” I yelled at his back.

“Tara?” I asked still holding her arm, “How are you feeling?  What’s going on?”

“I don’t feel well,” she sighed, “I just can’t imagine killing guinea pigs in a washer machine…”

“What?” I said sharply, then corrected my tone.  “Okay, sweetheart, your obviously not doing too well.  I’ve got help on the way okay?”  I looked up and saw three employees sprinting at us.

“Look, they are almost here,” I assured her.

The manager took over.  “Tara,” he said, “tell me what’s going on.  How do you feel?”

Another manager pulled me aside and asked me what had happened.  “I was asking about the washer,” I explained and pointed at the washer machine, “I explained to her that my last machine had died from my guinea pigs and before I could tell her what I wanted in a machine she started to pass out…”

A person carrying a medical bag arrived and the other manager walked over to us.  “She’s mumbling something about killing guinea pigs in a washer machine,” the manager explained to me.  “Do you have any idea what’s she talking about?”

“I don’t kno…” I stopped mid word.  I felt a hot flush come over me.

“Ma’am?” the manager said grabbing my arm, “Are you okay? You just went bright red.”

“Ye-esss,” I spit out.  My mind had just put together a possible explanation for the situation.  I didn’t like it.  “I just need some air,” I explained.  The manager took my arm and started to lead me towards the front of the store.  “This is a stressful situation,” I explained.  I added, “I’ve not been feeling that well as of lately.”

“We have an ambulance on the way for Tara to check her out… we can have them look at you,” he offered.

“No, no,” I replied, “just air.”  As we got outside, I felt a rush of cool air on my face.  It helped dissipate some of the heat of the situation out of me.

“You already look better,” the manager told me.

“I’m good,” I said, “I’ll wait in my car for a few minutes if I still don’t feel well.  If it’s bad I’ll come back in… okay?”

“Great,” he smiled, “I’m sorry about this whole situation.” He was so nice to me and genuinely concerned about me.

I walked back to my car as the ambulance pulled up to the store.  As I sat in my car I reflected on what had happed.  ‘Crap,’ I thought, ‘I was that whole situation was my fault?  Did that lady think that I had killed my guinea pigs in my washer machine?’ I started the car and sighed.  ‘Did my choice of words cause the misunderstanding? Or was she ill and happened to have an incident in front of me?’ I just didn’t know.  What I did know is that I needed to get back to my boys and give them a big hug.  I also knew that shopping for a washer machine was going to be a hard task.  I tried again the next day…but that’s next week’s blog.  – KA

Posted by: kerryannekay | February 15, 2018

The Washer Machine is Dead – Part 3

I let a whole week pass before calling the warranty company that I have contracted for my house.  I went through the electronic menu.  “Press 1 to place or check on a claim.” “1.” “Press 2 if this is for an existing claim.” “2.”  “Will you answer survey questions?” “No.”

Then the apologies and soothing music started.  “We apologize for the extended wait time…. Please stay on the line…. Your business is important to us…”  Blaaa, blaaa, blaaa, blaaa….  If my ‘business’ was sooo important to them, why didn’t they answer the phone right away?  Seriously.

After thirty minutes, a lady’s voice came over the phone.  “Ello,” the high pitched, nasal voice bit my ear, “This is Vivian.  To who do I have thee pleasure of talking to-night?”  Her accent was a cross between southern twang and British.  She drew out words like ‘the’ and turned them into ‘thee’ and turned other two syllable words into two words.

It took me a moment but I responded, “This is Kerry Anne.”

“Ello, Karen,” she replied back.

“Kerry Anne,” I repeated.

“Yeees, Karen,” she confirmed.  *sigh* This is a common problem with my name.  No matter how many time I say it or how well I enunciate it, people call me Karen.  They can’t believe that a parent would torture a kid with two first names.  Or that the whole thing is my first name and that no, no, no I don’t have a middle name.  Again, *sigh*.  I knew this was going to be a difficult conversation.

“Uh, I’m calling about the washer that your company was out to fix and didn’t…” I tried to explain.

“Wel-el, I’m soo sor-ray that our repairs on your washer didn’t work,” she apologized and began to furiously typing on her computer.

“No, ma’am, you don’t understand,” I clarified, “your guy was here and count’ fix the washer.  Your company denied the claim… it was too much… something to the excess of $450.”

“Oh,” she sighed, “I see.  Let me look at the notes.”  I was abruptly put on hold.  There was no “please hold” or “excuse me”.  Cheesy elevator music rang in my ear.

“Lovely,” I sighed.

Five minutes later Vivian came back on the line.  “Karen?” she asked me to ensure I was still on the line.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” I said plainly.

“Uh, I have a quick question for yu,” she informed me.

“Okay,” I replied.

“Thee technician noted that he found, uh, uh, well, fecal matter in thee machine and that it may have been abused.  What can you tell mee about that sit-u-at-ion?” she asked.

“Fecal matter?” I questioned.  Then I remembered Fred and Lamont.  “No, just a bit of guinea pig poop.” I added.

“Guin-nea pig poop?” she asked.

“Yes, I was washing my pets’ towels and that’s when the bottom of the machine fell out,” I explained.  I then added, “What’s that got to do with the drive of the machine falling out?”

“Well, he said that there was a-lot of fecal matter in there,” she tried to explain.

“No,” I quickly corrected, “No, he exaggerating.  There were like three or four beans in there.  I must of not gotten them off when I shook off the towels.”

“Oh,” she said furiously typing.  “We don’t honor repairs that come from the abuse of the machine.  We have a strict…”

I interrupted her, “Lady, what do you do if a washer machine breaks when a baby’s cloth dippers are in there?  And those cloth dippers happen to be full of poop?  Have you ever seen or smelled what babies can put out? Trust me, a few beans of guinea pig poop are mostly likely one of the least dirty things your technicians have found in a broken washer machine…. Besides what does that have to do with the drive falling out of the bottom?”

“Phe-lease hold,” was all I got in response.

“Wait!” I got out but was greeted with elevator music as a response.  “Vivian?” I asked the music.  Of course, there was no response.

Ten minutes later, Vivian was back on the line, “Kerry Anne?” she asked.

“Yes, that’s me,” I responded trying not to sound too annoyed.  “I’m still here…”

“I have talked with mey manager, she agrees with your position.  Your claim will bee processed.  Your washer is not lon-ger serviceable.  Call us back in a-bout two weeks to check on your request,” her cold nature was like a slap in the face.  She added, “Do you have any other questions?”

“No,” I said.

Vivian hung up the phone on me.  Clearly the conversation with her manager didn’t go her way.  “Well,” I said to the dead phone.

I walked upstairs to see the boys and inform them of their most recent accomplishment.  “Fred and Lamont!” I called when I got into the bedroom.  “Guess what?” I asked them as I walked up to the cage.  Fred stuck his noise up in the air and sniffed at me.  “You two have managed to kill the washer machine, officially!” I giggled.

I clicked and called the boys over to me.  I gave them both treat.  “I think you are up to five appliances now,” I cooed at them.  “Who are my good boys?” I asked.  I wasn’t even upset that the washer machine was dead.  I just felt proud that my two-pound furry menaces had taken out a 300+ pound machine.  – KA

Posted by: kerryannekay | February 9, 2018

The Washing Machine is Dead – Part 2

At exactly 5:05 pm my doorbell rang.  It was the Sears dude.  He greeted me in a professional manner.  After the obligatory greeting I joked, “This way to the patient, doctor…”

The technician laughed at me and played along with, “I’ve heard the patient is very sick.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “Critical if not worse.”

“I’ll fix it,” he said with pure confidence.

“Uh-huh,” I replied.  I opened the door off of the kitchen and stepped out of the way.  “The thing took me for a ride.  That’s why its sitting here all off kilter.  Damn thing almost killed me.”

“Alright,” the technician said with heavy skepticism.  He deftly pulled off the front cover of the machine, got down on the floor, and used a flashlight to look into the depth of the.  “Uh-huh,” he sighed at his view.  “Well, there is your problem,” he told me, “the load-shifter box and the gear box are open and hanging out.”

“That’s not good,” was all I could think of as a reply.

“And,” he continued, “it looks like they stripped some wires and pulled out others.”  The technician stood up and heavily sighed.  He turned and asked me, “What exactly were you washing in this thing?”

“Towels!” I blurted out a bit too quickly.  I added, “Just towels.  My guinea pigs use towel; all I had was their towels in there.”

The technician jostled the basket.  “What’s this?” he asked reaching into basket.

“Wait?” I blurted, “if its…” but I didn’t get the rest of the statement out.

“Is this poop?” he asked holding several beans in his hand.

“Yes, I must have missed it when I pulled the towels out,” I explained.

“Ugh,” the technician said dropping the beans back into the washer.  “May I wash my hands in your sink?”

“Y-yes,” I stuttered, “U-uh, I’m sorry about that… It almost always dissolves and gets washed down the drain…the cycle didn’t have a chance to finish.”

“It’s fine,” he assured me, “I’ve grabbed worse out of machines; I’ve just learned to wash my hands after touching them.  May I sit at your table and write up these repairs?”

“Sure,” I said and then asked, “May I get you something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he replied, “this won’t take long.”

“Uh-ohhh,” I sighed and sat down across from the table from him.

Several minutes later his portable printer buzzed and began to print an endless receipt.  “Here you go,” the technician said handing me the paper.

“$450?!?” I blurted out.  “I can buy a new machine for that!”

“Yeup,” technician agreed.  “The warranty company denied the claim.”

“Whaaa,” I spit out.

“Call them in a couple of days.  They will tell you what they want to do,” he informed me while getting up.

“That’s it?” I asked not believing what I was hearing.

“Yeup,” the technician held out his hand and said, “Don’t call us, we will call you…” and left.

I was left standing at my door feeling confused and a bit more ill.  I had no washer and no resolution to get a new one.  What was I supposed to do?  Well, that’s the next blog.  I’ll tell you about ‘the’ phone call and my shopping trip.  – KA

Posted by: kerryannekay | February 2, 2018

The Washing Machine is Dead. – Part 1

I took a half sick day on Wednesday as I was not feeling well.  I went home and decided to put the boys’ laundry before I laid down for a nap.  The laundry started and I laid down on the couch.  I quickly closed my eyes and started to drift off.  A mechanical screeching noise jolted me from repose.

“What the hell is that?” I gasped as I sat bolt upright.

“Scrreeeee, screeee, scree, screeeee, scree,” the washer machine yelled back at me.

“Oh, no,” I sighed suddenly realizing that the washing machine was attempting to commit hara kiri.

“Hold on!” I yelled throwing the cover off of me, “If you’re going to do it, don’t take the boys’ towels with you…” I jogged over to the machine and held down the pause/stop button.  It didn’t work.  Out of sheer panic or spite, the agitator picked up its pace the moment I hit the button.

“Srcee, Scree, Scree, Scree, Scree,” the machine protested to my ‘turn off’ request.

“NO!” I scolded the machine.  “Turn off!”  I demanded.

It refused.

The machine went into its death throws.  The whole thing started to rock back and forth.  “STOP!” I screeched jamming the button that was supposed to cut the power.  “STAAAAPHHH!” I demanded.  Again the washer machine refused to die.  I attempted to hit the stop button but missed and got nothing but air as the machine began to twist and writhe more violently.

“Damn you!” I hissed at the machine as I threw myself on top of it to stop its fit.  The machine began to buck like as if I was a cowgirl attempting to stay on for 8 seconds.  “AUHHHH!” I yelled grabbing the back of the machine with one hand and trying to punch the button with the other.

I was bucked several time violently and almost thrown.  I gave up and went to the throat of the beast…I mean the power cord.  I grabbed and missed the first time as I was bounced off the lid of the washing machine.  It opened and made a large metallic thud.  “You Son of a Monkey’s Uncle!” I cursed at the machine.  I reached out and grabbed air.

The machine bucked to the right and I went left.  I managed to reach forward for the cord and hit the GIF test button.  The plug made a loud click and the machine settle with a louder thud milliseconds later.

I was left gasping for breath sprawled on the top of the machine.  “See,” I let out, “See,” I tried again, “See? When I tell you to stop,” I exhaled while sliding down off of the machine, “You stop!”

That’s when I felt the cold wet, floor beneath my feet.  I looked down and saw the small flood forming under the machine.  “Seriously?  You had to pee on the floor too?” I asked the dead machine.

I moved the extra equipment out of the closet and unplugged the machine.  “Stupid machine,” I sighed as I reset the GFI.  I quickly cleaned up the mess on the floor and transferred the wet towels to the sink to drain using a large bucket.

My next task was to get on the phone with the home warranty company.  After five minutes of loud protest, the poor women on the other side of the phone began to type furiously.  “Hey, how about that…” she sighed.

“What?” I asked.

“There’s one of our technicians about 15 minutes away and you’re on the way to his next job.  He can spare a quick visit to diagnose your machine…  Does that work?” she asked me.

“Sure,” I replied in surprise then asked, “When?”

I heard typing and then she replied, “About 5:00 pm.  Is that good?”

“Yes!” I happily replied.

I took a short nap and left for the doctor’s.  I returned to my house at about 3:30 pm and napped on the couch.  At 5:05 pm sharp, my doorbell rang.  It was the technician…  But that’s part two of the story…

Posted by: kerryannekay | January 12, 2018

An Update and A House Story

Well, it’s been a cold couple of weeks.  Yeup.  Fred and Lamont have gone into hibernation mode.  They are not coming out until temperatures stabilize at 60F, outside.  I’ve removed their outer fence to give them some freedom.  Nope.  They come out of the covers to eat, drink, and use the bathroom.  I keep the bedroom at a nice 70F.  They have a supplemental heater in that room.  They are warm, well-fed, and well-loved.  So, I don’t know what their issues are…spoiled brats.

On another note, I’m working on updating my second blog page.  I only have two things on it.  I’ve decided to publish stories that don’t relate to Fred and Lamont on that page.  I find that I have lots of stories that I would like to share but they don’t belong on “Cavy Adventures”.  So, I’m going to put those on the other page and see what happens.  Don’t worry, I’ll share those with you and I’m NOT getting rid of CA.  I’m just expanding my possibilities…  For example:

 

On Monday of this week, our students were dismissed from school early for the bad weather.  The kids left at 11:30 am.  I was able to leave at 2:00 pm.  It took me some extra time to drive home as the roads were getting icy.

When I got home, I slid down the sidewalk to my front door.  After putting my stuff down, I got out the salt and salted the front walk.  My phone started to ring.  It was Barry, my next door neighbor.  I turned and looked at his house, “Yes, Barry,” I answered, “You know it’s creepy when iyou spy on me from your house…”

“I’m not spying,” he snorted, “I wanted to tell you that your house blew up this morning.”

I turned and looked at my intact, fully-functioning, and definitely not blown up house.  “Uhhhhhh,” was all I got out.

Larry continued, “You know I leave the house early…”

“Uh-huh,” I agreed as I quickly returned to my house to confirm its un-blown-up status.

“Well, I heard something go off!” he explained and added, “BOOM!” for emphasis.

“Okay,” I said as I started pulling open doors on the first floor to see if indeed ALL parts of the house remained in tack and not blown up.  Call me paranoid but I thought I should check it out just be sure I hadn’t missed a gaping hole or a missing bedroom. I had paid for a 3 bedroom house and wasn’t planning on downgrading to a 2 bedroom at the same price…just saying.

“Yeah,” breathlessly went on, “Then there was like three or four more… boom, boom, boom, boom!”

“That’s not good,” I replied trying to keep the panic out of my voice.  “Are you sure it wasn’t the trucking company across the road?”  I finished checking the downstairs and then went to go upstairs.

“NO,” he replied without hesitation, “It was your storage closet… Stuff blew up in there.”

“Okay,” I said as I turned around in the middle of climbing the stairs and headed out toward the alleged location of the disaster.  I grabbed my keys on the way out the back door.  “Uhhh, Barry?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“If you thought my house blew up and you heard it blow up,” I asked while opening the storage area, “Why didn’t you just call me this morning…  That’s kinda important information for me to know…”

“Oh,” he sighed, “I didn’t want to wake you up… it was early.”

“Oh, of course not,” I replied with as much sarcasm as I could muster through my growing panic.  “Hold on,” I commanded.  I frantically searched through the porch storage area for potential signs of damage.  Everything was in its proper place.  I got back on my phone.  “There’s nothing here,” I told him.  I added, “Hold on, let me check the shed…”

I jogged the short distance over to the shed thinking the worse as I approached.  Again, it seemed normal.  I unlocked the door and opened it.  There was nothing wrong there.

“Barry,” I sighed, “I think you may have heard something from the highway…”

“I didn’t! I have great hearing!” he defensively responded, “Your house blew up!”

“Okay,” I sighed, “Can you please stop saying ‘your house blew up’, please?”

“Well…” he started.

“NO!” I cut him off, “I can’t find anything wrong.  And if you keep saying that, you’re going to curse me and my house!  STOP IT!”

“Okay, fine,” he agreed.  “So, call me back when you figure out how your house blew up.  Bye.” He hung up the phone completely oblivious the fact that he had just tried to curse me and the house again.

“Darn-it,” I said to the dead phone.  This started an hour long search of the house for whatever had ‘blown up’.  I didn’t find anything.  I was exhausted and laid down on the couch for a quick nap.

An hour later I got a call.  It was Barry again.  “Kay?” he asked me.

“Yeah,” I yawned.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

“No,” I yawned again, “I was watching television with my eyes closed.”

Barry didn’t get my sarcasm.  “I figured out what blew up!” he proudly declared.
“Uh-huh” I sighed.

“It was my house!” he told me with a bit too much excitement in his voice.  Before I could respond he went on, “You know those diet soda?”

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Six cans of them blew up in my closet.  There’s soda, er, ice everywhere!” Barry explained with pride.

“Yuck,” I replied.

“So, you’re safe.  Your house didn’t blow up,” he reassured me.

“Barry, please stop saying that my house ‘blew up’, okay?” I asked.

“Right, right,” he agreed, “that’s not good, right.”

“Thank you,” I answered.

“I’ll keep an ear out for when something does blow up over there…” he told me.

I gave up and simply said, “Thanks.”

“Okay, bye,” Barry replied and hung up.

Crisis averted.  For now? I’m not sure, but I do think my neighbor is crazy.  Perhaps I shouldn’t have shared my phone number with him…  Oh, the joys of home ownership.  Happy one year house anniversary to me. – KA

Posted by: kerryannekay | December 7, 2017

Washer’s Dead

Well, the washer is dead.  Yeup.  The boys’ laundry killed it.  Actually the belt jumped the track.  I’m hoping it is repairable.  But my appointment is next week.  I thought I would have some fun.  Enjoy! – KA

P.S. – I have no idea what’s up with the formatting.  I did my best…

Washer’s Dead

(Sung to the tune of “Jingle Bells”)

[Verse 1]

Dashing through the kitchen
With one-sock on my foot
O’er the noise I go
Dreading all the way
Alarms on washer ring

Making a screeching fright
What fun it is to hear that noise
Of the washer screaming tonight

[Chorus]

Washer’s dead, washer’s dead
Groaning all the way
Oh what fun it is to call
In a one-hour repair guy, hey
Washer’s, washer’s dead
Groaning all the way
Oh what fun it is to call
In a one-hour repair guy, hey

[Verse 2]
Four days or so ago
I thought I’d do a wash
And soon, a scary noise
Was coming from inside
The machine struggled with the tank
Misfortune screamed the sot
The belt drifted off the track
The wash had just stopped.

[Chorus]
Washer’s dead, washer’s dead
Groaning all the way
Oh what fun it is to have
Washer’s, washer’s dead
Groaning all the way
Oh what fun it is to call
In a one-hour repair guy, hey

[Verse 3]
Just a day ago
The story I must tell
I got on to the phone
And oh my spirits fell
Time was going by
On hold waiting time away, hey.

Make an appointment I did try

But quickly they say nay

[Chorus]
Washer’s dead, washer’s dead
Groaning all the way
Oh what fun it is to call
In a one-hour repair guy, hey
Washer’s, washer’s dead
Groaning all the way
Oh what fun it is to call
In a one-hour repair guy, hey

[Verse 4]
This last verse I must add

In order to explain

O’ the laundry pile is insane

Wheeking all the time

Guinea calls do ring

Pooping all the night

It’s not fun to clean and change

A guinea pig cage tonight

[Chorus]
Washer’s dead, washer’s dead
Groaning all the way
Oh what fun it is to call
In a one-hour repair guy, hey
Washer’s, washer’s dead
Groaning all the way
Oh what fun it is to call
In a one-hour repair guy, hey

Posted by: kerryannekay | November 9, 2017

Wimp

Well, I think that the boys’ last vet visit has officially determined the true wimp…and it’s not who you think.

One of the things I like to do when I take the boys to the vet is ask the technicians to cut their nails.  Lamont is super cool with the technicians and enjoys their attention and cuddles.  I they always tell me, “Oh, he’s such a lover.  He enjoys it when we hold him close.  He was so well-behaved for us.”

Fred doesn’t get the same feedback…

The last time I was told, “Well, Fred is done…”

I asked, “How did he do?”

The technician coyly replied, “He complained a bit.”

“A bit?” I asked, “Didn’t I hear him screaming back there?”

“Yes,” she smiled at me, “quite loudly.”

“Oh, my,” was all I could say.

“We had to use three technicians to do his nails,” she informed me.

“Three?” I gasped.

“Yeah,” she said quite seriously, “that does cost extra.”

“Fred,” I said turning to admonish him, “you are a pain in the butt.”

The technician giggled at me.  “I was just kidding,” she laughed.

“Wait,” I turned, “about the three technicians or the extra cost?”

“The extra cost,” she laughed, “but we did use three technicians to do his nails.”

“Fred,” I sighed, “What a wimp.”

“The doctor will be in to see you guys soon,” she said with a quick wave.

“Thanks,” I said smiling back.

I turned to the boys and told them both, “Boys, Lamont officially wears the pants in this family.    And Fred, I’m confiscating your man card…er… boar card… whatever…”

Life is always an adventure with these two…  I’m just glad I’m along for the ride…  – KA

Posted by: kerryannekay | October 27, 2017

The Blob – Part 2

So, there I was stranded on my couch.  The toad gave me a menacing look before hopping into the living room.  “NO!” I yelled at it, “Get back, you, you thing!”  It didn’t listen to me and took another hop towards the couch.  “I will, I will,” I stammered struggling for words.  I looked around frantically to throw something at it.  I locked in on a set of cork coasters, scooped them up, and held them up in a threatening gesture.

“I will throw these coasters at you!” I threatened the toad.  It didn’t listen and continued to hop along.  “I am serious!” I waved the coasters above my head.  I stood there trying to calculate the force and speed that I had to throw the coasters at the toad to just miss it so that way it would scare it back in the direction that I wanted.  “Once these coasters leave my hand, they will be accelerating at -9.8 m/s2 towards you,” I mumbled at the toad.  “I know these things,” I told it and added, “I’m a physics teacher!” for good measure.

The toad was not impressed with my mental gymnastics.  It made a half burp half call *brrrrrrruuuuup*.  “What the hockey sticks was that?” I said truly flabbergasted.  “Are you threating me now?!?”  *bb-bb-bb* the toad responded.  “That was a bloody threat!” I yelled.  I stood there holding my chosen weapon staring at the toad as he stared back at me.  “Don’t you look at me like that!” I told the toad.

*bruuuuuup* the toad yelled back at me.  “That’s it!” I warned and let one of the coasters fly.  It hit the rug behind the toad and successfully scared it into jumping…towards me.  “Nooooo…” I yelled and flung another coaster.  It totally missed, hit the rug, and ricochet off the wall.  It DID scare the toad into moving closer to the couch.  The darn thing took two large jumps and was right next to the back of the couch.

It looked up at me and glared menacingly.

I was determined not to break…to not cower… I lasted several seconds before ducking down and using the couch back as cover.  The toad knew he had me… *Bruuuuup* he mocked me.  “Go-o-o-o away!” I begged the toad.  “No offense,” I told the back rest of the couch, “your hideous and tracking mud on my nice rug…”  *Brup* the toad called back as if to say “NO”.

I sat there for several more minutes cowering on my couch.  That’s when I heard the toad hit something under the couch.  “Oh, no!” I said in terror.  “My couch isn’t nice enough to make it your home.”  *B-b-b-b* the couch monster called back.  “Crap!” I yelled and bolted for the front door.

I frantically unlocked the door, threw it open, and ran out of my own house.  Yes, I left everything behind over a toad in the couch.  I’m not proud of that decision but I did what I thought was necessary to…to…to…protect, yes, protect myself.  Unfortunately, my next door neighbor saw me blot from the house.

“What’s wrong?” he asked jogging over to me.

“There’s a…” I struggled to get out, “There’s a…”

“What?” he said with a tone and look of dismay.  When I didn’t immediately didn’t answer, he began to guess, “Squirrel? Bat? Rat? Raccoon?”

“There’s a toad in my house!” I blurted.

“A toad?” he said, clearly disappointed in my answer.

“YES!” I yelled and pointed at the house, “There’s a toad in my couch!” Then I desperately added, “GET IT OUT!  GET IT OUT!”

“Wait,” the neighbor giggled, “There’s a toad in your couch?”

“YES!” I breathlessly acknowledged, “It threatened me!”

“Threatened you?” he asked, “How?  What did it say?”

“Brup!” I mimicked the sounds that toad had made.

“So, it ‘brup-ed’ at you and that was considered a threat?” he asked as a confirmation.

“YES!” I responded.

“Call 911!” my neighbor joked.

I didn’t catch his tone or meaning.  “Why?” I said in terror, “Is it a poisonous one?”

“I doubt it,” he said starting towards the house.

“It’s under the big couch!” I called to his back.  “Be careful…” I whispered to his back.

Several LONG minutes later he returned with a GIGANTIC toad cupped in his hands.  “Blerg,” I commented as he offered it to me.  “No thanks…”

My neighbor put the toad down and it began to hop off towards the woods.  “It came out of that big pot in your kitchen… It made one heck of a mess…” he commented.  As he began to walk away he said, “Hope you have a rug cleaner…”

“I do!” I gratefully acknowledged.  “Thank you.”  When I walked back into the house I saw what a large mud trail the toad had made. “Yuck.” I sighed.  As I closed the door the boys realized that I was ‘home’ and started to call for food.  “Oh, boys, really?” I asked the empty hallway.  “You don’t know how close to death I just came…” – KA

Posted by: kerryannekay | October 19, 2017

The Blob – Part 1

I hate plants.  Everyone knows that I hate plants.  I have always refused to have plants.  So, when I decided to grow things at the house for the boys, the people that know me were shocked.  And yes, I shocked myself by the fact that I actually got things to grow…and to produce things… and those things were editable.

I shocked people even more by bringing in the plants when there was a frost warning… and setting them up with grow lights.  Hey!  Don’t even think of calling me a ‘plant hippie’.  I still hate plants.  But I do see economic value of growing things for the boys…

—–

On Monday I set up a table and some grow lights.  I lugged in the plants and their water trays one by one into the house and set them up.  I saved the ‘Big Boy’ for last.  ‘Big Boy’ is a 20+ year old plant that I inherited from someone who retired at school.  He’s in a 50 gallon pot and a large pain in the rear to move.  I took out the hand cart and literally lugged him inside into the kitchen.  One he was up on the water pan, I felt a sense of accomplishment.  ‘He will get plenty of morning light thought the sliding doors,’ I thought.

As far as I was concerned, I was done for the night.  I went to the couch and laid down for a ‘bit’.  Two hours later, I was rudely awakened by an odd noise.  *Brrrrrrr*  “What the heck was that?” I asked the empty room.  “Boys?” I called upstairs.  *wheek, wheek* Fred or Lamont responded back to me.  Then I heard something again: *bruuuuug*.  “What the heck is that?” I asked again.  There was no response.  It came a third time: *burghhhh*

“That came from the kitchen!” I whispered.  I grabbed my phone and a tissue box from the coffee table.  “What the hockey-stick is that?” I asked quietly.  *brup-brup-brup*  I slowly creeped down the short hallway past the house’s utility closet.  I stuck my head around the corner to see what was there.  There was a large dark blob in the middle of the kitchen floor.

“Oh,” I sighed, “I dropped some dirt on the floor.”  I figured that the noise was outside.  I walked into the kitchen.  The blob suddenly moved. “What the?!” I screamed and jumped back.  The blob jumped towards me.  “Holly fungus banana!” I yelled as I threw the tissue box in its general direction, grabbed a chair, and jumped on top of it.  “What the hockey is that!?!?” I added for good measure.

I clutched my phone seriously considering calling 911.  The blob made another noise.*brup-p-p*  “Aughhhh!” I yelled, “You’re a frog!  A Toad! Wait You’re a….  Which one are you?  Do you live in water or not?!?” I said arguing with blob on the floor.  “But, what are you doing inside!” I barked.  “How did you get in here?!?” I asked it.  Then I demanded, “GET OUT! GET OUT!”

The toad, er, frog, er, blob, gazed back at me with empty eyes.  It took another small leap towards me.  “AUGHHHHHH!” I screamed, jumped off of the chair, and took off into the living room.  I managed to hurdle the couch in one single leap.  As I stood there heaving in expiration and fear, I heard the blob make a noise *brrrrr*.   Then another *brrrr* came.  The second one was closer.  I leaned over the couch and saw that the blob was at the edge of the kitchen and utility hall.  “NOOOOOOOO!” I yelled as it leapt on to the rug.

“SON OF A MONKEY’S UNCLE!” I shrieked.  “STAY IN THE KITCHEN! STAY IN THE…”  I was too late.  The blob leaped again.  It was now half way down a very, very short hall and moving towards me…

Well, I will have to leave you here in the story.  It’s late and I’ve got school in the morning.  But I promise that next week’s blog will include how I got rid of the blob.  Have a good week! – KA

Big Boy

The Plant that I call “Big Boy”. – KA

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