Sublime Sparkles
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Ok, so I'm back. It's ridiculous, Internet, the amount of incompetence in the world. We're having some things done around this house and we needed to locate the phone lines so that no one would chop into it when digging. VERIZON, that's right, VERIZON had us call the locator service, whose only job is to, duh, locate phone lines. They came out to our house and evidently, our yard was too baffling for them and the sole service they provide and they told us in a nutshell, "Yeah, we can't find your phone lines, so just go ahead and dig wherever."

And then VERIZON had the nerve to ask me who was responsible for the cut phone lines! And that was when I almost got out my heaviest pot to knock some sense into the repair guy's head, the repair guy who gave me a window of being there between 7 am and 8 pm, because I have nothing else to do in my life but wait around for 13 freakin' hours. Very infuriating day. But, we are up and temporarily working. The key word is temporary. Who knows how long it will take these brainiacs to get the job done properly.

So, anyway I've got a whole bunch of somethin' going on right now in my life. But, I'm not going to use my little blog here to hash over all the ways I'm stretching myself thin and making myself crazy. Because I know Internet, we are all stretching ourselves like Gumby these days, in our efforts to be Superpeople. 

We need to slow down our frantic pace and become more European, in my opinion. Those folks shut down their entire countries in the afternoon so people can take super-long lunches and naps and other relaxing stress-busters. They may not get much accomplished or have the muscle to be the most powerful nation in the world, but they're certainly healthier and well-rested and... full. 

So, I've been stressing myself out lately and waking up in the middle of the night, unable to go to sleep with all the whirring in my brain and this has caused a patch of teenaged pimples to break out on my chin. If you ran into me in the morning with my electrified morning hair and my acne, you most certainly would think, "Wow, I didn't know she was into meth."

Yeah, it's that bad. 

But in the mix of this spiced anxiety soup of pimply skin, insomnia, and all the innumerable ways I'm making myself crazy trying to be everything to everybody, I have this one thing, this one perfect thing that makes me forget all the stress. It is akin to a giant endorphin, spreading sublime happiness throughout my being. Here is my feel good:

This is my front yard, y'all! Isn't it sparkling magic? It's a little blurry because My Hubby is still trying to figure out the night lighting on his fancy camera, but you can still see the pretty.

We found a landscaper who waved his magic wand and turned my yard into a shimmery fairyland. And this is just the tree in the middle of the driveway. The whole place looks like Christmas around here. Every time I pass by the window, I am filled with as much sparkly joy as the trees around here. 

And the best part of it all? We did not hire the pornstache landscaper. Instead, I found a landscaper with a goatee. Not just a fat, bristly porno mustache, but a nice, well-trimmed goatee that didn't make me shudder every time I looked his way. And this landscaper has obviously not been sniffing fertilizer like someone else, ahem, since he has not mistaken me for a 60-year old. 

It was also very convenient, since the man we hired is a neighbor of ours. He could skip over to our house if he wanted to. Although, by the looks of his goatee, I don't think he's much of a skipper. 

His parents live even closer to us and they are just plain, good people, very well-respected around these parts. 

His dad was the agricultural teacher at my high school for years and even though I did not take any agricultural classes, evident in my vast ignorance of plant life, he was one of my favorite people at that school because of his bright and cheery outlook. 

When we were building our house, a process that took about as many years as the Israelites wandered through the desert, we were always around checking on the workers' one-nail-a-day progress. Our landscaper's parents would stroll down through our woody front yard to greet us and shoot the breeze. I always delighted in their company. His agricultural teaching passions are still vibrant and he would give my girls a tour, naming each and every bloom and plant in our vast woods, filling the girls up with all the wonderful knowledge of the green world around them. 

My newly-hired landscaper's wife happens to be our state senator. I find that quite comforting in itself. Since I don't know Al Gore, if I'm ever in an international bind like getting arrested for accidentally wandering into scary, insane countries while on a hike, I've got someone's digits who knows how to get ahold of the President. (Why are people wandering around in lunatic-led countries lately? I'm sorry, but if you want a thrill, go stand in line at Bush Gardens. There's a difference between being adventurous and stupid, if you know what I'm saying.), But since Al, the father of the Internet and all things green, isn't one of my cell phone contacts, at least I have our state senator's number. I could be all, "Yo, I'm stuck in a prison camp in Crazy Country. Do you think you could help me out? I mean, your husband did landscape my yard and all. Call up Al."

Because Al IS the Father of the Internet, Nobel Prize Winner AND liberator of the world.  I wonder if he's on his way to Iran right now to help out the latest wandering hikers. That Al. Is there anything he can't do? And I'm not going to say- Yessss, become President of the United States!- Because that would be too easy and too multi-layered for my simple little blog. 

But, the best part about my landscaper besides the fact that my lawn now looks like the Electrical Night Parade at Disney World, is that he has not seen me naked. That always makes things a lot less awkward in a contractor/customer relationship. And if you want to read that sad, sad tale, you'll find it right here. 

Although, the landscaper and My Hubby did catch me in my curtain-less bathroom, just like the other guy, except this time I was fully clothed.

He and The Hubby were outside checking on the shrubs and such. My hubby had just gotten home from work and with the time change, it was as dark as Michael Vick's soul. (Seriously, if he weren't a football player, do you think he would even have a place in society? Simply appalling that he is playing... but stories for another day.) But, when it is that black outside you can see straight through my bathroom windows. And like I've said before, this is usually not a problem since I live in the sticks. 

I was getting ready for some dinner thing we had to attend and since it was a writing day, my hair was still in its Don King state. With my makeup done and my clothes in place, I attacked that Don King 'do with my blow dryer. 

It was about this time, unbeknownst to me, my hubby and the landscaper were right outside my window  discussing plants. My Hubby told me later, he said to the landscaper, "Hey, watch this. I'm gonna knock on the window."

Because, oftentimes his brain lets him think he's still ten years old. 

My landscaper, God bless him, told my Hubby, "I really don't think you should. Women don't like to be scared like that." 

And my Hubby said, "Oh, not Joann. She likes peeping Toms."

I was just innocently blow drying my hair, not realizing I was in full view of the two of them. As soon as I turned off my blow-dryer, the banging on my window started. Through the blackness of the night, I couldn't see them, but they had a perfect illuminated view of me. All I could see was the silhouette of that banging fist. I knew there was only one idiot in the world who would deliberately bang on my window to say, "Heeeeyyy! We're spying on you!"

My idiot. 

I put down my blowdryer and did the only thing I could. I blew my Peeping Toms a kiss. 

My hubby said my kiss was perfect. He lobbed it in, with a, "See, I told you she likes it."

My landscaper finished the yard in record time. 

I told My Hubby the other night that every time I look outside, my twinkly, lush yard fills me with sublime happiness. 

I heard My Hubby on the phone yesterday, telling the landscaper this very thing. He finished it with, "You should be really flattered, Man. That's my goal in life, to keep her in sublime."

On second thought, maybe I should stop whining. 

Perhaps, some anti-stress therapy is in order. Does anyone have Al Gore's number? I'm sure he does a little counseling on the side when he's not rescuing American prisoners from all the wackadoo countries they've accidentally wandered into. I'm sure he could help me. I mean come awwn! He won a Nobel Prize, for goodness sake. And everyone knows, they don't just pass those things out like candy. 

Today's Definite Download: "Moth's Wings" by Passion Pit. Oh, this electronic band is my new love! Every one of their songs are yummier than the next. You'll see them again here, that is for sure. 

"Dear friend as you know, Your flowers are withering..." Not anymore, man, not anymore. I've got the landscaper with the good goatee who has added sparkle to my life. What more can a girl ask for?
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3 comments:

Aunt Becky said...

I need a landscaper. No, I do. But not really. I think I'm stuck in DIY hell for now. *sighs*

SOMEDAY, I will have a landscaper.

ncardella said...

Joann, I think you need a Christmas party so we can all come and see the electric light parade that is your front yard.

Joann Mannix said...

I think you just may be right, Nancy.

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