Yesterday morning, Mr Indemnity sent me this link and suggested I better cut that shit out or I will never find the handsome-guy-with-big-truck of my dreams. The implication being that I'd be too intimidating, what with the big brain and the big muscles. And I said, "Dude, if I can both outsmart him and beat him up, how is that not in my favor?" (Mr Indemnity had to concede my point.) Because, boys and girls, I have decided after much rumination and careful thought that in my next serious relationship, we're gonna play by *my* rulez, bitches.
[Do I need to put an irony alert in here? Srsly? You do understand that I do not condone any form of domestic violence or threats thereof and that any suggestion of assaulting contractors is only a joke in very poor taste? We good? Okay.]
So, let's step back for a sec. Remember the tree that fell into my driveway? Well, as of Tuesday, the city still had not removed it. And when I called that afternoon to complain, the nice DPW lady made noises about how busy they've been. I pointed out it had been SIX days. She took down my info. This was perhaps 1:30 pm. At approximately 8 pm Tuesday we see flashing light outside and a DPW supervisor rings my bell. He apologizes profusely and says he had no idea it was so bad up our way. He says he's calling a crew in and they will remove it that night and I will have access to my sidewalk and driveway. Yay.
I go out yesterday to find that while they've removed some of it, they left a whole bunch too. But it's better. I didn't have time to mess with anything yesterday, but this morning as soon as I got up, I went out to clean up as much as I could. This is difficult because the rain yesterday has frozen the remaining branches in place. I am chiseling away slowly with my shovel when the woman next door comes by, walking her grandson to the school bus. She is incensed by the crappy job the city has done and says I should call the DPW again today, before it snows on top of this again Friday. In fact, she says, she's gonna call too. I am still chiseling away when, ten minutes after she's returned to her house, a city truck pulls up. Sweet mother of god, I have no idea what kind of pull she has, but I wish she had used it sooner.
So these two guys are a riot. And full of sympathy for me. And totally agreeing that if they don't get that stuff out of our street before it snows tomorrow, it'll be there till May. So they're on their walkie-talkies trying to convince someone to send a backhoe over, with which they will remove all the branches, the snow banks and much of the frozen snow in my driveway. Meanwhile while they wait, they flirt with me. One of them takes my shovel away from me, saying, "You're killing me here." I tell him I work out and am not as puny as I look. He tells me I have the wrong tool, and then they make fun of my snow shovel, asking if I got it at Big Lots. No, Home Depot. "Maybe. It is orange." Despite my crappy, not-to-their-standards shovel, the one who's holding it shovels out a crapload of hard snow for me fairly quickly. His partner asks me if I have ice melt. I go get some. I ask him what he suggests I do with it--I though he wanted me to put it on the ice his buddy was working on or something--and he wises off that maybe I should put it, y'know, on the path to my front door. Then he criticizes my technique and says I should throw it like I'm bowling. He demonstrates. I am cracking up. "Oh! I get the ice melt tutorial!" "That's too big a word."
Finally we have done what we can, they're waiting for their reinforcements, and I need to go take a shower and go to work. I thank them profusely and go in. (And when I leave for work, progress is being made. I'm crossing my fingers it'll be perfect tonight when I get home.)
But to tie this all together, these guys obviously thought I was cute as a button even though I had on a down coat obscuring my boobs, no makeup, and my pajamas tucked into my boots. I think this is proof positive that I can snag me a manly man with a big truck at Home Depot if I fix up a little. I won't scare them off. (I do, however, now know that I'm not marrying anyone who doesn't know the word tutorial. There will be a vocab test.)
xoxo
3 comments:
Reading the article makes me wonder how yoga would do. It causes your brain to think, and many poses you're supporting your own weight, or at least some of it, more advanced poses like Handstands and headstands and forearm balances add more weight.
And Vinyasa and all the hot yogas raise your heart rate....hmmmm.
Brains and brawn...Im sure there's a contractor out there somewhere with both who appreciates both in his mate :-) Happy Hunting!
Did you read how they had to think hard about how to get the little rodents to do something approximating weightlifting? I'm imagining how they'd get them to do warrior pose, hahaha. And now I have this image stuck in my mind of little mice in yoga pants on itty bitty mats, which would be the cutest thing EVAH.
I like the sound of "my rulez" for you--you've never had a lack for knowing how things should be, even when you're being all churchmouse about it. And, obviously, the world is FULL of contractor men (and all sorts of other men) who really want and need to be told where to put the branches--you'd be doing the universe one of those big huge cosmic favors to fill the breach. Ever see "Body Heat" with Kathleen Turner and William Hurt, when she says to him, "you're not too smart, are you. I like that in a man". (Ok, yeah, I know this might make the vocab quiz portion of the application a little tough, but, seriously, I think you're onto something here, and there may very well be someone for whom your surplus is a perfect complement to theirs in their other ways).
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