It sure is rainy and crappy outside this morning. At least the wind we had during yesterday’s rainy crappiness has died down. At times it felt like what’s left of our balcony was going to come off the side of the building and fall to earth. It was brutal!
Speaking of what’s left of the balcony, when they send those big metal panels away to get redone and prettied up, how long does that usually take? Right now we can’t go out there because it’s unsafe, but our patio furniture is still living outside. When I say we can’t go out there, we literally can’t without first taking a screwdriver to the screen door. the building folks have been screwing them shut for safety and likely legal reasons during the repair, so whatever’s out there is stuck until they decide to open it again. Right now that’s not a huge deal, but eventually it’s going to snow, and then…yeah, big deal. I’ve seen what happens when you leave your shit out for a day too long, and it sucks. If you’ve never had the experience of prying frozen tables and chairs that are under a giant snowbank off of a concrete slab in freezing temperatures, don’t. I’d rather not have it again, so I hope this doesn’t take long.
While we’re talking apartment building things, we got a new fridge this week. Not sure where that ranks on the Matt’s front door scale of historical significance, but it’s a nice fridge.
Nice as it is though, it’s odd. I’ve never seen a fridge with so much space where nothing fits quite right. When you adjust the top shelf so that tall things like milk and water jugs will go in, it’s hard to put things on the shelf below it. If you move that one down to fix that problem, good luck using the bottom. I may be missing something, but until I figure out what if anything that is, our milk and water are hanging out in the giant door space that I’m starting to think they put in when they realized they fucked up the shelving.
And it has no egg compartment! None! With all the room in this thing, whoever built it could have easily solved the not enough egg slots issue, but no! Guess it was more important to make sure the shelves were annoying.
I appreciate the extra room, but it’s not the fridge I personally would have bought. Oh well, how much can I really complain when the building pays for it and it means I don’t have to soak up water with paper towels a few times a day? I’ll get used to it and probably even like it.
There’s news on why TNA may have made the stupid Bobby Roode decision. According to PWInsider, it’s Hulk Hogan’s fault. TNA was going to do the smart thing and put the belt on Roode, but Hogan lobbied to have it changed and won. Makes sense given that he’s said in interviews that he doesn’t think Roode is ready to be a top guy. What doesn’t make sense is why anybody still listens to Hulk Hogan in 2011. I’m sure he has good ideas to offer as far as how to get the most out of a crowd by doing next to nothing in a match and such, but as far as I know the only person he’s ever booked well is himself, so why should his opinions on anybody else carry any weight whatsoever? We’re talking about a guy who seems to think you can only be a star in TNA if you’ve worked in WWE in the 80’s or 90’s, or better yet, if you’re *in* your 80’s or 90’s. Please, for the sake of the product, stop letting this guy make decisions on who’s over. Leave that to the fans and the new clue-based writing crew you’re putting together.
I helped my sister pick out a Christmas present for somebody this week. I guess that means I can’t live in denial for much longer. It’s coming, and I’d better do something about it. Problem is I have a grand total of two gift ideas right now and then I’m stuck. Maybe if I get those out of the way it’ll inspire me, but I’m not holding out a lot of hope. Hope you like gift cards and beer, everyone. Both of those would make fine gifts as far as I’m concerned. Just throwing that last bit out there in case anybody who’s stuck buying me something happens to be reading.
That’s all for now. I’m going to have breakfast. Until we meet again and beyond, remember this: One man’s trash is another man’s treasure may be a nice saying, but it’s a pretty terrible way to tell your kids they’re adopted.