A Story With a Punchline

So the Water Damage Inspector comes in to check if after two days of crazy giant fans everywhere our walls and ceiling are dry enough to start the restoration work. He comes there with another woman, a new employee who is supposed to follow him around to learn. As soon as they get upstairs, Liam hands her this book.

She recognizes the Hebrew and asks me if we've ever taken Liam to Israel. I tell her that yes, because his grandparents live there.

"Whereabouts?"

"Tel-Aviv."

"Oh... Is that... Is that the capital?"

"No. Jerusalem is the capital, but--"

"Of course it is. Certainly."

"No, it is. But Tel-Aviv is the biggest city."

"But wait, where's the US embassy?"

"All the embassies are in Tel-Aviv, for political reasons. But the capital is--"

"Of course, of course. The capital is Jerusalem, of course."

"No no," I say. "I'm not making a political statement. Jerusalem is the capital, and--"

"Of course it's the capital. Just because there's some mosque there it's not going to be the capital?"

But that's not the story I was going to tell. This one is the story with the punchline:

Before they leave, while the women shows Liam pictures of her dogs on her cellphone, the guy comes up to me.

"So, I finished inspecting everything. You can call the insurance company and tell them that they can send someone to start the restoration, because all the walls and the ceilings are dry now, apart from the tiles on the third floor bathroom, but that's just because of the semen."

About a minute goes by. I'm just looking at him.

"I'm sorry?"

"You have semen between the tiles."

"Oh. I do? Oh, yes yes."

(cement)

In Which I Link to Another Post on Another Blog

At first, I wanted to write about my amazing new computer. This guy (or close enough):

Then, I thought I'd write something topical about the Olympics. Especially about the cute curling women.

I also thought maybe I should write about the doubles-luge, which is basically just like a singles-luge, only you put another tight-wearing dude lying down on top of the first guy. Maybe it's more difficult because it's harder to concentrate flying around while you're wearing tights and another dude is lying on top of you.

Then the CPAC happened, and I thought it would be fun to mention how they booed the guy who thanked the organizers for inviting GOPride to sponsor the event, and how they booed the guy who condemned the organizers for inviting GOPride, and how they booed the results of their own poll vote because Ron Paul won, and if we've learned anything from the violent Town Hall meetings, it's that Republicans think that the louder they boo, the more valid their points become.

And I thought that maybe I should write about how I still have so much to do here before What's-Her-Name comes, and how overwhelming it's getting now that we're getting into the "Any day" period. And thank God for these things, So Say We All:

But all of these posts will have to wait, or even disappear. Maybe they will be lost in time, like tears in the rain, for example. Because linking to this post is more important. Because although it doesn't prove there is a God or a bunch of Gods, it does prove that sometimes good things happen to good people.

I have an idea for a new Adam Sandler movie!

 
What happened was that Locke thought there was some kind of great REASON for him to be there, so he turned the wheel after he saw Jack's dad, and then Baltimore started traveling through time, because Locke is from around here, and finally we stabilized in the Ice Age.

Those thunder-snows, man! A thunder-storm, but with snow instead of rain. And it's really called a thunder-snow!

So I slept downstairs because Buddy was scared, and when I woke up--

Or was it the next day? I just don't remember. The days get mixed up in my head after this insanity. So one day we woke up and saw a leak in the bathroom upstairs. The sun was melting the snow on the roof, but it wasn't strong enough to melt the ice in the pipes, so water started getting into the walls and down the ceiling all the way to the kitchen downstairs, where we still have two large trash cans to collect water leaking from the ceiling.

So there was that.

A neighbor actually suggested I throw salt from the upstairs bathroom window onto the gutters on the roof, so I tried to do that but most of the salt fell straight on my face and inside my hair, and the pigeons were looking at me like I was crazy, because why is this guy standing there with his body out of the window, throwing salt on his head? It just didn't make sense!

And there were the five hours of shoveling a few days ago and another four today. I'm getting really good at that, I have to say. You know how you're about to dig your car out and there's so much snow that you don't even know where to start so you just stand there with your shovel and cry? Well, that probably won't even happen to me next time, because now I know exactly what I'm doing. This shit should be an Olympic sport. Or maybe it should be an Olympic sport in an Adam Sandler movie? They accidentally discover him while he digs his car out in five minutes. He doesn't play by the rules, but he has a heart of gold, and eventually the US shoveling team wins the gold medal.

I'm so tired...

The baby is no longer a baby. He's moved to his Big Boy Bed, which also means that by the time I've written this post he's already visited me 3 times. When he was in the crib and he woke up, he would either cry or try to go back to sleep. Now he just starts walking around the house.

And every once in a while, he says, "Go Saints!"

Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against you if you like Football, but you know, I'm just not from around here. Imagine you move to India and they tell you about this game named after a common bug, where people dress up in white and use a rectangle bat to get the ball to hit this tiny piece of wood, and you say, "Hey, that sound like fun," but they tell you, "NO! THAT'S NOT FUN! THAT'S THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD, YOU FOOL!" So I like Football, but not living here as a kid, I just can't see the big deal. It's not you, it's me. Unless you love watching the Superbowl commercials, in which case, it is you.