Storm’s A-Brewin

September 28, 2009 at 5:08 PM | Posted in Journal | 1 Comment
  Topics for Today:
  Brother’s pig roast
  Comedy clubs
  Anger Management

  Let’s see… went to my brother’s pig roast on Saturday.  I was pretty glad I was able to give him a) the title to the antique car; 2) the antique cabinet from my garage that was originally from his wife’s parent’s house; and d) the gun cabinet that my brother had a friend of his make for our dad for Christmas one year.
  Well, he didn’t really want that back, but I have no room for it and I currently have no guns as far as you know, so I don’t need it.  We had a nice visit with some people, and then got rained out.  We did, however, stay, as several did.  Eventually we were the last to leave.
  I had a talk with my brother in his "study."  There’s an eclectic design mix:  Modern computer and furniture, frilly lace curtains on the windows, and several deer heads on the wall.  We both have our problems, it seems.  I get my sister, and he gets his son.  Of course, I also have Detroit’s son, but while he is parasitic, at least he’s not actively destructive like my nephew.
  I laid out briefly our sister’s problems, and then he laid out all of Matt’s.  He won.
  The bottom line for my sister is, she is under-employed and actively engaged in bad decision making that keeps her from getting a better job.  It’s going to be a cold winter, and she is not going to have gas for heat.  I help her as little as I can, because I can’t help her much anyway.  I certainly can’t give her any money, and even if I could I don’t want to because she comes to resent help no matter how badly she needs it.  I swear, if she were a dog I’d drive her out to the country and leave her on the side of the fucking road.
  So I offer helpful suggestions and find web addresses for her, job sites and charitable help on utilities and things like that.  If she wasn’t so fucking impossible to live with she could get a roommate.  She’s proven that she’s impossible to live with by going through several roommates, including me.

"Lazy, self-involved and clueless female with home seeks roommate to pay utilities and put up with endless ridiculous drama and random irrational behavior.  Pets, smoking okay."

  I sure as shit don’t need her back in my house.  Detroit, course, resents everything and anything I have to do for her.  I try to think of it as preventive maintenance:  whatever I can do to help her from being homeless and hence a bigger burden on me–on us–is worth it.
  By the way, you know, I don’t complain and seethe with a rolling boil over Brandon living in the basement and leeching of us and having no possibility of a future beyond masturbating and eating all my food.  Even though I should.  So lighten up.
  Detroit, meanwhile, holds onto resentment like a porcelain collectible that will someday be valuable…and that’s just one of the many reasons why I love her.
  As for the visit with my brother:  I’m concerned about him.  He has some various aches and pains, some of which could be serious.  He has insurance, but won’t go to a doctor.  He has a fairly irrational distrust of all in the medical field.  He’s scared to get a physical, and doesn’t want a doctor to stick a finger up his butt for a prostate exam.  Me, I look forward to it.  Likewise, with our family history, he needs a colonoscopy.  I need to talk to his wife and get her to convince him to go.
  You know, our mom was like this, and she put off going to the doctor basically until it was too late.

  Okay, what else we got–Two of the comedy clubs that I used to do open mic at are closed.  What the fuck?  Seriously.  Fuck, comma, what the, question mark.  I was thinking of getting back into it, so maybe this is an omen not to. 

  I fixed the lawnmower the other day, and cut the front yard.  I’m actually pretty proud of myself for it.  I’ve worked on lawnmowers before, but I’ve never actually fixed one.  Detroit didn’t really know what she was asking for.
  She started it up and it blew out some smoke.  She shut it off.  What can it be?  It sat for about two weeks.  Finally, I had the chance (and no excuses) so I took a look.  It was good to have all of my tools handy and know where they were and what I needed.  I rolled the mower out of the shed to the patio.  I got out my little stool that is on wheels so I could roll around and get a closer look.  Then I engaged the machine.
  The guy at the hardware store said there are three things you need to do to your lawnmower every year.  First, don’t get it wet.  Second, don’t feed it after midnight, and third–
  Wait, wrong list.  Don’t get it wet, obviously–keep it in a building or keep it covered.  But he said  change the oil, change the filter, change the spark plug.  Every spring that should be your routine.  Since we bought it last year and I didn’t do any of that this year, checking those items would be a good place to start.
  The oil looked good.  A little dark, but not pitch black.   We only have a few more mows left this season, so that will wait till spring.  It wasn’t too full or too low, either, which I was told is something else that can cause a lawnmower to smoke.
  But seriously–it’s a one cylinder engine with no real exhaust and no emissions equipment–I’d say it was born to smoke.
  Next I got a socket and removed the spark plug.  It looked decent.  Good, even.  It’ll do.  Air filter next. 
  Bingo!  The place on the filter that opened to the bottom of the tray where it actually sucked in air–all of those spots where clogged with oily dirt.  It’s not getting any air.
  I cleaned the filter out with some gasoline, which may or may not have been a good idea, and then rinsed it with water in the sink really good.  I left it out in the sun for over an hour, way more time than it needed but I wanted to be sure there was no moisture in it.
  I put the mower back together and bada-bing!  It starts.  No smoke.  Hell yeah.  I went ahead and cut the front yard because it needed it, and I wanted to run it to make sure I had solved the problem.  Plus any points I earn with Detroit are redeemable for prizes later. 

  I changed my schedule at Domino’s, and we’ll see how that goes.  But I need Monday off to drive my ass up to Troy and take my daughter to an Anger Management class.  Of course she has anger issues.  Never mind the divorce and all that–look at who her mother is.  I tried to fill out the forms but they just made me mad.  That’s more personal information than I feel like giving out.
  Miranda seemed okay while she was with me.  Even her mom asked her, "Are you sure you need anger management?"  Everyone goes off now and then, am I wrong?  AM I WRONG?!  Except me, of course.  I’m perfectly calm.  I’m calmer than you are.
  I’m still calmer than you.


1 Comment »

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  1. Hey! I’m responsible! Quit badmouthing me on your blog! Also, I will have a talk with dad about prostate health. I’m only 32 and I’ve had more prostate exams than I care to admit already, and I’m the wuss of the family. Man up and get a finger up the ass already, dad!

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