Tag Archives: bad days

Weekly Photo Challenge: Reward

4 Mar

After battling for an hour to put one measly eye drop in the left eye … the one with pink eye …

After struggling to survive a tantrum before bed time when your tank was running on fumes …

After waiting until 1 a.m. for the Children’s 12-Hour Delsym to finally kick in …

After a not-so-good-night’s rest leading to a cranky morning …

After the last Eggo Waffle burned, which then led to a bowl of Chocolate Cheerios …

It finally happened …

Out of the blue …

Sunshine came out …

And so did the reward.

A happy kid gave me the thumbs up.

Dude.

I love rewards.

 

Reward

Reward

 

 

 

Weekly Photo Challenge courtesy of The Daily Post

 

Advertisements

It’s B.B.O.

11 Feb

I was channeling all my Columbo powers, but for some reason it wasn’t happening.

I looked behind the seats, under the driver seats, and in the cracks of every cushion. But I got nothing.

I had no idea where it was, but I knew it was there.

I tried to air it out by leaving the windows and doors open for a couple of hours, but the next day it just came back again. As soon as I opened the door, it smacked me in the face. I had it. I don’t know how I got it. But I did. I had it.

B.O.

 

 

 

Bad Odor.

But not just regular B.O. it was as my good friend George Costanza says Beyond B.O. it was B.B.O.

And I didn’t know why.

I keep my dad’s truck in good condition, and  wash it about once a week. If the kids ever eat anything in there I make sure there is no trash or crumbs. I thought for some reason I had missed something, but no I didn’t. No matter where I looked, I couldn’t seem to find it. And then as I tried to rush the airing out process I turned on the air conditioner and there it was … the smell.

I had found the B.O.

It was caught in the air vents.

It was coming from the engine.

I thought I was glad to have found the source, until I found out what it really was … a rat.

A dead rat.

The bastard had made its way into the engine somewhere and got trapped.

Dude.

It was one of the most disgusting and foul episodes I’ve had so far.

After being completely grossed out and having it removed, I aired it out for 24 hours.

It still smelled.

It still smelled.

I might give it another day of air, before turning to more drastic measures.

I feel like Jerry Seinfeld when he couldn’t get rid of the B.O. in his car. The B.O. from the valet, that contaminated every part of the car including the people who were in it. Poor Elaine, she had to put tomato juice in her hair.

I feel like I need ten gallons of tomato juice.

Wish me luck.

 

Some Air is Still Left in the Balloon

21 Jan

Ever walk into a room and someone just sucks the air out of your balloon? You’re having a good day, you got enough sleep and then all of a sudden everything is your fault. At home, at work, at the supermarket, even at the bank.

A red balloon on a ribbon

Image via Wikipedia

At home, you walk into the living and finally sit down after scrubbing toilets, scouring showers, mopping floors all morning, and surviving two kid birthday parties you sit in peace watching Law and Order. You take a slow sip of your favorite fermented beverage and exhale. Then all of a sudden your mom walks in all hot and bothered, slamming keys on the table, and saying serota this serota that. You sit and observe as she slams a casserole on the table.

“I dropped all this food in the car because of you!”

You squint your eyes and look amazed as you realize your Superhero powers of being in two places at once.

“Your aunt sent this food to you and it spilled all over the car. All over. On my sweater, on the seats, on the rugs. Ugh! Make sure you get it back to her.”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“This is your fault, you know. She sent it to you because apparently you like it so much! It’s all over the car.”

She slams the dish on the table, grabs some paper towels with hostility, drops keys on the floor simultaneously, picks them up as she walks toward the door, slams the door, baby wakes up crying.

Whissshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Balloon deflating

You’re sitting at your cubicle at work minding your own business, typing away. When your supervisor sits next to you with her hot cup of coffee. As she approaches your desk she trips and spills part of her hot beverage on her and the rest on your surge protective plug strip which sparks a few and doesn’t protect any surge.

“Damn it. Why is your rug like that!”

Your amazed at how you can both work a cubicle and be an interior office decorator.

“My computer is down. My files weren’t saved.”

“Well I guess you have to stay late to make up the lost work. You should always save your work. Damn it. I burned myself, too.”

“Did you, now.”

Whissssssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Balloon deflating.

You’re in the produce department of your favorite supermarket. Checking out the various apples on sale and hit the Honey Crisp. Ahhh they are the best for pies, for peanut butter, for pancake toppings, for eating alone. Juicy, crispy, taste-bud savory. You walk over and reach for one at the same time as another shopper. You touch the same apple, but you think she will remove her hand, but she doesn’t. She raises her Gucci sunglasses with her finely manicured hand and says…

“I was here first.”

You look at the pyramid of apples and furrow your brow.

“Are you kidding, me?”

She yanks the apple away from you and in the process a tidal wave of Honey Crisps come rolling off the display.

“Look at what you made me do!”

You do a double-take in awe of her wife-beater mentality.

Whisssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

You’re waiting in line at the bank, because the ATM is out of service. You haul your kids out of the car and attempt a quick in-and-out trip to deposit some funds. You approach the teller give her the check. You try to keep your kids from running amuck as this transaction takes place. The teller takes the check and puts it through his machine and waits. The machine is not reading it. The line gets longer. Impatient customers await. They tap their foot, smack their lips, sigh, and shake their heads. The teller continues putting the check in the machine and then finally pulls it out, entering it manually. As he strikes the keys, the computer makes a funny noise. He looks up.

“My computer is frozen. Something is wrong with the system. It was working fine earlier. It must be the check.”

“C’mon! Hurry it up, my meter is running out of time! Man! Some people should just stick to ATMs.” A tall suit and tie man with slick hair and a Mercedes Benz key chain stands there with his hands up in the air.

You look up. Glare at him, then look back at the teller.

Whissssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

After ten minutes with the one teller you finally deposit a measly $75.  You struggle to put your kids back in the car. It’s hot, you’re tired. You’re kids are hungry and cranky. You really need some chocolate. STAT! You find a Kit Kat in your cup holder, melted. You sigh. As you put on your seatbelt, you look up and see a cop giving a ticket to a white Mercedes Benz.

You smile.

Some air is still left in the balloon.

 

PF7ZCSVDS56X