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Miss Fix-It
Just yesterday I was looking at the dishes piled up in my sink and the dog hair collecting in the corners of my floor and I was just so glad that I own this house. I don't have to worry about anything - I can play my music as loudly as I want to, Oliver can bark and bark when we play and I can paint the hideous kitchen walls any color that I want to. That was before the snow hit. It's been snowing for approximately 3 years. I estimate there to be somewhere in the vicinity of 34 feet of snow on the ground outside and it's still coming down. To us lucky homeowners this means hours and hours of soothing shoveling. Unless, of course, you're one of those lucky homeowners who also owns a snowblower. Like me. Unless unless you own a snowblower (like me), but do not know how to operate it (like me). However, because there are approximately 52 feet on the ground (it's still snowing), I decided that tonight would be a good night to learn how to operate the snowblower. I got written (e-mail) instructions from my stepdad which, upon arriving at home this afternoon, I promptly removed from my backpack and began following. The results? Nothing. Not easily deterred when faced with such mass quantities of snow, I grabbed the cell phone and made an emergency phone call. Gas on? check. Choke on? Check. Key on? Check. Plugged in? Check. Well, keep trying. Hey, thanks. So, I hung up and tried again. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. And then...it started on fire. I did what any sane, rational woman would do in my situation. I freaked the fuck out. I began to run inside for my phone before remembering that it was in my pocket. I grabbed it and searched frantically for my parents phone number before realizing I'd passed it three times in my effort to scroll. My mom answered the phone to my shrieks of "IT'S ON FIRE! SHIT SHIT SHIT! IT'S ON FIRE!" "GET IT OUT OF THE GARAGE!" "THROW SNOW ON IT!" came the equally panicked (and slightly annoyed) cries. "SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!" I grabbed the handlebars, thoroughly convinced it was going to explode right in front of me (I've seen movies, shut up) and practically threw the 75 pound machine into the driveway. I began kicking snow onto it to no avail. I stuck my mittened hand into the flame (shut. up. it made perfect sense at the time) and didn't even think to run for the shovel until a calm voice in my ear suggested it. Shovel in hand I shoveled half my driveway piling snow onto the flaming machine for fifteen minutes until the flames stopped poking out. Assured that nothing was going to explode anymore, I thanked my parents for coaching me through the rough spots, hung up and began to shovel. About a half hour later my stepbrother showed up to look at my damage. He kicked the snow off to figure out what had caused the fire, muttered a few technical things that I didn't quite catch and then told me that the good news is that it wasn't a very big fire. O. It sure wasn't a very big fire when the whole damn thing was engulfed in flames 45 minutes ago! Ass. Go home. Anyhow - to recap. I started a fire. I shoveled. It's still snowing. I'm about ready to puke all over winter. Listening To: Shade of a Shadow by Teitur Reading: Pfft. Recently Saw: The Golden Globes last night. I'd go into it further, but Pam summed it up nicely.
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