Category Archives: The Royal Family
Updates and topics that inherently involve members of the royal family.
Nature has a funny way of getting revenge on us.
When I was 13, perhaps 14, I had a birthday party that consisted of me swimming with my friends and eating at McDonald’s afterwards. I ended up eating 2 – 20 pack boxes of Chicken McNuggets that day. Because I was hungry.
While I’m sure that my birthday meal took six months off of my life expectancy, I was in dire need of sustenance. I don’t recall the cost of a 20 pack of Chicken McNuggets at the time, however I’m sure that it impacted my parents’ wallet. Never mind eating two of them in one sitting.
Now fast-forward to today…
I picked up the Duke of Ginger from his football training camp Day Two just this afternoon. Since he is a teenager, I knew he would be hungry. When we got home I barbecued eight hot dogs so that he could have a bite to eat. I knew I would have a few as well, and he would eat heartily. Just how heartily I didn’t understand.
The little bastard ate five hotdogs with buns and condiments. In one sitting. And then when the Queen got off of work, she took all three boys to McDonald’s for food. I thought that the Duke would be full from the hotdogs. I was wrong.
So it was pouring yesterday and I came home to the Prince of Stanley (PoS) and our ex-neighbor, Keaton, goofing it up with the Prince of Albacore (PoA) and the Duke of Ginger (DoG) also doing their own thing. I ate and then did some chillaxing. The DoG was going to go for a run with the Queen’s boss who is a bit of a fitness nut and he come upstairs after changing to go and said, “the PoS and Keaton spilled something in the hallway because there is a bit wet spot in the carpet.”
My heart skipped a beat.
This sounds like the last couple of times that our sump pump cratered on us and I noted some weird behavior over the weekend of the hose that runs from the pump discharge to the lawn. I ran downstairs to try and figure out if we were having an issue. Sure enough, we were.
I ran upstairs and got the PoS and Keaton and the PoA to go downstairs and start pulling everything out from the crawl space where the lid of the sump is located. I immediately hopped in my car and drove furiously to Lowe’s to buy a replacement pump.
Five minutes and $159 + tax later, I was out the door and back into my car. I made tracks back to the house and ran inside with the box on top of my shoulder, leaping three steps to get onto the back deck.
Moments later, I was in the basement attaching the spare hose I had to the pump before plunking the replacement pump into the sump. I put the discharge into floor drain in the laundry room and then plugged the pump in. It kicked on immediately and began pumping the groundwater into the floor drain. Where it might normally run for ten to fifteen seconds to empty the sump; the pump ran for a full ten MINUTES before turning off. It had to not only drain the sump but drain all of water that had built up in our weeping tile that surrounded the foundation of the house.
I then went to work sopping up the little bit of water that had gotten into the carpet. It was already getting late at this point and I didn’t have the tools at my disposal to fully deal with the problem. Plus, the Queen was out on a Ladies Night out for margaritas and catch Magic Mike.
Anyway, I got a call today at lunch that the basement was flooded! Luckily, the gas man was showing up at the exact same time as when the Queen discovered it and he noted that the discharge of the hose was too far into the floor drain and was now submerged due to the rise in water level in the drain. The pump couldn’t overcome the pressure head created by the water level above the discharge so the sump simply backed up and overflowed.
Anyway, I left work immediately. When I got home, I saw how bad it was. The water got into every room. It didn’t really go up higher than the top of the carpet but when you walked, you could see the water squish up. I helped to get the remaining movable items upstairs into the living room and the Queen sped off to the grocery store to rent a steam cleaner. From 12:30 until 4:30, we furiously moved furniture around and pulled up countless gallons of water out of the carpet. Seriously, I have no idea how many gallons are in the container of that Rug Doctor machine and I have even less of an idea of how many times I had to pour it into the toilet into the basement. At least 20.
We took a break for dinner (the Queen’s mom and dad invited us over for dinner) and after dinner, we got back after it. We stopped at around 9:00 because I was physically exhausted and I think the amount of moisture left in the carpet would be comparable to how much would be left if you actually steam cleaned the carpet.
We will have another go at it tomorrow, if necessary, but I think we will largely be waiting for the carpet to finally dry and we can go back to putting the basement back together again and getting the shit that is piled up in our living room, back downstairs where it belongs.
So that has been the last 30 hours. Fun.
A death in the family is a tough thing to go through. Even when someone you care about has been sick for a long time and given a grim prognosis, the finality of death is still very difficult to come to terms with.
Even though I was baptized as a Catholic Christian, I don’t fully accept the concept of an afterlife. I am, largely, a man of science… of what can be proven. This leads me to believe in the here and now as being what is important. I believe in the time that we have as being finite and valuable and to be enjoyed.
When someone passes, it causes me to return to these thoughts and consider if I am doing that; enjoying life to its fullest. Because I know there are no second chances.
Strange but true fact about my dog:
When I come home from work, he will not go out to pee until I pet him and tell him what a pretty, good looking dog he is. He’s got an ego, I guess.
Well, the year is still 2011 and, yes, this year still sucks. Just in case you weren’t sure.
The segment of my life from January 1st until now has easily been the worst year of my entire life (a trend which, presumably, will continue until December 31st). There been
laughter anguish and tears as well as a non-stop cavalcade of misfortune which has challenged my sanity!
“Surely,” you might say, “It can’t be that bad.”
The past nine months has been full of all kinds of misfortune. Sadly, it hasn’t been one of those ‘comedy of errors’ types of misfortune. It’s been ‘I hope this water pipe in the ceiling is sturdy enough to tie a noose to and support my own weight’ kind of misfortune. Even Steven Wright would take one look at me and say, “Whoa. Dude.”
I mean, I could go on and on about the financial assaults from various institutions that have decided to haul off and boot me full-on in the testicles time and time again this year. Or, I could talk about the absolute misery that my career path is bringing me from one day to the next. Or, I could talk about how I haven’t even had sex this year. That’s right. NOT ONCE. And I’m not talking about a “holy shit we got interrupted by the kids”. I haven’t even come close.
Let’s put it this way: I’m the only person that has touched my dick since mid-2010. Now, let that one bounce around in your cranium for a while.
Let me be crystal clear on this issue: anyone who believes in the ‘sanctity of marriage’ is fucking delusional. Or in need of anti-psychotics. Either way, I hate you and I want you to die. Slowly and painfully.
It’s one of those epiphanies where you come home from work and your house looks like an episode of ‘Hoarders’, the dog is humping the shit out of the blanket that your ten year old kid is trying to curl up with and, if you had a molotov cocktail… you might seriously consider lighting it, throwing it into the living room and just walking straight back out to your car to drive away. Not to get too specific or anything. Because an RPG or a simple hand grenade might also do the trick.
Really… with everything that I do and everything that I say, it feels like it’s falling on deaf ears. No one pays attention and no one listens to anything I have to say. It’s pretty much like this blog, actually. Pointless.
The month of May holds the birthdays of the Prince of Stanley as well as the Prince of Albacore! Not only are they in the same month but they are a mere eight days apart!
As such, these two birthdays were rejoiced and heralded by everyone living within the borders of this great nation. Great feasts were held in their honour with gifts and music.
Many friends of the two princes came to join in the festivities. The Prince of Stanley had a sleepover while the Prince of Albacore opted for a family campout in the backwoods wilderness immediately behind the palace.
All that being said, it was an expensive month to try to balance the budget and maintain the infrastructure while still jubilantly commemorating these events. The best part is that the Queen has a birthday in June while the Duke grows another year older in July. It’s a non-stop cavalcade of birthdays throughout the summer. No wonder we never get anywhere.
It’s interesting how Wicket, the royal canine, will have an “accident” on the floor of the kitchen, even at four and a half years old. By this point, he should really be fully house trained because he knows how to ask to be let out to pee. He knows however he doesn’t always do it, for some reason. MOST of the time, he’s good.
Today, however, I had to clean up one of his messes. Normally, a King wouldn’t perform this type of menial task however let me say that I am no regular King. I am a King of the people and for the people. Even more importantly, I am a King for the canines. I look out for everyone… man or beast, large or small. All of them are under my protection and care. THAT’S the kind of King I am.
Anyway, as I said, I was cleaning up the mess and cast a casual gaze over into the Royal Living Room where I could see Wicket laying down with his head on the floor, looking very frowny. And I can tell he was frowning… after living with an animal for a few years and getting to know their personality, you can usually tell when they are happy or when they are upset and even when they are afraid or sad. You may not know exactly why… but you just know.
In this case, I wasn’t completely sure what his state of mind was and what he was thinking or feeling but I’d narrowed it down to two options:
1) Regret: “Dad, I’m sorry that I went pee on the floor; I’m so embarrassed and ashamed.”
2) Depressed: “Dude, you don’t even understand how hard it was for me to get that JUST the way I wanted it and now you’re destroying it? I AM SO MAD RIGHT NOW.”
To add insult to injury for our fair pooch; once I was done desecrating his masterpiece, I released his arch-nemesis: the Kenmore MD 12A canister vacuum cleaner with motorized power nozzle (which shall be referred to henceforth as ‘The Kraken’.)
Upon seeing it’s green hide and grey underbelly, Wicket tucked his tail between his legs and skittered off in the opposite direction. As The Kraken roared to life and began roving over the floors of the JeffLand palace, Wicket jumped for the safety of the sofa and remained there until The Kraken’s skinny grey tail retracted back into its body and it laid still.
After all of that, I’m pretty sure that Sir Wicket will be extremely choked at me and I the likelihood is high that I will return to the palace to find another yellow puddle in the Royal Dining Room, left partially out of fear and partially out of hateful spite.
It isn’t easy trying to be a King for the canines. I guess you really can’t please all of the dogs all of the time.
That’s what time it is for the Prince of Stanley’s hockey team. Tomorrow night, they play a crucial game that will not only decide their path toward a gold medal but will also, more importantly, decide whether or not I have to wake up at an ungodly hour on Saturday morning.
If they win tomorrow night, then they will play in a game on Friday night to decide if they head to the gold medal game. If they lose tomorrow night, then they play at 7:45 am at the arena on the opposite side of the city, in the heart of Downs’ Castle.
I’m going to do the math on this one; if the game starts at 7:45 am, he needs to be there a half an hour earlier as a minimum… at 7:15 am. I’m going to have to give the standard one hour of travel time, meaning that we have to leave the house at 6:15 am. Providing an allowance for how much time I need to get the Prince awake and fed, tack on getting a coffee in there… multiply it by the crab factor (which is basically how cranky the Prince is going to be getting up that early) and you have a crazy early morning.
Hence why it’s a ‘do-or-die’ scenario. Because if he doesn’t win… I’m going to die.