Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Tin foil shoes, too much math, and flat ginger ale.

My husband is a technogeek.  He only interacts with silicon and wires, and prefers to shield himself from the rays of human eye contact.  He can make or fix anything, he is truly the MacGyver of the future.  Tonight, when I walked in the door, I noticed he bought himself some awesome new sneakers, online of course:

Now, he will look more like a robot, and fit in with his silicon brethren..

Unfortunately for me, my semi-human husband had to work late tonight; building servers, duh.  What ensued was a horrific and deeply unskilled attempt at me to ship someone a shirt that I sold on Ebay.  Sounds simple, doesn't it?  Well, its not, NOOBS!! 

In order to save $1.23, I decided to forgo my general priority shipping methods (we have a stock of about 100 free priority shipping boxes of varying shape and size, btw), and do a basic ground shipping method.  "It's easy!" Husband said.  "You can make a box out of anything!" he said. 

I searched for a normal box, which in any normal amazon-reliant household (I'm talking an average of 2 boxes a day coming to our door), so that I wouldn't have to 'make' anything at all.  I dug through the basement, garage, and finally, the recycling bins.  I found something I thought would be suitable; a nice shiny white piece of cardboard that once held a large picture frame.  "All this needs is some packing tape and a few folds in the right places!!" My hopelessly optimisic mind thought.  "It'll be done in a jiffy!" 

Packing tape has destroyed my soul.  I spent 45 minutes mangling, folding, cutting, and beating the beautiful shiny cardboard into submission.  Using a box cutter, cause, you know, it was a BOX! perfect!, I made kindergartenesque, horribly uneven lines to outline my box.  Focusing on the next step before completing this one, which seems to be a severe medical condition of mine, I proceeded to drop the box cutter on my big toe.  I let out a sound which made my cat scramble out of the room, claws scratching the floor in panic.  After 5 minutes of moaning on my part, she came to my 'aide' with a meow and tried to get me to pet her.  THANKS CAT.  WHY DON'T YOU EVER PET ME!? 

It took me 20 more minutes to tape the box.  Packing tape is the most maddening material I have ever encountered.  It stuck to everything; itself, my hand, the counter, the floor, all while forcing every edge of itself to whatever surface it encountered, so not only could I not pick it back up, I couldn't even freaking see it.  

This is what my 'box' looked like after 65 minutes of assembly. 

I noticed that the left side of the box was an full inch higher than the right, and that most of the edges didn't fit together.  "All it needs is a little more tape!!!" I thought, beginning to panic as I saw my evening melting away in geometric hell.  

After a barrage of  intense force, groans, and curses, I finally bent the box to my will; stuffed the stupid shirt inside, and breathed a sigh of relief.  I tried to take a picture of it from a side which laid flat, but found that none of them did.  Not bottom, top, or any of the sides.  I think there are too many sides.  Yes, I had the foresight to take pictures during the process.  The knowledge of hilarious failure is strong with this one.

I began to panic as I noticed the almost empty roll of packing tape lay on the counter... my original shipping weight was 13 ounces.  After some overly complicated weighing procedures with my bathroom scale and smartphone (cause I ain't smart), I determined that it was probably about 11 ounces.  PHEW!  I shoved the damn thing in the mail box and poured myself a glass of flat ginger ale, with a 'moderate' (most of the glass) splash of blackberry wine.  I needed relief.  I needed to write this down.  Looking forward to my drink and writing with joyful mania, I headed to the garage where my husband is working on a computer-tinkering project, because that's where our fastest and biggest computer lives.  I began composing this post in my mind before I put the glass down on the desk, another example of beginning a task before finishing the first one.  So now the question for my husband is this: do microprocessors still work after being drowned in ginger ale and blackberry wine? Because I smothered your microprocessors with ginger ale and blackberry wine.

My 32nd birthday is in 27 minutes, and I feel like a hopelessly useless human being, who happens to be in a lot of pain (my toe really freaking hurts).  May tomorrow be better than the last 73 minutes of my life! At least 32 is an even number; it will be easier on my brain.  That hurts too.

To whomever is getting my shirt, I pledge my full and complete apologies. Oh, and please don't give me bad feedback.

*I noticed I have some new followers now that I don't even KNOW!! YAY! Welcome to my crazy life.   Btw, if anyone wants to follow, its easy.  Just type your email in the upper right hand corner where it says 'follow by email'.  It goes through feedburner- you won't get any junk, promise.  Also, please leave comments below and don't send me emails.  I like to keep em all in one place.  Thanks!


  1. Happy birthday, wifey. Microprocessors will be fine, a little rubbing alcohol wipe and some time in a bag with some dry rice. And patience. Infinite patience.

    Things break...so you fix them. Sometimes only then do they really become yours.

    Love you, don't despair.

  2. That's so like him to say "you can make a box out of anything." He prolly also says you can computer out of anything. Oh wait, he does that.

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