Expiration Dates

Based on my level of joy over the return of refrigerator operation in my kitchen yesterday, I’m thinking I will pee myself with over-the-top excitement at the prospect of finally having my fireplace fixed with actual heat emanating from it.  The downward spiral of malfunctioning household equipment started with an expired water heater (it expired all over my basement floor), then the blower in the fireplace refused to blow any heat (it was like it was on strike or something) and culminated in the all-out total short-out and horrible death scene from my fridge. After a few sparks flew, it finally said ‘fuck this’ and quit.  No ‘good bye’, no ‘see ya around’ , no ‘it’s been nice, but I’ve had it’ tirades, just a few sparky moments and total blackness.  Thanks, Fridge.  Nice knowin’ ya, too.

The speedy repairman only took 30mins to fix what was wrong, but it took 2 weeks for the replacement part to arrive at my doorstep.  I love efficiency!

 That should be it for the malfunctioning appliances for a while…I hope. I remain ever optimistic at the prospect of having everything in working order simultaneously without short-outs, leaks, weird grinding noises or agonizing deaths by electrical sensors for the next couple of days at least.  I hope I’m not TOO optimistic…come to think of it, I take all that back. I don’t want to entice the Universe into fucking with my car or D1’s car or have son spontaneously combust or have a random window pane randomly become loose and fly across the street and break on the neighbour’s cat (wait…).  That could happen…I’ll shut up now.

I’ve been ranting about son’s hockey fundraising, hockey practices…just hockey shit in general, for the past few months.  It bothers me.  Seriously, I have a disorder about hockey.  It’s kinda scary, really.  I know very few people who suffer from Hockeyphobiatitis, but I have that.  I know I do.  It’s like a tumor that seeps into your brain and every time somebody mentions the word ‘hockey’ one goes into spasms of sweary-filled tirades of ire and physical convulsions that rival a dance-off between Carlton (from Fresh Prince..old show) and Elaine from Seinfeld.  It’s like the Tourrette’s squirrel with more sweariness and less cuteness…

I’m lucky that only one of my children participates in that sport, otherwise, I would have to find a good therapist and invest shares in a vineyard somewhere so I could get a discount on my alcoholism…seriously.

The hockey season is coming to a close…by April, I’m hoping.  So until then, you won’t find me at a rink near you, but if you do, I’ll be the one with the bottle of booze wrapped in the paper bag while singing “Oh Canada” and yelling obscenities at the referees…at least, I think that’s what everybody else does.



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