Same Old Song and Dance

The weekend before Thanksgiving, as the satelite dish slowly faded out of commision, I began to panic. I only owned two DVDs other than an embarrassing number of recordings of the Late Late Show, both of which featured Craig Ferguson. In one he plays a character in drag, the other a gay hairdresser, both of which are portions of the population which I adore, but not necassarily played by Ferguson. It kinda messes with my fantasy world, ya know?

That Friday night, I was down to HBO2 and HBOw. For some reason, those two channels came in fine, but nothing else. When they began airing boxing, I got the bright idea to try to change the channel and as a result, lost the only two channels I could get.

I really didn't want to face nearly a week off from work, home alone with the Amazon and Ma and no television.

Ma's television by the way, was working fine.

Saturday, Ma sent me to the store on a Coke run because, God forbid she should run out. I hopped in the van, turned the key...

Nothing.

Not even a murmur. Completely dead.

By now, I was getting a little annoyed with the state of things in my universe. Was it trying desperately to tell me something? Or was I just having a run of nasty luck? I ended up walking to town in the rain (it's not far at all, really) for her drinks, cussing under my breath the whole time, worrying about how the heck I was going to be able to go to G'boro to get the Amazon on Tuesday if the van was dead. It was one of those days where you feel like just sitting in a corner somewhere and crying, just to get it all out.

On Monday, I called the office and asked Bubbles to come get me, then appologized to Bossman for managing to be late on the only day I was working that week. Thankfully he's an understanding kind of guy. At around ten or so, Ma called me to say that she'd called some guy from up the road (no idea who she called) to get the van started. It just needed a jump, she said, almost as if she was accusing me of making a mountain out of a mole hill. Then she went on to tell me that the oil was fine but she wasn't able to get the top off the coolant to check it. I'm like... what the hell were you doing out there under the friggen hood???

Here's a woman who can't manage to get her Coke bottles and cheese wrappers to the trash can, because.. bless her heart.. it's just too much walking, yet she's out there poking around under the hood of the van like Gomer Pyle.

Anyway, to make a long story short, the dish problem was just a loose wire and was fixed on Wednesday. In the mean time.. I hesitate to say this.. but I know he'd understand.. I almost.. ALMOST.. made myself sick of Craig Ferguson.

You can get too much of a good thing. Especially when it's the same exact good thing over and over again... over several days.. just to have some noise in the house.

Monday night I was finally able to record his show again, then watch it yesterday morning before work. The pieces of my warped little world are slowly falling back into place. All I needed was William Shatner with flaming turkeys and the slapping around of supple urethras before breakfast.

I feel better already.

Later Taters :)