The unthinkable has happened, gentle reader.  We have no cable.  That’s right.  The cable has been out for days.  Long, boring, dreary, endless days.  Probably my karmic retribution from the Reality TV gods for mocking them a few weeks ago.  I had not realized until this point in time exactly how much TV I watch on a regular basis…..because now my afternoons and nights are filled with………..well.... not TV.  Which is just bizarre.  I don’t really know how to explain going through such a drastically sudden lifestyle change like this….but you know me, I have to try. 

 

Let me attempt to put things into perspective first.  Because it’s incredibly convenient, all of our communication with the outside world has been provided by one company.  One evil sadistic company….which I probably can’t mention without getting sued, but it rhymes with Comcast.  <smile>  The cables and wires coming into the house and weaving through it and snaking their way out have been providing us with television, dvr, movies on-demand, internet and telephone service since we moved into the neighborhood.  And because they are evil, of course they made it sound like such a super deal when they put it all into one “bundled” package (which means you get one bill) and charge us $8,000 a month.  That’s apparently the newest promo for people who live in the black holes of Montgomery County where cable service is still only provided by……..one evil company.  That is of course, not entirely true….I could get the snail e-mail from plenty of other companies and satellite dishes drilled into the roof…..but that’s not what we want.  We like cable.  We’re cable people.  Maybe because we’ve always been cable people and we refuse to change….but alas….that is sadly a very common theme in this world of ours these days, hmmmmmmmm. 

 

Now, I have not always been such a TV addict.  I blame my parents for this newly evolved character flaw.  You see, growing up, I watched very little TV.  Hardly any, as a matter of fact.  One or two hours a week, tops.  The majority of my time was spent doing chores (yes kiddies, ch-or-es….your elders used to be forced into slave labor at very early ages) or with my nose shoved into a book.  Any old book would do….and some I read over and over again.  Books can be a lot like movies, they play themselves out behind your eyelids at night and as you’re whispering the print out loud, you can see the players walking across that invisible stage.  The characters become friends, and you miss them when the story is over.  Not to mention that reading is of course the best and easiest way to learn the English language, spelling and grammar.  I’m not terribly sure if my devious parents had this in mind when they hypnotized Skywalker and me into believing they were doing us a favor by buying us any book we wanted….but it clearly resulted in much of my snotty nerdy behavior later in Life.  And honestly, I have to blame my parents for something….otherwise they may feel like they didn’t totally succeed as parents.  So, as I was saying, the current TV addiction is their fault.  Having not been eased gently in the mindless and lazy entertainment of the boob tube, when I finally realized exactly how much TV my friends were really watching….I was amazed and overwhelmed.  Seriously?  TV every single night?  While you’re <gasp> eating dinner?  Noooooooooooooooo.  I just could not fathom anyone’s parents actually allowing such behavior to occur….but then it dawned on me that my parents were attempting to build character in their children.  ‘Building character’ is a common theme of our childhood….most every unpleasant thing we had to do was character-building.  How lucky it worked out that way……huh?   And come on, if you had to pick a character for your child to emulate, would it be from shows like Friends and 90210 (look it up you toddlers) or from stories like Tess of the d’Ubervilles or A Thousand Acres.  <chuckle>  Just kidding.  What about stories like Macbeth or Frankenstein?  Hmmmmmm….ok, how about Dante’s Inferno or Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man.  <sigh>  Well, s**t.  Nevermind.  Clearly you would want your offspring to turn out like Joey or Rachel over any of those options, dumb but beautiful enough to have their own sitcom.  So our character was a little more………complex………..nothing wrong with that.  <evil grin>

 

Once the TV watching started though, more so in college when you do everything you could never do before (no, mom and dad, no more details will be forthcoming), it only got worse.  Probably because I never had the luxury of watching TV until I fell asleep, now I was watching TV all the time.  It became background noise.  Background noise.  Noise.  When did I start liking noise?  When did noise become more comforting than silence?  I can tell you when….when Life suddenly becomes ridiculously real after that college ceremony and the rent is due.  Noise is nice then.  Nice and distracting.  So anyway, the TV watching has been running rampant ever since.  It has been a big part of my life.  Not replacing the books….but pushing them a bit out of the way.  Which is unfortunate.  And this realization came shoving its way to the forefront this week as I sat in front of a blank television screen practically bursting the blood vessels in my huge pumpkinhead trying to will the evil evil cable company into fixing our cable before the Olympics is over with my Jedi mind tricks.  After I got tired of calling the evil cable company over and over (on my cell phone) and asking impudently when they planned on getting their collective asses in gear and visiting our cheery cul-de-sac with some repair equipment….I started letting my eyes drift around the room…..with that dreamy, blank stare that lost people get…..or people with amnesia.  My eyes came to rest on the bookshelves.  Huh.  Books. 

 

We have lots of bookshelves in our house.  Probably a Dutch thing…I say that because my parents’ entire house is lined in bookshelves and also since I don’t know any other Dutch people it’s an easy conclusion to make.  Thousands of books.  Tens of thousands of books.  They could probably open a library.  So books are not scarce, in our house or my parents’ house.  And as my eyes scan the shelves and the titles start to come into focus, I think to myself…..ahhhh…..my old friends, where have you been all this time?  It’s like running into that ugly girl who was your best friend in elementary school, you know the one you ignored in high school because she wasn’t cool enough and you were a total bitch….yeah, it’s like running into her in the grocery store when you turn 30 and you realize you always liked her and you’ve missed her.  That’s what this is like.  These books are like my friend.  My ugly nerdy friend.  I don’t know what I would have done without them this week….probably would have gone slowly insane…..insaner……probably would have been forced to……..go outside…………ewwwww.  Books and reading and tired eyes and crinked necks are one thing.  But Nature, sticky buggy grimy dirty Nature is something else entirely.

 

So unbeknownst to them, the Evil Cable Company has reintroduced me to the world of print, and it has lovingly embraced me.  I’m reading a particularly good one now….full of drama and action and darkness and characters you love to love and love to hate.  And who knows?  Maybe I will watch less TV from now on?  <pause>  What do you think?  I find myself….even as engrossed as I am in this story….glancing up every so often, like I’ve heard someone tapping on the front door perhaps?  Someone……….who said they would be here at any time between 10 am and 5pm on a Wednesday………….<wink>.  I don't know when this Book Girl changed into one of the Cable People....but here I am.....not really willing to change again, knowing full well that reading keeps my brain from turning into mush and it makes me sound much smarter than I actually am.  Which is awesome.  I hope I get to see Big Brother tonight.

 

Later gators,

Heather

 

p.s. – If any of you value your lives, you will refrain from sending me spoilers for my shows this week.  I have ways….plenty of ways…..of getting caught up once the stupid cable is back on.

 

 

Ok, I know you're all peeing your pants waiting to hear about this year's Fourth of July disaster party with the #2's.  Well hold on for a second because I need to complain about something else before we get to the good stuff.  E-mail etiquette has apparently become completely nonexistent people.  And I have to take this time to berate all of you for your incessantly irritating habits.  <ahem>  Number One - Stop forwarding me e-mails that I have to forward to other people.  I don't like e-mails from strangers telling me what to do.  I don't like strangers telling me what to do.....so why in the hell would I like an e-mail from a stranger telling me what to do.  Number Two - Just because you're writing an e-mail doesn't mean you can't take the extra four seconds to double-check your grammar and spelling.  Some of you, you know who you are, would be lost in a puddle of your own drool without spellcheck and calculators.  Number Three - Don't capitalize things for emphasis.  Ever.  I"M SERIOUS.  STOP DOING THAT.  See how that feels?  It feels like you're being yelled at.  It feels like you're in trouble.  And that's ridiculous.  E-mails are words floating in the ether.....they should not make me anxious.  Now, if you all would just follow my simple rules for not annoying me....the world would be a happier place. 

 

Ok.  On to the festivities.  The Fourth was actually celebrated on the fourth this year, mainly because that is when the fireworks in glorious Germantown are scheduled to go off.  So we are all congregating at Nan and Pop's for the normal ten hours of food and games and screaming at each other.  This year is slightly different for several reasons.  Sister-in-law and Husband with Princess Alyssa are not coming to the celebration.  Instead, a different family is coming who is sort of related to the #2's....but not really.  You know people like that, right?  There's some weird distant relation there, whether through a marriage that no longer is or a great great great uncle who is obviously long-since dead.  But nobody can really explain how these people are related, they just are.  My theory is that they showed up to a party years ago, and nobody bothered to ask who they were and they've been showing up randomly at various functions ever since.  This pseudo-related family is from Potomac and symbolize everything the world thinks of the stereotypical Potomac Pot.  Maybe I should explain this a little more for those of you not from around these parts.  Germantown Germs think they are much more important than they really are....while Potomac Pots really are as important as they think they are.  Germantown Germs are New Rich....while Potomac Pots are Nouveau Riche.  There's a big difference.  The Pots we had with us on this particular day have two teenage devil-children who basically get to do whatever they hell they want to do....because hey.....they're Pots.  So Momma Pot and Poppa Pot and the two evil baby Pots are meandering around the house talking about pricey universities they will be attending, charging pricey iPods, vacations to Mexico where the crocodiles are eating people and basically wreaking havoc.  Oh yeah....the Vacation Story was great by the way.  Yeah...apparently Cancun doesn't want anybody to know but like 8 people have been eaten by crocodiles this year.  I heard that story from every single one of the Pots throughout the course of the day and while it was cool the first time....not so much the third and fourth times I had to nod and smile through it.

 

So we arrive at 3...you know to make sure we have plenty of time to eat before the fireworks go off at 9:30.  And because it's the Fourth of July it is ridiculously humid out and now it's raining.  Because we only eat meat off the grill on this holiday, it's raining.  And because the Hubby is recovering from his alien infection, naturally he is standing out in the rain with the rest of The Men grilling and smoking and boozing.  Now...the rain is something of a blessing for me in particular since I am so anti-nature.  Now at least, I don't have to pretend to like getting munched on by mosquitoes and I don't have to pretend to like playing horseshoes in the blazing heat.  But, on the flip side, this now means I am trapped inside with all the screaming 2's, the Pots and the beach ball sized Cat.  Let's talk about the cat for a moment.  If you ever wondered what would happen to a cat if you constantly fed it cheese....let me sate your curiosity.  It balloons up to the size of a beach ball.  I feel kind of sorry for the Cat because he kind of wobbles around now.  He's also diabetic and gets insulin shots twice a day.  And I'm sure the Cat would argue that it's genetics and there's nothing he can do about the extra 15 pounds or so of fat on the little butterball....but it's not genetics.  It's the cheese.

 

To make matters worse....and yes matters were bad before and now they're worse, there is no televised sporting event being broadcast at this particular time that anybody is interested in watching.  There's the Tigerless Tiger Woods tournament....but who wants to watch that....reallly?  So The Men, when they are not sweating into their eyeballs in front of the grill, are complaining and arguing about what should be on the television.  Shockingly, the Women have very little say in this matter....mostly because the Men are screaming and no one else can be heard over it.  So amidst the chaos and channel-surfing, the food miraculously gets served and we all dig in to a spread vast enough to feed the entire population of South Dakota....including the Beach Ball Cat.  And as is normally the case, since I have less than zero self control or will power, I eat waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much food and begin swearing to fast for the next three days to purge my body of the 6,000 grams of carbohydrates I have just consumed.  Hotdogs and hamburgers and vege burgers (for the Pots).  Potato salad and macaroni salad and coleslaw.  Shrimp and fruit and chips and dip and beans and deviled eggs and every single kind of 'fixin' you can think of....and it just went on and on and on.  So after that...someone decides....wouldn't it be funnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn if we played some board games.  You know....because it's still raining outside.

 

Now, I'm not sure if I mentioned this before, gentle reader, but I am a highly competitive person.  The tragic irony of being trapped in the body of a bowling ball with no hand-eye coordination.  So I immediately start sizing up the #2's as competitors and therefore enemies who need to die.  The Pots can be collateral damage.  Yeah.  So, someone decides probably because someone is very good at it, that we should play Taboo.  I don't know if you've ever had the chance to play this game people, so let me explain quickly.  You have to get your team to say a word without saying any of the 'Taboo' words.  And you have to get your team to say more words than the other team in order to win the game.  Ok?  Good so far?  Here's why this game will never die.  There's a buzzer.  Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.  A completely useless unecessary buzzer that makes just about the most irritating noise in the entire world (just behind the sound of someone walking behind you).  I think the Hubby tried to throw it in the trash at some point....but it magically reappeared in the game box.  Probably through whatever evil hellfire sorcery possessed it in the first place.  The buzzer is for when someone does something wrong, or says something wrong rather....and wouldn't the world be just that much more satisfying if we could buzz people when they screwed up.  Forget the Easy Button....I want a F**k Up Button.  That would be especially useful in Audit-Land.  So we're playing.  I'm sorry.....before we even get to that we have to decide who's on whose team and what exactly are the rules and are we allowed to gesture wildly with our hands, what about make noises like a chicken or a sneeze.  All of these particulars need to get ironed out before we begin, otherwise the whole thing will collapse into anarchy and where's the fun in that?  So we decide all these things and we're playing and some people immediately stand out as having a good grasp on the human language and some people immediately stand out as being someone you shouldn't have picked to be on your team. 

 

Now, although Skywalker was weirdly bad at this game, she did (because we're twins and share a brain) at least get me to say a few words.  But here's the real highlight of the game.  One of the baby Pots was taking a turn.  Thankfully we all were getting a break from the incessant buzzing which the baby Pots thought was hi-larious.  So the baby Pot is trying to get us to say something and he goes....it's a group of women getting together to drink, but they don't say it's to drink...they say it's for something else.  <pause>  What?  And in a cruel reflection of life, because someone doesn't understand something you've said, instead of trying to reword or rephrase this cryptic clue, baby Pot repeats the exact same phrase....only louder....putting much more emphasis on "getting together to driiiiiiiiiink."  <even longer pause>  This kid is on crack.  I have no idea, and if I have no idea clearly no one else had any idea.  And so the timer runs out and baby Pot lets out this super melodramatic sigh, rolls his eyes and looks at us all like the pea-brained morons we clearly are and says, Bookclub.  The word was Bookclub. 

 

And without saying a word, all eyes turned to Mama Pot...who was slurping down tequila sunrise number three while turning a brilliant shade of pink.  Oh my.

 

After another couple hours of the Feeding, the house starts to clear out.  The Pots are going to see the fireworks in Poolesville....I don't know why....I guess because they're cooler than the rest of us.  The neighbors weren't going to watch the fireworks anyway, they're tired and want to go to bed.  Even some of the #2's head home....well #2's by marriage and Skywalker ducks out.  I, of course, have been chained to the wall and must enduuuuuuuuuuuuure.  That was part of the oath on our wedding day.  And now it's time for the Conversation.  Time for the Illegal Fireworks conversation.  Do you think the police will care?  Which way is the wind blowing?  Is it $500 or $5000 for the fine this year?  Maybe we should just go drive to the Germ display?  No...no....too much traffic.  So between screaming at each other about fines and jail time, Uncle #2 manages to set off a few beauties.  And then we hear a boom in the distance and Mom #2 looks at me with her eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning and says, Let's go!  I bet they're wonderful!  Well....far be it from me to stomp on the dreams of my mother-in-law, so we run to the car (slight exaggeration) and head off in the direction of the spectacular display my tax dollars are paying for.  Germantown has decided, as it has for many years now, that the most convenient place to set off a glorious fireworks display is obviously at the lowest point of the entire county....I mean....this is Montgomery County for crying out loud.  We have houses taller than the Washington Monument here...construction regulations schmegulations.  So as we settle into the traffic nightmare of my fellow Germs we realize we are not going to get to see any fireworks.  By the time we get back to the house, all the illegal ones have been exploded.  Everybody is grumpy and irritable from being "sociable" for the last ten hours and from being ridiculously overfed.  I want to go home. 

 

The fattest cat in the world has planted himself in front of my feet and has been staring at me with a very stoical look for the past 8 minutes.  The Boston Pops comes to a rip-roaring end and now everyone is pleased.  I am loaded up with 23 pounds of leftovers and kissed on both cheeks by all the #2's and it's over.  It's finally over.  FREEDOM!!  THAT's WHAT THIS HOLIDAY IS ALL ABOUT ISN"T IT?  And that, my dear friends, is exactly what the #2's make me appreciate year after year after year.  Weird relatives from faraway lands, the admiration of food by perhaps eating less of it, the minds of evil teenagers, the artful mastery of Keith Lockhart, and finally.....my independence.  Cheers America.

 

Later gators,

Heather