Loaded for Bear

So I'm cranking away with my snowblower yesterday afternoon easily sucking up and shooting the four inches of heavy sleet we received from storm Agatha. Little One is in her winter best frolicking off in the yard seemingly oblivious to the 14 degree temperature and 30 mph wind. Then it happens. ***CLUNK****. And nothing. Dead!

I fucking snowblowed into the Reminder Paper which in turn clogged up the snowblower and broke the belt that drives the blades. Friggin' thing was buried in the snow. Argggggghhhhhh!!!!

Not sure which, if any, expletives The Little One heard, but I'm sure I dropped no less than 25 F-Bombs!

Now, this stupid paper has been a bone of contention for me for a while. Its a free paper where people sell their car, washing machine, tag sale or whatever. Local businesses advertise tax preparation services or announcements of a new doctor at a practice, etc. I really have no use for the thing. They also have a "Speak Out" section where people bitch about stuff but I'd rather read blog bitching any day. I've even thought about requesting it not be delivered because the 40 something Rhodes Scholar in the yellow Dodge Neon drives by at, oh, 80 on my quiet little street and chucks it. Which means every week I have to clean up litter at the end of my driveway, or in my flowers or anywhere not close to my front door. And now this!!

Well, after I took the plastic cover off to find the problem and saw the broken belt I stormed inside and went online to find the phone number to call them. I mean, I was as pissed as can be which was accentuated by the fact that I couldn't find a number. Eventually I did. A pleasant lady answered the phone there and since it wasn't HER fault really, I tried not to take out my frustration on her. I did, however, explain that I was very, very angry and that I needed to speak with a supervisor. She was genuinely sympathetic and said one would call me back. "Yeah, right" I thought.

Ten minutes later he called. Surprise, surprise. My tact is usually to try to remain as calm as I can until there's a time not to be nice (again, Patrick Swayze in Road House -- "Be nice. Just be nice. Until its time to not be nice" - you didn't realize how profound that movie was, did you?). Anyway, I never got the chance to not be nice. He wouldn't give me a chance to kick some Patrick Swayze-style ass which, of course, would have made for a much better blog.

"I'm very sorry Mr. Blogger. That is the second time that's happened too. Get your snowblower fixed and remit the bill to me and I will see to it that you're reimbursed promptly. And, my next call will be to the carrier in your location".

Wow.

Mrs. Blogger thought I should have them come out and plow too, but I was pretty happy with what I got.

Guilty Pleasures

Guilty pleasures. I've had them, you've had them.....

You know what I mean. Finding some sort of pleasure, any kind, in something you probably shouldn't have, feel badly about, or are ashamed to admit.

Maybe its singing out loud to Mandy by Barry Manilow when you hear it or (if you're a guy) knowing all the words to I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor (First I was afraid/I was petrified/Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side/But I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong....)

Or perhaps it was that third plate of lasagna with oh-so-much-cheese on top followed by a pint of Spunky Monkey Uber Chocolate Chip Fudge Nut Carmel Ice Cream that you thought adding sprinkles to would really set it apart (I should have changed my stupid lock/I should have made you leave your key/If I had known for just one second/you'd be back to bother me....).

Or maybe, again if you're a guy (or some girls, I suppose), that peak down a too-loose blouse or up a too-short skirt. Of course, its really nothing you can't see by the pool or at the beach but somehow its different and you know you shouldn't look just as you know you shouldn't look at that squished squirrel on your morning walk. But you do (Go on now go / walk out the door /don't turn around now / 'cause you're not welcome anymore / weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye? /you think I'd crumble? / you think I'd lay down and die?....)

Or it could even be that movie that's always on. Ten a.m. Sunday morning, three a.m. Saturday morning. Doesn't matter, its on. You've seen it 50 times, yet it stops in your your channel-surfing tracks so much so that after planting yourself you don't even move your little blankie to hunt, yet again, for the damn remote. Which movie is it? Is it Road House? Patrick Swayze and his "Pain don't hurt" comment that makes you roll your eyes every friggin time, yet you STILL watch the movie to the end from whatever point you entered it? (Oh no, not I / I will survive / as long as i know how to love I know I will stay alive / I've got all my life to live / I've got all my love to give /and I'll survive / I will survive / Hey! Hey!.....)

[Hmmm....what's that song rattling around in your head? --- heh heh heh! ]

Anyway, along the lines of Guilty Pleasures and movies, I watched Talledega Nights, The Ballad of Ricky Bobby last night. I know...it should suck. I expected it to suck. And perhaps to many it did. But, I have to say, I laughed my ass off. Hard. Not since 40 Year Old Virgin have I laughed out loud that much at a movie. To be fair, I can't say that I'm a huge Will Farrel fan outside of his work on Saturday Night Live (particularly George Dubya and the cheerleader) but this movie struck me as slightly different. It didn't always take the path I expected but continued to make me laugh out loud. And HE wasn't the only funny person or the only one with funny lines and that made it refreshing. Warning! This movie is stupid. Don't expect Schindler's List or even something quirky/clever (ala Sideways or Little Miss Sunshine). The plot is ridiculous, the humor not subtle, but what a perfect "grab a bag of chips, your favorite beverage, camp on your cushy couch in something comfy and let your mind go and laugh away" kind of movie. Maybe I was in a good mood when I saw it, but.......worked for me.

What are some of your guilty pleasures?