So, those of you who read my past blog about the epic night of house alarm bedlam, recall that my problem solving approach is a progression of five steps.
My usual solution to problems is the following five-step progression:
1. If it's broken or not working, throw it away.
2. If you can't throw it away, put it under a pile of something else so you can pretend it's not there for a while.
3. If you can't put it under a pile of something else, use duct tape to fix it or patch it back together.
4. If you can't use duct tape then throw it at something or kick it swiftly.
5. If it's too big or too expensive to throw or kick, call dad.
The door that is growing ever closer to being officially bound for the wood chipper I’m still eyeing on Craig’s List, pushed me all the way to DEFCON Five. Call Dad.
My dad is hands down the coolest man I know. For a bajillion reasons most of which involve him putting up with me like. When I told him about this blog and the proliferation of eff bombs and inappropriate humor his first question was, “So….anyone can read this?” Indeed. In terms of DEFCON response times, he’s legendary for saving the day and I am thinking of having a cape made for him for that reason.
I give you Exhibit A: He’s been working on my door for over an hour today. Prior to fixing the door, he spent 45 minutes fixing some mini-blinds in my laundry room that my dog chewed up when she got bored one day and thought it would make an effective chew toy. His MacGyver handy skills are wicked (He also adores duct tape as much as I do. In fact, white duct tape was used in the reconstruction of the mini-blinds). He can pretty much fix anything with chewing gum and a paper clip but today he’s doing battle with my door, and I do believe he’s losing ground.
I’ve given the door a name - Coño (from the Latin cunnus). Coño is a vulgar word for a woman's vagina in Spanish. Basically the “c” word in some Spanish speaking circles. Coño is nearly 100 pounds of pure bitch. My dad, I should mention, is also just out of the hospital where he was diagnosed with Ehrlichiosis from a tick bite. Read up on that shit…scary stuff. He is still weak and tired but agreed (I’m sure at my mom’s urging) to come help me get my door fixed assuming it would be a simple task. We both underestimated our foe. Coño is no joke.
When I told him I needed to get his picture fixing my door he peered up at me over his bifocals and said, “Why?”
I said, “Because it’s funny.”
He said, “No, it’s not funny. And by the way, now the door won’t open the latch is stuck.”
He’s been going back and forth out my front door around my house to the garage and trying to figure out what happened. I just heard him utter, “Come on you piece of shit.” and throw down the screw driver. (DEFCON four right there.) When I jokingly asked how he felt about mowing my yard when he finished up, I think I came within an inch of losing my life.
Thank goodness I have such a great dad in my life. Coño, on the other hand probably won’t live to see the sun set.