White Lightning Axiom: Redux

In a rare validation of Pavlovian training, I've learned that I need to be prepared for the evening activities before I leave the house in the morning. If all the preparations are in place, everyone is happier and everything goes smoothly. As it should be. So yesterday evening's S&R with dinner went ... well. I picked up the kids early, gave a superficial session of admonishment for them jumping in the puddles on the driveway (I wanted to do that SOOO bad), got them started on dinner and had them nearly done by the time the Mrs arrived home ... early. Play time went well except for Alexis asking Mommy to take her to the bathroom to go pee ... and then peeing right there. Guess she really had to go. We need to work on the concept that she can pee in private too. They have already cast a jaundiced eye on the training pottys and insist on using the toilet ... they like to flush it I think. After a bit of coercing, we got them into the bath and off to bed before 2100 hours. I wanted to put in the fire-bricks that I bought while on vacation last week. The damn things cost about 2.50-4$ each and I might as well get them installed. Well, they did not fit perfectly which is ok since the original ones did not either. I needed to chip away a notch along the long side of the 2 bricks that will go in the back of the fire-box so that they would fit into the retaining clamps. No problem, just chip a little at a time ... chip ... chip ... SNAP! Oh, PICKLES! Yeah, I swear like that now ... it sucks. The durned thing snapped right down the middle. Normally, I would have pulled the next brick out but since these were so hard I went ahead and put it in. It was fixed in there solidly and would not move so I think I can get away with it. I have 5 other bricks so if it starts to disintegrate I can replace it. The other brick that needed 'modification' snapped too but this was the one that had to have a corner removed. There was no reason for it to snap the way it did. I got really pissed over this one and stood up to give it a good 'Daddy Glare' when I noticed that I was perspiring ... a lot.

For those of you who know me, you'll understand the panic I fall into when I start to get hot and begin to sweat. I'm ok with it as long as I'm prepared for it. I used to have 'sweet sweat' when I was an aerobics instructor. No stink, no nasty filmy oil ... just a thin layer of sexy, shiny moisture. Not anymore. Now I'm a nasty pig with fetid liquids squirting from my pores. Bletch. What's worse, I don't seem to cool down at all and quickly deplete my fluid reserves. Then things get messy. Overheating is a bad thing, hydration is gooood. The bothersome fact was that I was sweating inside my wondrous central air conditioned manor. The furnace fan was on, but upon checking the thermostat dials, readouts and blinky lights I find that the temp is going UP! Well, in technical terms, that's "NOT GOOD". I ask the Mrs to go out and check the external unit while I wash the soot and grime off my hands in preparation to ... well, get dirty. She reports back that the 20 foot fan blades in the unit are not spinning and the compressor is silent. I turn on the external flood lights, disarm the cyborg anti-personnel guards and collect my tools to start my investigation. After about 30 mosquito bites, I reassemble the unit and proclaim that it is indeed not running. Curses, I did not need to have this burden so late in the summer. At least the portable AC we have in the kids room works ... they'll be able to sleep comfortably. I glance up at the flood lights and notice that only half of them are lit up. Odd, I could have sworn I flipped both switches. The realization of what I was seeing did not hit me until the Mrs made a comment that the stove and refrigerator were also offline. Then it hit me ... the Annual PECO Power Issue is in effect. Every year, the buried transformer across the street sinks a bit due to erosion from a broken storm sewer drain and we loose one of our power feeds. Every. Damn. Year.

The Mrs gives the SkyNet PECO Impersonal Phone Outage Logging system a call and it scans her brain waves to verify that she is indeed the person who pays the outrageous 3000$ monthly utility bill. Her DNA sample is on file and they WILL clone her should she meet some unfortunate end in order to keep a faithfully punctual bill-payer on their rolls. The Deus ex machina assigns a faithful servant to let us know that they will not be able to diagnose or resolve our problem any time soon due to the number of reported gas leaks they have recently been alerted too. This is a standard 'expectation management' technique they employ and with us putting in a call at just before 2145, I'll expect to see someone within an hour. Unfortunately, this would have been an accurate assessment if the dispatched 'unit' had not been on call for the last 16 hours and could see straight. He was hopelessly lost within our development. I cannot imagine how anyone could not immediately identify the Haupertonian International Combine World HQ and Manor on sight, but I had to talk him through the directions just to get him near the GPS coordinates. Even then, he blasted down the street and past the driveway where I was standing in slippers and silk boxers, frantically waving my hands to get his attention. Alas, his REM Sleep deprived condition prevented him from noticing the frantically gesticulating figure as I raced down the street after him. I considered taking off one of my slippers and throwing it at the truck but thought it unwise should it land in the back of the truck as he drives away. Nothing would suck more than having to waddle back towards the manor sans one of my foot coverings. He eventually discovers that he has gone too far and begins to turn around. I stand in the middle of the road and wave him down ... he see me and pulls over. Finally, I get to tell him how to get there and he still pulls up to the wrong house. When I do speak with him and tell him the same story I recite every year, he ignores my ballad as if it were yet another wild story by the usual White Collar smooth hand elitist. He is as gruff and surly as they come but after a few tests begins to see that my tale rings true and calls in the digger crew.

The back-hoe gang show up at midnight and begin the task of digging in the same spot they dig every year. I should just put a man-hole cover there instead or replanting the grass. If this had been earlier in the day, Jake would have been delighted to have witnessed the excavation. But alas, I'm barely coherent so the job of keeping him from beneath the wheels would have been too much for me. The Mrs and I had hoped to be in bed by 2200 hours tonight. Best laid plans and all, you know. By 0130, they had polished up their work and I bid them farewell, see you next year. The Mrs fumes that their work will be shoddy and ineffective come the next storm. I feel the same but am grateful that I have electric service unlike the poor souls in the South. Small blessings, great fortunes.

Morning ... is awful. Up late, tired, sore and it's raining out like a cow pissing on a flat rock. Perfect, the road-ways will have an extra helping of delays and accidents due to the 'Instant-asshole, just add water' nature of metro traffic. Today, I think I'll be going out for that pint or two of beer at lunch. BTW: It's now 2$ instead of 1$ for a Thursday Pint ... keeps the riff-raff out, don't you know.

# posted by mdmhvonpa @ 8:39 AM