the first entry
i've had this long enough, so i suppose i should start writing something. so without further ado, the eventful events of the past two weeks:
i decided, for obvious reasons, that it would be a good idea to get a treadmill. i like walking, i hate working out, i desperately-eyond-all-concievable-hope need to work out, so it seemed like a splendid idea at the time. enter the parents, who agreed with the idea, but promptly complicated said idea with details. whereas i myself am normally extremely detailed, almost anal sometimes about it really, this just didn't seem like that complicated of a situation to me. go to the store, buy a sturdy-but-moderately-priced treadmill, stick it in the truck, bring it home, set it up, start walking away my worries. as is always the case with my family, this was just not gonna happen. things cannot, can NOT, be simple. mama wanted details, freakin' DETAILS, about EVERY FREAKIN' ONE of the treadmills. even the ones we knew there was no way in heck we were gonna buy. finally, she picks out one she wants...and we go home. without the treadmill. cut to four days later, still treadmill-less. we return to the store, where she proceeds to have every detail of the machine explained and demonstrated to her AGAIN. i could have SWORN they made something called an instruction manual. on the bright side, the sales guru nearly fell flat on his butt when he started it going while he was standing on it backwards. i nearly snorted my altoid through my nose. finally, finally she purchased it, and cut to four hours later, we have it loaded in the truck heading home. Finally getting it in the house, mama decides that it should be put upstairs. the dang thing weighs three freakin' tons, and this chick wants it UPSTAIRS. well upstairs already had a couch, which needed to be ousted before weighs-three-tons could be inned. asking manly friends to help move the couch, which is old-school-manfactured and eight years older than i am, is unheard of in my house. and if i didn't already think i was a descendent of weirdos, this really iced then cake: how does mama propose to get rid of the couch? by cutting it up. with a hatchet. in the house. did i mention the HATCHET? and that's how it got done, too. a whole new level of strange, lemme tell you. and guess where weighs-three-tons is. right where we left it when we unloaded it out of the truck: middle of the living room floor, box and all.
naturally, i could not contain this new revelation of how deeply the weirdness ran in my family tree. i had dinner with my best friend that night. only slightly surprised, she said that she could see me taking out a couch with either something sharp and pointy or something flammable and explody. which we almost did as the evening went on. nearly took out a tree, not a couch. with something flammable and explody, not a hatchet. fine. we very much accidently very nearly blew up an oak tree with a green firework...which is so very illegal in town limits. the fireworks, not the tree. we're both pyromaniacs, and once a month we set off a pack of little kiddies fireworks in her yard...in town...where it's very illegal. never anything big, because we're not THAT dense, just little color fountains and chicken eggs and sparklers. this year it was a freakin' roman candle and a giant unmarked actual FIREWORK. in a KIDDIE PACK. the giant thing went up in the branches and went off at the top of the tree...and brought down a couple of good-sized limbs. all we could do was stand there and gawk in absolute shock. and it was her dad who was with us when we set off the roman candle and the giant green ball of tree limb remover. and talk about a loud boom. we threw everything in the garage and bolted for the house, sure the police were coming to haul us off. the cops rode by the house three or four times, but never stopped. sad thing is, we're the GOOD KIDS.