Thucked up Thursday.

Because I missed WUW (What's Up Wed-Nes-Day.) And I say Thucked up because? Oh it so is. Let's start from last night. While driving in the dark (I don't see well in the dark) and in the rain (I really don't see well in the wet dark) I had the uber pleasure of sharing the road with some drivers that shouldn't even be allowed out of their cages.

Please Mr. Motorist: If you must get a blowjob while eating your burger, smoking a cigar, and texting on your phone? Please pull over and park somewhere out of the way like the rest of us do when participating in all of those activities simultaneously. The rest of us sure would appreciate it, and I am sure that blonde whose head was bobbing up and down would love it if you didn't get all that ketchup and those ashes in her hair. OK? Great! Thanks!

Oooops. Movers are here. For the second time in 2 weeks. Because they thucked up the first time. Be right back.

Still with me? Fabulous. So the movers just finished moving the second half of my stuff. They didn't move it the first time because one guy was on the ball with the packing and the lifting and the moving and the other guy hadn't discovered the many joys of deodorant let alone the motivation to DO HIS THUCKING JOB. So my garage stuff and all the boxed stuff in my house? Didn't get moved. Which might be a good thing considering that almost none of my stuff in the first round of moving escaped damage of some sort. Mr. Stinky Mover just didn't give a thuck and decided to toss, throw and generally pitch all my possessions at random where ever he thought they belonged and not where I told him to. What a thucking moron.

So now all my stuff is in the new house. We are now ready for our own episode of hoarders on A&E. We have tower of boxes and stuff and little paths through the house. Anyone bored and wanting to come help unpack with me will be welcomed with fanfare, a parade and pizza. Vodka and mixers are available.

So anyway, while I was waiting on the movers to get here, and having dropped off Punk at school a little later than I would have liked due to her morning attitude, I was rearranging the garage so that the movers could basically unload the truck into it and we could just sort it all out later. They weren't getting paid for this second trip and I thought I would try to make it all easier on them. While I was doing that the landscaping guys in the front yard decided it was time for a thucking throw down.

Let me give you a little back story on the landscaping. We live in a swamp. All of Florida is a swamp. Once upon a time a bunch of developers took a long hard look at this swamp and said with the brilliance of stoner who just found his long lost stash, "Duuuude. Let build some houses here and call it thucking stepford suburbia!" And thus? I live in a swamp. Lots of frogs, lizards, toads, a pond with fish big enough to eat your head and a gator in heat that lives out in the woods behind my house. But I digress. So this swampy yard is looking a little shabby, and since we live in an association, we have to keep it well maintained and green. Maintained? Checkeroo! Green? Eh...not so much in some spots.

So we called around to some companies to find out how much it would cost us to resod some of the yard. $300. $600. $6000. Uh, yeah. You read that right. One company wanted $6000. Just to resod with ONE pallet of grass. For that much money it better be the thucking Chippendale dancers resodding my lawn. Naked. With free pina colodas thrown in.

So we went with the $600 guys. Why? Because we learned from the past mistake of hiring the cheapest painter who couldn't even show up to do the job with a ladder and yelled at me because I didn't have one for him to use. Ahem. Issues there.

Well the $600 guys show up on Monday. Three guys in a truck sitting across the street from my house staring at me creepily as I shuttle my kid off to school. The head drunk gets out of the truck and says gruffly, "Hey! Where is it we are supposed to lay yer sod?"

"Um...the brown spots?" I got a half-pissed, half-confused look.

"Well you only got one pallet comin' and I ain't gonna have enough to do all of it!" He snapped, nastily at me.

I then pointed out the worst spots with as much dripping ire as I could muster. Told him to do what he could and we could always order more sod. He grumbles at me that he would be back the next day since the sod hadn't even been delivered yet. The next morning? Back. Sod was delivered the previous afternoon. On my way to drop the Punk off at school? Accosted by the snappy head drunk sod guy.

"Hey! Lady! This here sod is to damn thick! I can't work with this! I don't have a shovel or any of the tools I would need to lay this thick sod! Why did you order it so thick?"

I resisted all urge to lay into this guy verbally. It just would have confused the shit out of him. I told him I wasn't aware that there was a sod thickness standard, but I was running late and would take care of it when I got back in ten minutes. He got pissy and stormed off to his truck. Then the second guy comes over to me and politely tells me that they are under equipped to handle the sod laying for the day, so they would be back Wednesday to prepare the ground with the proper tools. Which translated into redneck is, "We'll be back termorrah with a shovel."

So yesterday they showed up with...weedwackers*. They then tore up the dead grass with them and left for the day. I guess they are union and they did their 20 minutes for the day.

This morning they show up, with shovels, and start working. I was getting Punk off to school when drunk sod guy #1 comes up to me and said, "I need to get rid of this dirt! I am gonna throw it in yer pond out back!" Umm...OK. Fine by me.

When I got back from school drop off, the three landscapers in the front yard are about to have an all out throw down bitch slapping smack down. Who knows what they were fighting about, but I was afraid I was going to have to get the hose. And sell tickets.

Lots of thucking swearing going on. Head drunk sod guy about to pulverize #3 sod guy with #2 sod guy trying to break it up. Head drunk sod guy threw his shovel into the ground and impaled one of my new pieces of sod.

"Hey! I don't mind if you kill each other but could you not take it out on my lawn? Oh and hose the blood off the sidewalks when you are done, huh? We just had those pressure washed!" By the cheap painter who didn't have a ladder and killed all my grass when he pressure washed my house and walk. Ah...good times.

So we are going to let the $600 guys finish out the day and the job of totally screwing up the resod while refraining from killing each other. Then we are going to make a call and hire some more guys to come fix the mess. Word to the wise in case anyone ever got a wild hair up their ass to inherit a house, remodel it, and move into it, all the while trying to improve it. DON'T DO IT! Back away from the dead relative's will and run as fast as you can with the cash to some tropical paradise! You'll thank me.

Hey?!? How come none of you are thucking knocking on my door to help me unpack yet? Thucking slackers...



*Blogger's suggestion for my misspelling of weedwacker? Wetback. So.Not.Even.Kidding. I shouldn't laugh, but my computer screen has been clean of laughed out coffee spray for way too long, now.