Week 5 Prompts (catching up)

Prompt 23


Sometime last year, Brad was perusing the internet (like usual), and being one of those 'oh, shiny!' people, he happened upon something he just simply had to have.
"Masterpiece... Ghost... of... Starscream," Brad uttered as if in a trance.
"A what huh?" was my only reply.
He looked at me and suddenly changed into some kind of nerd PR spokesperson for Takara Tomy Transformers. He barraged me with pictures and information about Masterpiece Transformers, how Starscream was his favorite (something I had heard many times before and needed no reminding of), and again, how he simply must have that figure.
This here, is what he was talking about...

It's... a... TOY. And how much are we looking to pay for said toy? Upwards of $160 (then.. now it is down to about $120).

"Seriously? You want to pay THAT much for a damn toy?!" 

There was no point in my question it. When Brad gets that oh, shiny vibe, there is no stopping him.

Needless to say, we ordered the damned thing. But, if I had thought the price was unreasonable, I'd seen nothing until the figure arrived and I read its instructions. Or tried to anyway.

The box itself was over a foot tall, 7" across and 5" deep. It came transformed in jet-mode, and was about 13" long without being on its base. The single piece of paper that this Japanese company called instructions was a 5x7" with 2 images printed on both sides, and 3, count them 3, small captions, which happened to be in Japanese. In those 4 images and 3 small captions in a language I can't read were the directions to transform the figure from jet-mode to robot-mode. 

"What the f*ck is this?" I asked Brad while shaking the paper in his face.

"...Instructions?" he replied nervously.

"Oh hell no. I can't do this. This is ridiculous. Even when Jr's transformers come with 3 pages of step by step instructions I still encounter parts not being where they should.. I can't even READ this, and it certainly isn't step by step. What does that part look like to you?" I asked while pointing at something shown on the page that was about the size of my littlest fingernail.

But, jet-mode was simply unacceptable to Brad. Starscream had to be in robot-mode. Plain and simple. With his patience level and tolerance for not knowing how to do something, he certainly wasn't going to get it transformed. That meant it was up to me.

Up to me to get this :

to this: 

with only 4 pictures illustrating how to, and some foreign characters saying something that might hold the secret of how to do it.
I had wrestled with instructions for Transformers many times before as they had been my sons favorite toys. But, they had all had instructions with multiple diagrams and were written in english. The UPS package containing Ghost of Starscream had arrived around 7pm, and we sat on our bed, attempting to transform it until well after 11pm. It was ridiculous. Each time I made progress towards the jet resembling a robot, something would not fit into place, or not bend in the direction  I assumed it needed to, and for a majority of the time spent transforming it, it resembled a contorted chunk of rubbish. But I managed to do it. Mostly through trial and error, and repeatedly asking Brad if this  part looked like the one shown in that image. I'm not sure why I bothered asking, because each time he looked at me as if I were mentally challenged and replied, "I don't know," or "I'm not sure."
When I had finally finished transforming the damned thing, I held it up in victory and shook it at Brad. He then proceeded to pick up the box, and point to a picture on the back, showing that the figure had multiple faces and the one currently showing was not the "smirky" one he liked.
Are you f*cking kidding me?! I wanted to throw it at his face. Then we would see who has a "smirky" face.
Just trying to figure out exactly how to change the face, which appeared that it must rotate as the head wouldn't come off for me to inspect further, took nearly another 20 minutes. Once I figured that out, I rotated its face, and handed it to Brad.
"I'm done. That's it. Don't ever ask me to change it back. EVER."
He nodded in agreement and smiled at his new toy. A new toy that joined the vast collection on the entertainment center, leaving not an inch uncovered. A new toy that has sat in the same spot since then, collecting dust with all the rest. After all that, I have to look at it every day, knowing it's just sitting there, like a paperweight with no paper. 





Prompt 20.

New puppy. Oh the joy. It's like having an infant again, but one that is freely mobile, with teeth, that likes to chew, doesn't wear diapers, and makes a habit of hiding its excrement in surprising places. I knew it was going to be stressful, and despite it being Brads responsibility, it was mine as well. We had prepared ahead of time by purchasing puppy training pads before we ever went to pick Fester up from the airport. According to the breeder, he was already potty trained, but I had suspicions. During the drive home from the airport, Fester did great about letting us know it was time for a stop. But, I knew there might be some problems once we got home. He came from Illinois, and we had just gotten more snow. Puppies don't like the cold. So, we put down puppy pads overnight in hopes that he would use them, and while the weather was still crappy, that he would use them during the day if necessary. The first few days things went about as you'd expect. The pads were used, but there were some accidents here and there. We made several trips outside each day, none of them were very successful and usually resulted in Fester coming in shaking, frozen to the bones, needing to lay on a heating pad until his shivers subsided. By day 4, he had made enough progress that I felt confident leaving only a single pad overnight. We were pleasantly surprised in the morning to find he had not gone at all. YES!! A step in the right direction. Brad was not too thrilled by the idea of having to get up early every morning to take Fester outside, who was now enjoying the milder weather and actually doing his business out there. But then, it became apparent that if given the opportunity to relieve himself indoors, he would take it. He would go out, do his business, come back inside, and within 20 minutes have an 'accident' somewhere regardless of how much he had just gone while outside. This required vigilance. Brad isn't the best at paying attention, even when he isn't doing anything, so when he happens to be doing something, especially something he enjoys like playing video games, there is zero attention being paid to anything aside from the TV and his PS3 controller. Needless to say, over the next week there were many 'accidents'. But, they eventually dwindled in frequency, due to better feeding/water schedules and Brad making an effort to pay attention to Festers cues, which only occurred about 1/2 the time he needed to go. Ok, I can still be excited about this. It's better than 100% of the time having accidents, usually on my bedroom floor. I love animals. Dearly. I waited a long time to get a dog, most of my childhood we didn't live anywhere that allowed us to have one. Fester is my 3rd dog, and I am glad to have one in my life again. I love our cats too. But if there is one thing I cannot stand, is my house or my things smelling like them. And I don't mean the normal animal smell from the dog or cat rubbing against you or sleeping on your hoodie. I mean the smell as if they have used the house and my belongings as their personal toilet. I don't piss on their stuff, I expect them not to piss on mine. Fester crossed that line. Yesterday morning, Brad decided to sleep in after staying up late drinking. I got up and did my usual routine of getting the kids clothes together, and making sure they got ready for school. When I went downstairs, Brad had grabbed fester and rolled over in bed holding onto him. When I came back upstairs, I woke Brad up, reminding him that regardless of how tired he was, the puppy needed to go out. But before I could even finish the sentence, I looked down at my side of the bed, and noticed a large wet spot on the sheet.
"Nevermind. It's too late."
"Why didn't you take him out if you were already going downstairs?" Brad asked accusingly.
Of course, this prompted a morning long argument of he said/she said and who wasn't doing their fair share of responsibilities. Once the fighting was done, I made it very clear how not-okay I was with dog pee on the bed, and so the bedding went in the wash. I did what I could to clean and freshen the mattress where it had soaked through the sheet.
Okay. He needed to go, and was afraid Brad would reprimand him for getting off the bed, so he did the only thing he could do after waiting all night. I get it. I can't hold it against him. Who could resist his cute puppy face? I had resolved to forget about it and let bygones be just that. But Fester didn't.
Later in the evening, we were laying in bed, watching TV, playing with Fester. I had found a "dog teaser" app for my android, and was playing various noises, which prompted Fester to do that too-cute puppy head tilt and come investigate where the sound was coming from. This went on for a good 30 minutes, at which point Brad and I were thoroughly amused. We talked as we played angry cat sounds and dog whistle noises, and then, Fester took it upon himself to walk over next to me on the bed, and piss. All over the freshly washed bedding.
SERIOUSLY!?? 
"FESTER! NO" Brad shouted, as he scooped him off the bed.
Twice, in one day?! Fester spent a substantial amount of time in his crate, and we spent even more time doing laundry.  So, the battle continues. Tomorrow will again, be a new day. I will inevitably forgive this indiscretion, he's too cute not to. But, there will be more. I just know it. I can only hope that it will be on Brads side of the bed,  not mine.

Prompt 21.
A not so typical Saturday morning; my mother, my sister and I all sitting at one table, drinking coffee and talking. This doesn't happen often enough. It really doesn't surprise me when there's a knock on the door, interrupting our time together. And, though it's never a surprise to open the door and be greeted by court papers needing to be served, it is irritating. This time was no different. Rather then spend the remainder of time catching up with my family, instead we discuss what to do and how to do it in regards to the court papers. I've done this too many times over the past 6 years, and I've been tired of it from the very beginning.
I immediately start rambling on about how I, for the 3rd time, was served with shorter notice than is required, and that I should just request a continuance. But mom interjects, "Wouldn't it be better to go get it over with?" I know she is right, and so from here the journey begins.
We pick up the kids at 2:55pm on Wednesday. They are excited to be spending a night and day at their great-grandmothers. Neither of us are too thrilled. We head home to pack everything we need in the car, puppy included, and set off on our drive at 4pm. The kids chatter the whole way in the backseat, and the dog complaining of his discomfort and restlessness at my feet is almost more than I can bare. Two long hours of this. And we finally pull up into the unpaved driveway of my grandmothers home.
The night went by smoothly enough, kids in bed at a reasonable time, and us following shortly after. After much consideration of the route we were taking for the trip down to court, which unfortunately from my grandmothers meant mostly back-roads, I had determined we needed to head out no later than 5 am. Neither of us were happy about that.
3 am rolled around, and we were both woken by someone using the bathroom next to the room we're in. Oh well. Might as well get up now. We are dressed, ready and out the door before 5.
We made a stop for coffee once we were back in the land of paved roads and houses rather than milk farms. Honestly, I'm not sure which was irritating more at the time; having to drive to the middle of nowhere 2+ hours out of my way just to make sure the kids would be taken care of, or having to drive 3 more hours after that on the whim of my children's absent biological father. The later definitely won out later on.
The drive itself was nothing special, never has been. We were both irritable and overtired, and neither of us were too set on trying to make the best of the situation so early in the morning. After several hours of driving, we arrived in the valley. Every fiber of my being cringes whenever I return to the valley. I grew up here, most of my family and friends are here, and I can't stand it here. Each time I've returned, things have been a bit different, but all in all, it's the same place I left. I don't miss it.
We pull into the parking lot of the court house, which is attached to the police department. We're early. But, I'm always early. Unlike the person who has dragged me down here, I take my children and my responsibilities to them very seriously, and would not risk being late. We smoke a quick cigarette, and head in.
I make a bee-line for the clerks counter, and start inquiring as to why they hadn't called me after I filed some papers the week before. One of the clerks gives me some bullshit about how they don't go through mail as it comes, etc, etc. As she continues on giving me excuses, another clerk interrupts, "Erica Smith? We tried to call you, but we don't have your current number. Both the judges are out today. We'll have to reschedule the hearing."
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?? I bit my tongue and took a moment before saying anything, in hopes that what was going through my mind wouldn't slip past my lips. Not only we were both missing out on our vacations, and the kids were missing school and burdening my 80+ year old grandmother along with our puppy, and we spent $100 in gas just to drive down here - and will spend just as much going back home, causing me to be broke when I should have been buying Easter gifts for that coming weekend, but the sheer irony of what the clerk had just said made me feel as if I was suffering an aneurysm.
"My phone number has been the same for over a year now; every paper I have sent to this court, and every paper I have filed out the 3 times I have been to this court since changing my number has included both my address and phone number, so... how could you NOT have my phone number?" This all came out between gritted teeth, with a very forced, and most likely unpleasant looking smile.
Neither clerk answered my question. Instead, almost in unison, they both asked when would be convenient for me to reschedule. Convenient was definitely not the appropriate word here. There is nothing convenient about any of this.
Of course, it was rescheduled. And we drove 3 hours back up to nowhere to get the kids, then drove 2 more hours to get home. The drive back was filled with just as much irritation, just of a different kind. But, we did happen upon some wild turkeys. I guess that's the highlight of this journey.