Don't mess with the rules.... and get some Tattoos

Don't mess with the rules.... and get some Tattoos
Praise the baby Jesus, the Tile Man is on the "wife-poo list." Trust me, this is not a place you want to be.

Remember the "don't step on the grout?" from a blog or two ago? Well, the Tile Man had to return to the scene of the crime and remove some grout and tiles, as the tiles were loose & the grout cracked. You can imagine how happy the wife was about this. (I SWEAR to you on my Xena collection that I did NOT step on the grout at all and I didn't step on the tiles until I received the go-ahead from the wife.) I guess the guy was dumb enough to admit that one of his workers had spilled some water on the floor and that might be the problem. (Ya think?) And, the guy started questioning if he should have tiled over the linoleum, so that got the wife's obsessive thinking kicked into high gear. I want to slap this guy. Didn't she pay him to think of those things BEFORE putting the tile down? Well, he'll pay, so it's his bad. I wouldn't have messed with her....

"So, the new rule for the next week is: do not to step on the newly-glued, non-grouted areas in the bathroom."

In order to make sure I do NOT step on these off-limits tiles, I have placed rolls of toilet paper on them--a visual reminder to keep my ass out of trouble and my feet off the tiles. It looks rather ridiculous but I need all the help I can get regarding rule-following. I'm a rule-rebel!

Adding to the wife's terminal case of "tile-floor- fiasco- frustration" is that I did not comply with the "Lawn Mowing Rules" this morning.

I thought it'd be nice for me to use the riding lawn mower while she used the push mower, as I thought I'd do one part so she could be done faster. (Hey, I'm older, so I get to ride, she gets to push. I'm not THAT motivated to help.) It's gonna be 150 degrees out today, so my thinking was, "the faster outside, the sooner inside." Problem is that my plan messed with the "Lawn Mowing Rules." (I know better than that but I felt like living on the edge!)

It was very easy to see how irritated my decision made the wife. I got the "you're messing with me get off my lawnmower" look. I didn't let it deter me--I just threw my flip flop at her and kept moving. (God, I hope the neighbors weren't watching when I was flinging flip flops!) I missed, by the way--the flip flop went wide right.

(Um, I shouldn't have been mowing while wearing flip flops. I know. I really shouldn't have been mowing in my bare feet, either. Alas, I am a fool on all levels. The hell if I was going back to get those flip flops...)

The lawn rules are complicated. There is this whole "method to the madness" thing. My thought is that it's just grass and it's gonna grow back and we don't live at Wrigley field and I'm just trying to help and it's gonna be 15o degrees so let me get going....but this thinking is the kind of thinking that gets me into trouble. (I live my life by the motto: Better to ask for forgiveness instead of permission.)
See, I like to make little circles and zip around here and there. Figure 8's are fun., especially around the trees. The wife, on the other hand, has the master plan of perfectly aligned stripes in a specific order around a set pattern. I messed with the system. I tried to behave as best possible but it didn't help.

No worries--the lawn got mowed and peace was restored in the Addiverse before no time.


Instead of following the rules, I went and got a new tattoo, this one funded by MJagger, god love her. It's the final piece to my back collection. I warn you now—it's obnoxiously large and it's ridiculously tacky. That's only appropriate, as I am one of the most tacky people on the planet. I must profess my love for Isaac, my personal Tattoo Man. (Who needs a Tile Man when you have a Tattoo Man?) When you see my back and get over the initial horror, think of my love for Isaac and my gratitude to MJagger. Then, give your condolences to the wife. The photo to the left shows where the new tattoo was placed--right between Piglet and Spongebob. All my cartoons represent people/four-legged friends in my life. Tacky or not, it all has meaning. I just hope people don't lose the meaning while they are gawking at my back.

And, yes, I realize what it will look like when I'm 80 years old. I'm all good with it.

Work: I sum it up by quoting the wife from this weekend: "I hate your job." Nuff said.

Thunder: Still going to games, still enjoying the team, still making an ass out of myself by cheering loudly in the stands. Last night, I met a little girl who had served as the bat girl the night before. Being the true team stalker that I am, I asked her all sorts of ridiculous questions--did she get a jersey? How did she know what to do? How did she get chosen to do this? You get the picture. I'm sure her mom was thinking, "Oh god, who IS this freak bothering my daughter?" Hey, my dream is to be the bat girl for one game--I hafta know how to apply! Besides stalking the bat girl, the other thing that comes to mind is how a player on the opposing team got beaned in the head by a throw from Mackenzie Vandergeez. It made a sick thud when it hit the girl as she slid head-first into third base.--her helmet went flying off her head and just about into the Thunders' dug out. They took her away in an ambulance. Here's some healing vibes to her. You never want to see anyone get hurt. Haven't heard if she's okay...so here's hoping...I've been knocked silly enough times to know it's serious business....


And, on a final note (which has nothing to do with anything mentioned above): the cutest puppy on the planet has moved in next door. Not the cheeseball neighbor side; the other side. (Um, this photo is not of the neighbor dog but I thought it was really cute so I posted it here until I get some real photos of the puppy.) This new neighbor little cockapoo won big points with me because it nipped ol' Crabby Patty right in the ear!
--> Freckles has met her match and I couldn't be happier--the Warrior Princess doesn't take kindly to other dogs but she seemed rather enamored with this new neighbor—well, until it nipped her, deservedly so. It's kind of canine poetic justice. Lucy, on the other hand, is terrified of the new pup and goes running back into the house whenever the puppy is outside. Never mind that Lucy has ten pounds and five years on this puppy. I'll get some photos of the puppy so I can post them for all to enjoy.

Until then, I'm gonna keep my feet off the tiles, suave on my tattoo and my hands off the lawn mower....