Monday, November 27, 2006

Dishpan hands

Man it is a PITA to type with Dishpan Hands - dramatically different from JAZZ Hands. For a week now, amongst all our renovation work (man did we bite of more than we could chew in that department) the dishwasher was refusing to work. ACK. Not what you need after a long day on your knees (get your minds out of the gutter people!) laying flooring - standing and washing the dishes that is.

Man, now that I write it, it sounds pretty shitty of me doesn't it - when did I get so attached to my conveniences? The computer is bad enough, if I could have the damn thing implanted I would. Its attached at the hip as it is anyway, might as well go the whole hog and get all Terminator with it.

Today I spend all this time scrubbing, and soaking, and getting dishpan hands before trying the dishwasher for one last time before calling the repairman...of course the damn thing goes, why on earth would i be telling you about it if it didn't?

Yup, in that mysterious, woo woo, I'm a machine and I am going to fuck with you way, my dishwasher decided it was going to go again. Just great. I will give it a pat on the back when my wrinkly, dishpan hands are plumped back up again.

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