Miscommunication & Communication

Vehicle one had a load of tree branches and an ugly, old bathroom vanity that had been sitting on our back porch for the past year (don't ask about the progress, but the bathroom now has a quarter of a floor in place) loaded into the back. Vehicle two had a dead battery. Vehicle three was the beloved Porsche that I have never been allowed to drive (someone claims I drive too fast). Vehicle three was the only driveable vehicle.

Now, this wouldn't have been so bad if I had not realized I was out of a certain ingredient for a dessert I was making for a Lion's Club cookout that night. It also would not have been so bad if both Jeremy and I had not already had really bad/busy work days, and it was not already 3 in the afternoon (which also meant that I was running the oven, and the kitchen was now a steamy 93 degrees). And, probably, it would not have been so bad if I could have put a little perspective on the situation, and realized I really didn't need to make the raspberry sauce for the chocolate cheesecake. However, none of these things actually happened. Instead. . .

"Crap (insert slightly more offensive word here)! I don't have a vehicle to drive!" I was in a tizzy about not having any raspberries (of course, I haven't yet told Jeremy what the missing ingredient actually was) and burst into the bedroom where he was out cold, exhausted. Well, he wasn't out cold anymore.

"There's the truck and the porsche," he complained, irritated (okay, irritated is an understatement. He was pretty much grumpy and furious about being woken up, especially after the day he'd already had). "We can drive one of those. Why the hell are you waking me up about this now?" This last part, he mumbled angrily as he raced out of the bedroom and away from me. Granted, this is normally the correct response because when I'm all worked up about something as important as raspberries, it is best for both of our sanity that we do not spend any more time together than necessary -- at least enough time apart for me to realize how I might be, slightly, blowing things out of proportion.

Unfortunately, this only made me madder. I looked out the window and fumed. I was stuck driving the truck around town with its load of unsecured, yes, unsecured, crap. I walked out to the truck, jiggled the bathroom vanity, and figured it was wedged in good enough for me to drive the mile to Piglet.

So, off I went, very slowly making my way to the grocery store. Of course, Piglet had no rasperries--none in the frozen section, none in the freezer section. Now I was really stewing. I was stuck with this truck and no raspberries, and the only way I could get raspberries was to drive 20 miles to the nearest Wal-Mart. I realized there was no way I could do this hauling half a tree and a giant bathroom vanity, so I headed for home, resigned.

Now, I probably would have given up on the whole raspberry issue if it weren't for the next chain of events. Crawling down the road at 30 miles per hour, I suddenly hear Crash! Bam! Thud! Yep, the bathroom vanity had departed the vehicle and was now lying in pieces on the road, causing a traffic jam in 100 degree weather. I had been angry before, but now I was irate. I apologize to the nice man who helped me load the thing back into the truck, but I don't think I said anything to him other than "thank you." I just marched my vanity pieces back to the truck and jammed them in wherever I could find room.

Creeping home at about 10 miles per hour, I was now on a mission. I was getting those raspberries no matter what. For about five minutes, I thought about taking the porsche, knowing Jeremy would freak (even though he was the one who suggested it). Then I decided I was in way too bad of a mood to drive a car that can reach 100 mph in less than 2 seconds and keep on accelerating. Instead, I found a pair of jumper cables, jumped my car, and was off to Wal-Mart.

$100 later (apparently shopping, even if it is at Wal-Mart, is very cathartic), I arrived home to find Jeremy sitting on the porch. He had had no clue that I meant I needed a vehicle to drive right away. He had thought I was just saying we had nothing to drive that night to Lion's Club and couldn't figure out why I was freaking out. Additionally, he seemed rather incredulous that I hadn't bothered to fasten any of the stuff in truck's back end (how was I supposed to know? He never mentioned this little tidbit when he suggested that I drive the truck), but completely unsurprised that the vanity had taken a little trip down the road.

Later that night, sitting on the porch after our strenuous day, we finally relaxed and enjoyed some stimulating conversation. The cicadas (also called heat bugs here) were out in full force, almost drowning us out.

"What's the difference between a cicada and a locust? Are they the same thing?" I asked Jeremy.
"No. Locusts are big grasshopper things that swarm and eat crops."
"Why do the cicadas always quit buzzing when it gets dark?"
"I don't know."
"Do bugs sleep?"
"How am I supposed to know? Google it."
"You're supposed to know everything," I calmly replied. This is my response to any question he can't answer.
"Why in the world would I know if bugs sleep?"
"Because it's important, bug related news," I informed him.
"Alright, if you google it and come up with a news article that says 'Important, breaking news about bugs sleeping,' I'll concede your point."

I briefly contemplated how hard it would be to find an article on Google with those exact words. Bugs sleeping I was sure I could find info on, but pretty sure it would never contain the words 'Important news.' Somehow, my mind wandered again. I asked Jeremy a few more things, and suddenly, the only response I was getting from him was: "yup, yup, yup."

"You sound like that one alien on Bert and Ernie."
"Are you calling me an alien?"
"No, you just sound like him. Remember them?"
"Yup. There were two."
"Yes! And they both made different noises! What did the other one say?"
"How should I know? Where do you keep coming up with this stuff?"
"See," I responded, "another important piece of information you should, but don't know. Was it 'yip?'"
"I don't have a clue."

At that point, I think he was pretty much done with the conversation. Yet I continued to ponder Sesame Street, and then the Muppets.

"Why were some characters on Sesame Street and some characters on the Muppets, but very few on both?"
"I have no clue." He is just not very well informed at all!
"Like Grover. I think Grover was on both, but you rarely saw Kermit on Sesame Street or Big Bird on the Muppets."
"Google it," Jeremy replied.

For some reason, I have started considering Jeremy as the human Google, so I was very disappointed with this response. I guess their are limitations to his knowledge, even if he usually refuses to admit this fact. Still on my Sesame Street/Muppets mindset, I next found myself trying to remember the name of Oscar the Grouch's worm friend.

"Wormy," I said, out of the blue.
"Wormy? Why are you calling me by my old nickname?"
"I'm not. Wormy. Wasn't that the name of Oscar's little worm friend?" For some reason, Jeremy decides to contemplate this character more seriously.
"Was he a worm or a caterpillar?"
"I don't know. I remember he was striped. Light orange and dark orange stripes."
"That sounds more like a caterpillar," Jeremy said.
"It might have been. He never talked. He just inched around on strings."
"You will have to Google Oscar's nontalking friend then and find out what his name is."
"I might get Snuffalupagus though if I do that."
"Snuffalupagus?" I'm sure, by now, Jeremy really wasn't wanting to ask about Snuffalupagus, but for some reason, felt compelled to do so.
"Yes, Snuffalupagus. That was Big Bird's invisible friend. I guess he did talk, but noboby else ever saw him except Big Bird."

Silence. It's dark and the cicadas are all quiet.
"I guess you'll just have to Google sleeping bug alien nontalking muppet friends," Jeremy said.
"I can't Google all of those together!"
"Why not?"
"Hmmm. I guess I could. It might bring up some interesting combinations!" I contemplated the possibilities of what could come up with that search.
"What was the search string again?" I asked Jeremy, having forgotten at least half the words he strung together.
"I think it's time for bed," was his only response.