Nuclear Family Warhead

Jeremy over at Discovering Dad  asked me last week if I’d like to be a part of the “Spotlight On Dads” series that he runs each week.  Being such a newbie to the blogosphere, I was a little surprised and very humbled that he we would ask me.  I of course said yes, and you can find the results here.  If you are a first time visitor, or someone who has poked around a little bit before, I invite you to come on in, take your shoes off; stay awhile.  We haven’t been around that long, but I think you’ll find something to tickle your fancy.  Look around, peruse, investigate.  Some popular selections can be found here, here, here and here.  Thanks for stopping by!  We hope you come back often.

This is unbelievable.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  God willing, I’ll never see anything like it again.  THAT’S A POTATO PEOPLE!  All 2lb’s, 12oz’s of it.  You’ll excuse me if I take some liberties here, but I’m calling it a 3 pound potato.  It’s 8 1/2 inches long!  If Arby’s made a curly fry out of it, it would circle the globe twice.  If I thought it would keep, I’d put it in the freezer, buy a cowboy hat and enter it in next years  County Fair.  That’s a blue ribbon tater if I’ve ever seen one.

Where did it come from?  That’s what I’d like to know.  Technically it came from a local store that will remain unnamed until the NEST crew has had a chance to put away their Geiger counters.  The bag said: “Island Potato’s”, I just didn’t realize that they meant Three Mile Island.  I cut it in half and used one half to make mashed potato’s.  We had them last night.  And tonight.  Probably on the menu tomorrow night as well.  The other half will be used to make potato salad.  I”m sure there will be plenty left over, so if you are interested, send me a self-addressed, stamped 55 gallon drum and I’ll be glad to send you some.  This offer is only open to the first 400 people who reply.

I have a theory on this; so stick with me.  I’ve been doing some leg work, and I’ve come across a few things.  I’m not trying to be Mel Gibson in Conspiracy Theory, but follow me here.  Exhibit A is a picture of an asteroid slamming into the earth at 500 gazillion-billion miles an hour.  Looks to be about the same size as the one that took out the dinosaurs.  A “Global Killer”, they call it.  Now, knowing what I pulled out of my bag of spuds the other day, the photographic evidence of which I have just shown you, I ask you: does there seem to be something familiar looking about that asteroid?  See any resemblance to a certain vegetable that has been persecuted on this planet for thousands of years?  No?  Require further proof?  Fair enough.  Take a look at this:

I give you Exhibit B.  The one in front is shaped more like your classic russet potato, rather than the longer, more tubular Idaho spud, but the family resemblance is there.  Now, do you see what’s lurking there in the background?  See it?  Back in the shadows?  Ducking for cover behind Uncle Tuber?  THAT’S MY POTATO!  I’m convinced of it!  See the straight clean lines down the sides?  The eyes that will be plucked out during the peeling process?  I think the evidence is overwhelming.  My potato came from outer space.  Probably some planet called Spudtron, or Tater Centauri.  The aliens on that planet have been hurling these giant spuds at us for millions of years, and only now is the truth coming out.  I know this to be true, because I saw Starship Troopers and that’s what the bugs did in that movie, so my theory carries some weight, don’t you think? One last question: Do you think that right before the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs hit earth that the dinosaurs heard; “Would you like fries with that?” I think they did, they just shouldn’t have ordered them extra crispy.

Some days, the hamsters just rebel.  Today is one of those days.  I must have forgotten to feed them yesterday because every time I try to load a page, the little wheel keeps spinning, and spinning, and spinning….  I’ll teach them, though.  I’ll upgrade to gerbils and set the hamsters loose in the backyard; let them fight it out with the squirrels for third-of-an-acre supremacy.  Seriously, I mean, what the DELL is going on here?  I could call tech support, but then I’d have to watch 5 hours of The Simpsons just to get the right Calcutta dialect down.  I don’t have time for that.  Oh well, I’ll try.

Our words this week are tasty.  Tasty as in they could be the names of a meat sauce (salubrious) and a dessert topping (magniloquent) respectively.  “I’ll have the pork chops in salubrious sauce please.  Does that come with a salad?  And I’m saving room for that delicious looking carrot cake with magniloquent icing for dessert.”  OK, maybe food is a stretch, but they sound good! 

Our first word this week is salubrious-meaning favorable to or promoting health; healthful.  I still think it could give A-1 sauce a run for it’s money, but that’s just me.  Word number two is magniloquent-meaning speaking or expressed in a lofty or grandiose style; pompous; bombastic; boastful.  Kinda sounds like Kanye West.  But, if he wants to wear sunglasses that look like the back window louvre from a 1978 Trans Am, who am I to judge?  Remember to catch up on all of our words on the BWW page.  Now go out there and sound over-intelligent! 

It all started with one of my “next times”.  Next time I take a shower, I’ll have to get the new bottle of shampoo, since I’m almost out.  The next time I took a shower, I repeated the exercise: Next time I take a shower, I’ll have to remember to get the new bottle, since I had to take the lid off and swish water around inside it to get any lather.  Well, guess what?  Today was “next time”. 

I showered without incident, and wet my hair for the shampoo course.  When I reached for the bottle, it toppled over into two pieces; bottle and cap, clinking and clanging relentlessly off of the shower walls.  I bent down and felt about blindly trying to locate both bottle and cap.  After putting the cap back on, I placed it back on the alcove in the shower (or so I thought), only to hear it clinking and clanging it’s way back to the shower floor.  I picked it up and threw it over the top of the shower curtain and heard it land safely in the bathtub.  There.  That solves that.  Now what? 

Nukeboy1 and Nukeboy2 both shower now, so I realized that I did have at least one option.  But, there had to be another way!  Dare I disturb NukeMom?  She was home doing some last minute cramming before heading out to take part 3 of the 4 part CPA exam.  She’s already passed parts 1 and 2 (Whoo Hoo!).  I thought better of disturbing her and bit the bullet.  I reached down and grabbed the bottle of Kid’s shampoo.  I dried my eyes and perused the label.  “Suave Kid’s 2 in 1 Shampoo-Shampoo AND Conditioner!”  Wow!  Both in one bottle!  That has to be good, right?  What’s this, down bottom?  Tear Free?  Detangling?  Righteous!  And then, I saw it.  As if the soccer playing/sunglasses wearing dogs’ collar medallion hadn’t already given it away.  The “scent” was (gulp) Wild Watermelon.  Oh dear God.

I shampooed as fast as I could, pushing thoughts of lip gloss, blow pops, pixie stix and Jolly Rancher’s out of my mind.  I did take time, however, to make a cool ultra-lather Mohawk and sing some Wayne Newton, ala Ferris Bueller: “I recall, Central Park in Fall.  You tore your dress, what a mess!”  I heard NukeMom through the door asking if everything was alright, so I yelled affirmative, and quickly rinsed my hair.  After toweling off and combing my hair, the aroma around my noggin’ seemed to have dissipated.  Thank goodness!  NukeMom gave me a goodbye kiss, and other than an odd glance, she was none the wiser.  I picked up Nukegirl from school, and after she gave me a kiss on the cheek she said: “Daddy, can I have a lollipop?”  I dismissed it as chance, as she is always asking for lollipops.  The killer, though, was when Nukeboy2 walked through the door a little while ago, and after giving me a hug said: “Did you buy candy at the store today?”, immediately followed by Nukeboy1 saying: “Dad, did you get some gum stuck in your hair?”  Next time I’ll just use the Dial bath bar soap and take my chances.

The mystery is solved, and the NukeVan is cool (well, on the inside, anyway).  Without spending 3 paragraphs describing what happened, suffice it to say that in addition to a new evaporator, the NukeVan required a new AC Compressor also.  Not the cheapest of parts, but through hard fought negotiations and a little gentle ranting on my part, we got the work (and parts) for 35% less than what they normally would have charged.  No admission of wrong doing was required by either side, and the file has been sealed and placed in a safe deposit box in an undisclosed location.

Sue over at Beggar’s Shot Glass has a good post to give you some perspective on the inner workings of a car dealership.  It’s a good read to help you next time you need to get work done on your car.  Thanks, Sue.  While I did get two opinions, I will definitely seek out a third next time.  Finding someone trustworthy to work on you car is important.  Second only to having a good plumber.  Remember; plumbing is like poker: A straight flush beats a full house.  

I feel like I just fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down.  NukeMom played me like a drum.  It all started with our little friend you see there in the cup.  It’s a tick.  I state that for those of you that aren’t entomologists and/or don’t own dogs.  He was found residing on the inside of Penny the Beagle’s left ear.  He hadn’t been around very long.  I was able to pull him off with my fingers using a paper towel.  No tweezers, 10 blade or suction required.  We then placed him in a cup.  The only way to kill them (So I’ve been told) is to drown them in alcohol.  You’d think I would have grabbed the alcohol while I still had the tick held firmly between my fingers; but it’s Saturday.  I usually don’t think on Saturdays until at least 2:00pm, and it was only 11:20.  I put the tick in the cup and then ran for the alcohol when the tick started to climb up the side.  I grabbed the first bottle of alcohol that I saw.  That would be it in the cup on the right in the picture.  I doused the little bastard with 3 oz of liquid fury and then went to wash my hands.

Here is a picture of the death fluid.  I think the expiration date was sometime during the Nixon administration.  I don’t know if you can see it or not, but the bottle says: with Wintergreen Oil and Lanolin Derivative.  That explains the green tint.  It was then that I realized that we already have a bottle of green tinted alcohol with wintergreen.  It’s called Scope.  I checked on our little friend and he appeared to be doing the breast stroke and was headed for the swim up bar.  I went back to the medicine cabinet looking for the “good” stuff.  I found it behind the band aids.  Now we’re talking!  This is the stuff I was looking for!  Just a blue label that says ALCOHOL in all caps, in ”we mean business” font.  I think it was Kitty Dukakis Private Reserve, but I’m not sure. 

I poured some in another cup and helped our little friend over with the aid of a paper clip.   He jumped right off thinking the party had just moved down one hot tub.  Little did he know.  After about 5 minutes I came back and he wasn’t moving.  I figured him for dead, but Nukegirl yelled; “He’s still alive Daddy, I saw him move!”  Sure enough, a little nudge with the paper clip, and his legs started moving.  Now I was getting upset.  Not only had I given him a shiny exo-skeleton with the “Lanolin Derivative”, he was also sporting minty fresh breath.  I used the paper clip with all the skill and steadiness of a Matador to inflict the death blow.  He swam around for another few seconds, and then the legs curled in.  Victory was mine.  Or was it?

“You said you were going to give the dogs a bath this week, might as well do it now’, NukeMom said.  I headed out to the store to pick up some odds and ends and some flea & tick collars.  After all 3 dogs were bathed I realized that the tub would need to be cleaned before Nukegirl took her bath.  I got out the Comet and did my duty.  What’s with this mass of wet, dog-smellin’ towels here on the floor?  Better wash those.  Uh-Oh, the washing machine’s full.  No problem, I’ll just put them in the drye……you guessed it.  I took the clothes out of the dryer, placed them on our bed, which already had a clean load waiting to be folded; and went back and loaded the dryer.  I then took the wet, smelly dog towels to the washing machine, loaded it up (Gently!) and poured in entirely too much bleach.  The foyer now smells like a YMCA indoor pool, but I guarantee you those dog towels won’t smell anymore. 

I went back into the bathroom and saw all the dog hair.  I vacuumed the bathroom floor.  “Hey honey, since you have the vacuum out, would you mind doing the den?”, NukeMom said.  Hint taken.  After vacuuming the entire house, I beat her to the punch by saying; “I’m going to go ahead and mop ALL of the floors since I have to do the bathroom anyway.”  “Wow, you’re pretty smart”, she joked.  Dinner was easy because it’s leftover night, and NukeMom helped get Nukegirl in and out of the tub.  The boys took care of themselves, as I attacked the laundry on the bed.  Half way through the pile NukeMom came in, gave me a kiss on the cheek and said; “I think I’m going to go watch some TV.”  I looked at the clock and it was 9:44pm.  I caught a glimpse of a grin on her face as she turned to leave.  It was then that I realized the song I had been humming for the last 7 hours or so was “Won’t Get Fooled Again” by The Who.  Idiot.

The NukeVan is back in the shop.  No Air Conditioning could definitely lead to a meltdown.  We found out about this back in September, but decided not to spend the $1,200 to get it fixed right then.  Call me frugal, but it didn’t make sense.  It’s like trying to teach a pig to sing: it wastes your time and annoys the pig.  Having a perfectly operational Air Conditioner all winter would have to take a backseat to other necessities like; oh, I don’t know; food?  Electricity?  Mortgage Payments?   I told them to look for us in the spring when it would actually make sense, and the tax man had returned the money he had stolen from me (er, I mean NukeMom).

Fast forward to last Thursday when I drop the NukeVan off and confirm that they have all the information from the previous Fall.  “Oh yes sir, Mr. NukeDad!  It’s all right here in the computer.”  Good.  I went home knowing that the NukeVan would be staying overnight for observation.  Friday comes and I’m told; “Your van should be ready about 5:00pm.”  I was good with that, after all, they did have to take out the ENTIRE dashboard to get to the evaporator; the culprit in this mess.  Thank you very much Mr. Ivy League Engineering Degree Holder.  I could hear the mechanic cussing all the way over at my house.  8 to 10 hours of labor is what they estimated.  That’s how you arrive at a $1,200 repair bill; subtract the $150 charge for the parts away from the total, divide by 8 to 10 and you arrive at the reason why you should have brought your rape whistle with you.

I’m exaggerating, of course, everyone knows that you can’t buy ANY part for your car for $150.  I am, however; serious about the rape whistle.  You see, after picking up the NukeVan last Friday, I had this silly desire to turn on the Air Conditioner and make sure that it worked.  Never mind the fact that the mechanic and the service department attendant had SURELY done the same thing.  Just call me whimsical.  Within 30 seconds I was looking for my Parka.  This thing was working good!.  But, that’s when I heard the noise.  The same noise that I had described the previous fall.  The same noise that was “right here in the computer.”  The same noise that would make small woodling creatures in my neighborhood run for cover.  I’ve never actually seen or heard an F-22 Raptor take off, but it can’t sound much different than the NukeVan.  I have seen an F-4 Phantom take off, and as impressive as that is, I don’t want the neighbors calling NATO every time I pull in the driveway. 

I had way too much to get done over the weekend, and they’re closed on Sunday anyway, so I set my sites on Monday.  Then I remembered how busy Monday was going to be.  And Tuesday.  Wednesday is go have lunch at school with Nukeboy1, so today was the first chance I had to get back over there.  They knew I was coming, though.  Believe me.  Dealerships are all about “getting the feedback”.  It’s how most of them get their money from Corporate Headquarters.  I had a letter sitting on the seat of the car.  There were signs all over their shop asking you to “Please” respond to the survey.  It was on the claim ticket attached to my key.  I think they even mailed one to my Mom in Texas.  They pass out so many copies that it stupefies me why they can’t print clean copies off of their computer.  Here is a picture of the actual “letter” that was sitting on my front seat.  Hand to God, that’s what they left me.  At the very least they could teach people how to properly line up a page on a copy machine, for crying out loud.  Instead I got a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy….  Half of the text is missing!  I don’t remember them teaching us in Business letter writing class that you needed a 6 inch left margin.  Finally, there is “The Phone Call”.  I knew it was coming, and I played along.  “Do you have a few minutes to discuss your recent visit to XYZ dealership and your experience there?”  Actually, no, I don’t have the time; but I’ll make time, just this once. 

We’ve taken the NukeVan to this dealership several times, and have overall been satisfied with the service, I’m just pissed that I have to take it back again.  Did I stutter when I said “Noise under the hood?”  Did they hear “No S**t, you guys are good?”  I don’t know what they heard, all I know is what I hear.  Nukeboy2 thinks it “Sounds awesome Dad! It sounds like a Lamborghini!”  Yeah, chicks dig the mini-van that sounds like a European sports car that’s worth more than our house.  I can’t wait to hear what they’re going to tell me when they call to tell me what’s wrong with it this time.  I’m ready, though.  I have my rape whistle in my pocket, and I’m not afraid to use it.

Wow!  We had a little skirmish on the BWW page the other day.  A satirical comment was taken as serious by another commenter, and the response was a vicious smack down.  Or, was it a serious comment that was taken as satire by another commenter, and the response was a jesting put down?  I don’t know, you be the judge, the point is: Big Word Wednesday has the nation talking!  Well, the NFW nation, anyway.  A wise man once said: “Tis better to keep one’s mouth shut and be thought a fool, than to open it and remove all doubt”.  Today’s translation would be something along these lines; “Yo! Spinny! Shut cha pie hole, fool!  I dun toldja ya soundin’ like an idjut when ya flap dem lips!”  I believe that would be counted as “A Statement Of Distinction” under the No Child Left Behind legislation.  At least you kind of understood what he was saying.  Our goal is to increase your knowledge of the English language and the 2/3 of the words that are in it that no one uses anymore.

This weeks words flow easily and have that “zinger” quality that we are looking for.  Drop one of these babies in the middle of a conversation and watch your sparring partner wither under the verbal assault.  All they’ll be left with is spittle hanging off of their lips and a desire to dash to their local community college and enroll in a correspondence course in vocabulary arts.  Word one is: elucidative; meaning, that makes clear, a clarifying example.  First glance may lead you to believe that the correct definition would be elusive, but, no!  Word two is cool.  It flows easily and sounds pompous enough to get you at least one more rung up the snootiness ladder (Ladder of Snoot?).  It is; benightedness; meaning intellectually or morally ignorant, unenlightened.  Ouch.  Probably want to save that one for the self anointed leader of the play group, or the in-laws; that is, if yours are bad.  Mine are fantabulous, so I better start looking for a play group with a Prada wearing leader.  Happy speaking!

You mow the lawn with it, wash the car with it, exercise with it, you may as well clean with it also.  No, I’m not talking about your lucky pair of boxers, I’m talking about your ipod; or MP3 if you’re a (non)working stiff like me.  Load ‘em up Gentleman, we’ve added 38 new songs to the Ultimate Cleaning Music Page to help you get through the mundane duties that better be completed before you-know-who gets home from work.  It’s easier to vacuum up marbles if you can’t hear them, so turn the volume to “11″. 

NukeMom works for a very large multi-national company that has over 1,200 employees in her office, and close to 8,000 worldwide.  You can imagine her surprise then, when she received an email yesterday with the title “Hillbilly Vibrator” in the subject line.  The email came from someone she had never heard of; and, I’m sure, will never hear from again.  Apparently this young Brainiac thought it would be hilarious to share this fun little email with 8,000 of her closest friends.  She and the CEO are tight.  The CFO also.  Let’s not forget all the Executive VP”s, Sr. VP’s, Jr. VP’s, Human Resources (Oops), Controllers, Asst. Controllers, Managers, Staff, Security, IT and Cleaning Crew.

Good Gravy woman, haven’t you ever created a mailing list on your home computer!?  Couldn’t you see that it said “Global” in the distribution list?  Did you really believe that you had entered 8,000 email addresses as default for Sally in Accounting?  I can’t even imagine the colossal mental breakdown that would have to occur to someone for this to happen.  Was she putting away files while on the phone with a customer while texting on her Blackberry while talking to her neighbor while clicking the mouse with her feet?  I’m sure we’ll never know.  I imagine though, that the reply email she got went something like this:

Dear Ms. Used To Work Here:

My kidneys still hurt from the laughter that ensued after NukeMom called me and told me what happened.  I want to feel bad for this girl, but it’s hard.  I would add a link to the site in question, but that would just make me an accessory after the fact if anyone who read this happened to (Oops) forward it on to a loved one at work.  The title is at the beginning of the post and you can Google it if you like.  Dear Lord.