Saturday ended up being more or less a wasted day. In the morning (actually, at noon, but it's Saturday) I had to go to brains party. I took my old junk truck because the alternator had been having problems recharging the battery and I wanted my old man to peek at it after I left the party. So I drove out there and navigated the urban yuppie maze that is the subdivision known as Alfaya Woods. I showed up at his house and was dismayed to see that there were no cars there. So I parked down the road and wandered over and rang the doorbell. I was greeted by Brian's cheery voice calling down 'Hey Ed, come on in!'.
I was confused for a moment because I thought it was supposed to be a surprise party. It turns out his wife had tried to get him out of the house, but he would not go. Figures. Anyways I was momentarily horrified because I was the only one there. Brian was mucking about upstairs and his wife was downstairs cooking some stuff. I desperately text messaged TJ that I hoped he was still showing up. Actually, I think I said 'Get your ass over here'.
So I stood around awkwardly for a moment and tried to make chitchat with his wife. While she is a very nice lady, I simply do not have anything to talk to her about. I suppose if I had some babies she would love to talk about babies, however I am currently babyless. So I just stood around and shifted from one foot to the other. I am not very comfortable in his house. It's certainly a nice house, however it has the cold feel of a model home. It's very clean and has some nice furniture, however the artwork on the wall looks like it all came from pier one imports and looks like it was selected not because the person enjoyed the artwork but because it looked like something you were supposed to hang on the wall. It's not Brian's house.... It's his wife's house.
Eventually TJ and Amanda showed up and a couple of people from Brian's work. And the Guido. I have such revulsion for this guy its almost palpable. He was there in all his ghetto snooty glory with his giant gold rings and his hair slicked back with enough hair gel that I idly wondered that if you tossed him towards the ceiling his hair would cause him to stick and he would shriek impotently as his arms and legs flailed about. At one point I was amusing myself by telling people about deep fried Twinkies and the fact that I might make some. For whatever reason this seemed to deeply offended the Guido and he dismissed my explanation of what a deep fried Twinkie was with a foppish wave of his hand and the declaration that ' Oh, I KNOW you aint be talking about THAT!'.
Since I was a guest I refrained from cockpunching him.
After two and a half hours I decided that I had done my duty and decided to make my get away. I was even kind enough to invite Brian to my party this weekend. He agreed to go, but I later found out form my mother that he was actually going to a family reunion that Saturday. Why he agreed as opposed to telling me this, I have no idea. Ass.
On the way out his mother said to me sadly 'You are leaving already?'. I felt bad because the only reason I was there was because his mother asked me. I felt bad, but not bad enough to stay. I hightailed out of there.
On the way over to my folk's house my truck decided to take that opportunity to snap it's alternator belt, which also drives the fan and water pump. That Saturday Oviedo was having its 'taste of Oviedo' and the traffic was horrible. Since my battery was dead and I had no belt cable to drive the alternator, I ended up having to take the emergency battery jumper pack I carry in my truck and hooking it up to the dead battery and stuffing the entire apparatus under the hood. I then turned my heat up on high so the truck would not overheat and limped over to my folks house. There I managed to get a new cable and my Dad showed me exactly why my alternator had been failing. So my truck was fixed and I was happy, however most of the day had been wasted.
On the way back to my house I stopped to pick up a load of red cypress mulch. Some other customer there cackled at me 'Red or the Red!'. I yakked at the guy for a moment as they filled my truck with mulch and I learned that the place could also give you a truckload of potting soil for a mere $25. I decided that when I get a chance I was going to get a load of it to dump on some patches of sugar sand on my property that refuses to let anything grow.
By time I got home I was pooped and just loafed out the rest of the day.
I was thrilled to see that a little koi pond that Alan had put in my yard was suddenly teeming with tadpoles; toad tadpoles most likely. They did not seem to be bothering the guppies that I had tossed in there a few weeks ago. The guppies actually seemed to be doing quiet well and the female was fat and pregnant. I scooped out a couple of the tadpoles and put them in my fish tank. They seem to still be alive and if I am lucky I will get to watch a couple of toads grow.
Last night I had Alan help me pull out a battered old wooden platform form a dumpster from a building nearby that was being remolded. I am going to put some legs on it and paint it to be a big table for my BBQ. I'll have to think of some sort of crazy paintjob to give it.
I am thinking of writing a letter to the makers of Kool-Aid to express my disappointment that Mr. Kool-Aid no longer breaks through brick walls.
2026 Update
Firing the time machine at 4/17/2007: Ed's alternator belt snaps, the Guido sneers at batter, and tadpoles invade a koi pond.
Ah, 2007. A world where a truckload of potting soil cost $25 and a man could fix his own alternator with his dad in the driveway. Now you get potting soil delivered by app in plastic bags, at a markup that would make the Guido's eyes water; your car flashes a warning light if you look at it wrong, and no one dares raise the hood because under it lives a computer that is definitely recording every choice you've ever made. I also love that surprise-party attendance required actual surveillance: one man hiding upstairs while his wife tried to eject him, and poor Ed text-messaging "Get your ass over here" in lowercase. These days you'd get eighteen groupchats, a calendar invite, and three people asking if anyone can bring a vegan casserole. And the deep-fried Twinkie scandal: can you imagine being offended by a dessert that sounds that glorious? I'd fight for fried batter. Brian's wife's Pier One museum still haunts me, though — the modern equivalent is a gray, beige 'luxury' apartment staged with rental art and a fake plant no one can touch.
“2007 Ed, after two and a half hours of foot-shifting in that cold model home, did you ever decide whether Brian was just a coward, or was he secretly hoping you'd rescue him from his own surprise party?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2007 Ed: So, Beelzebubba, you hit on the thing that’s been bouncing around my skull since Saturday. I think Brian is both, honestly. He’s the sort of guy who’ll say “sure, I’ll come to your BBQ” when he already knows he’s got a family reunion, because the thought of telling you no is worse than the thought of lying to your face. That’s cowardice, plain and simple. But there was something desperate in the way he hollered “hey Ed, come on in” from upstairs, like he was glad to have somebody else in that cold, pier-one mausoleum to absorb the awkward. I don’t think he wanted to be rescued so much as he wanted company in the trap. And me, I just stood there shifting my weight, trying not to look at the Guido’s hair. So yeah, coward and hostage both. Poor bastard. Anyway, I still didn’t cockpunch anyone, so I figure I came out ahead.
