Hosed Again; Moving Moments

 

So. Here we all are in Santa Fe, New Mexico. We’re tired and sore and sick of wrapping paper and moving boxes, but we’ve not often been as happy to be tired and sore. As the Squirt put it last night when we were out to the portal having icy-cold Carta Blancas and a plate of finger foods, “Son of a bitch but this is some fine living, Bwana Mooner. This is some mighty fine living.”

She was right, of course, and a portal is a covered patio and the finger foods came from a selection of fresh veggies, handmade sausages and meats, and some pickles we grabbed from the Santa Fe Farmer’s Market. I picked up some fresh bread and other accouterments from the Whole Foods over to Cerrillos Road and we were set.

The weather was crisp and clean and the temperature fell from about 69 when we sat down just at dusk and was 62 when I checked it at 11:00 pm as we finally went inside. Then this morning it was 55 when I got up to go get the Sunday paper. I see from the sports section that Tennessee won yesterday, so I won’t need to listen to my buddy Squatlo piss and moan about that, and Kansas State whipped Oklahoma so I get the pleasure of hearing Sooner fans whine about that. A Daily Double.

My elder son and his special lady will arrive for a visit in a few hours—the first of family and friends to see the new casita. It’s still a work in progress but he wanted to help me with some of the update stuff, and help is what I need.

“You’re as clumsy as a borracho pintor Bosnio, Mooner. Everybody knows that you have to put the clamp on the hose first, dumbass,” Squirt advised me. “Look at that dumbshit, Yoda, he worked his ass off getting that hose into place and now he’s got to take it back off to put the clamp on it.”

I was squatted behind the clothes dryer—cramped and crowded in the tight space and likely looking like a drunk Bosnian painter—and the Squirt had her nose wedged between it and the washer next to it. Yoda the goat dog had jumped atop the dryer and was peering down at me like when Snoopy played vulture in the cartoon. The smell of stinky dog breath was a fetid cloud of halitosis as I was struggling to get the too-small vent hose snugged-over and clamped-to the out-of-round vent pipe in the wall. I was thirty minutes into the job and I already had two slices in my fingers from the sharp metal edge of the pipe and an ass full of frustrations.

“Have I told you that they eat dog meat tacos up to the Reservations near Taos? We’ll be heading that way this afternoon.”

Squirt laughed at me and the goat dog tried to eat the end off the dryer hose. We all climbed into the GTO to head over to the Ace Hardware store for a new hose and they were making a new batch of popcorn when we got there. Yoda went to stand station by the popcorn machine to capture anything that dropped and to practice his begging skills.

“Mr. Johnson, how are you sir?”

It was the head cashier. “Listen, you might want to leave Squirt in the car today, sir. We just waxed and polished the floors and I don’t want her to rub those wax finishing products into her cute little bottom.”

For those of you uninitiated here ’bouts, the Squirt had impacted anal glands and would drag her ass on the floor tiles all over the Ace Hardware. She was so fucking adorable with her hind legs pointed skyward and that grimace plastered on her face.

“Oh, Thanks, but don’t worry. We got her all fixed up before we moved.”

Here I lifted the miniature bundle of brown fur and wonderment and flipped her around to show the scars. “See, most of the swelling is gone and you will hardly be able to see her scars. I paid extra to get her cuts and sutures done cosmetically.”

“Uh, ah, I can tell,” was the only reply I got.

When we had made it to the dryer vent aisle, Squirt stopped and looked up at me. “That, you giant flaming asshole, was soooo embarrassing. If you do that to me again I’m going to shit in your favorite sneakers and have Yoda eat your car seats.”

Point taken. I guess I can be somewhat inappropriate at times. “OK, little lady, I’ll try to not do that again.”

Anyway, when the family arrives we’ll head out to the Santa Fe flea market and off to lunch in the mountains. Another day in paradise.

Manana, y’all.

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5 Responses to “Hosed Again; Moving Moments”

  1. Squatlo says:

    Okay, asshole, first of all, I don’t “whine” about my Vols, any more than a sobbing relative “whines” about the death of a close relative. It’s personal, it’s from birth, and I can’t help it if I have an irrational attachment to all things “true” orange.

    The second thing, and of much more importance, is why the hell don’t they make those wall/floor hose attachments easier to get at than they do? And why do electricians put the 220 outlet right at the same level as the hose outlet on the back of every dryer sold in America? When you try to slide the dryer back into its spot the vent hose gets crimped up against the outlet and plug, making the dryer work harder and collecting flammable lint. Every damn time I’m behind a dryer with a screwdriver trying to reconnect one of those dealies I get pissed about the obviously inferior engineering involved.

    And yes, I’m whining about dryer connections.

    Leave my Vols outta this.

    The barely crawled past fucking Akron. Akron. A tire town in Ohio almost beat the University of Tennessee at Neyland.

    It’s hard to be a Vol these daze, and the last thing I need is a sarcastic Longhorny fan poking at me.

  2. Q says:

    “…with her hind legs pointed skyward and that grimace plastered on her face?” LOL! Mooner, your visuals never cease to amaze me. I read that line and immediately erupted into laughter.

  3. Mooner In Austin says:

    Squat. OK, first, when you make your scheduled appointment, what you want to ask for is an Rx for Valium. Your team is going through a terrible time caused by the blow-back from firing one of college football’s greatest coaches and best men. Tennessee is a top-ten program deserving a great coach.

    My fear is that you will try to steal Manny Diaz from us.

    As for those fucking dryer hoses, they should come out of the top of the dryer on the back panel and into the wall from there. We could access it without cramming ourselves into that tiny space and the unit would never need to croud the hose to get the closet door shut, Also, it would stare at us each time we used it to remind us to clean it.

    Q. Glad I could brighten your day even though I am but a simple chronicler of events. As with my visits from God, I remain your humble reporter. BTW, how are you and the Mrs.? You’ve not mentioned the shaky pegs so I’m assuming you have healed for the long term.

  4. Squatlo says:

    Most of the time I’m impressed by your ingenuity and creative ways of solving minor problemos, but designing a dryer that has the exhaust vent at the top of the machine would be an engineering feat I’m not sure we’re evolutionarily prepared for… for which we’re prepared? Evolutionary? Damn, I’m getting as scattered in the medula oblongotta as one of your personalities.

    But you get the point.

    About that great college coach and best men we fired… Of whom were you referring? Johnny “Jack Black #3” Majors, or Phil Fulmer? My opinion of you depends upon the correct answer to this question. Forever. For-fucking-ever. Take note, and be careful. I take no prisoners and suffer fools poorly when it comes to coaching changes on The Hill.

    On the other hand, you probably know about as much about the situation up there as anyone currently commenting on it, so blast away, I’ll still love ya.

    Fuck Ala-damn-bama, regardless.

  5. Squatlo says:

    How’s the Squirt’s little patootie doing? (speaking of assholes…)

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