Jim. Tim. Bob. Whatever your name was. Come back.

2013-08-05 10.12.00

I know I told you I could do this on my own. But I don’t think I can.

You came around with your big white truck and your lawn mower rider thingie every few weeks, and you’d give a nod, and I’d nod back. And that was our agreement. Then you’d drive that thing up and down the lawn lickety-split and you were gone. We’d settle up whenever it was convenient. We had a good thing going.

Then the wyfe got an idea. “You should do it yourself”, she says. “That’s too much money to pay some guy”, she says.

I have to take a break for a few — the smell of gasoline on my hands is making me dizzy.

Ok. So I gets all motivated-like and call up a fellow who comes and gets your mower and fixes it and returns it. And I sez for the fella to come over and do the do with old gertie here (pictured above) who’s only been used a few times in three years. When you’ve got a sweet fella like mine in the old ‘hood, it’s hard to look back. Anyhow, he fixes the thing (something to do with gas and ethanol and carburetor and blah blah blah…)

My fella drives by and asks if I need the lawn mowed and I sez that I got it. Thanks anyway. Look at me!!!! I got this!!!

This morning I went to get gasoline. I was trying to figure out how to open up the gas can. The technology sure has improved in three years. Pull this. Push that. Lock A. Slot B. I filled her up and drove home. Pulled out the lawnmower. Now I can’t figure out how to unlock the gas can to POUR the gas into the lawnmower. I unscrew this, turn that over, this that, PLUNK.

A large, and probably important mechanism-type plastic thing has fallen into the gas tank. I try to fish it out with a stick, and that only pushes it deeper into the cave. I can’t even see it.

Maybe if I start the mower, it will shoot out and I’ll be able to retrieve it. EUREKA!  And by “EUREKA”, I mean that I’ve just run over the fucking gas cap, and nothing has been freed from the gas tank itself. So now the gas cap is a mangled mess, the gas tank is full of plastic, and I miss my fella. Fuck this domesticity garbage. I’m not meant for this.

Jim. Tim. Bob.

Jim. Tim. Bob.

Jim. Tim. Bob.


Namyohorengekyo. Namyohorengekyo.Namyohorengekyo.Namyohorengekyo.Namyohorengekyo.Namyohorengekyo.Namyohorengekyo

I guess this is what happens when your mind is occupied.  How’s yours?


4 thoughts on “Jim. Tim. Bob. Whatever your name was. Come back.

  1. […] Jim. Tim. Bob. Whatever your name was. Come back.. […]

  2. rhijulbec says:

    So funny!! I think you should get what I call a ”push me, pull you”, a manual lawn mower…lol Get it? ”Man”ual? Kidding…but a non gas, non electric lawn mower would solve your problem. But then again, so would Jim Tim Bob. I’m on your side here. Seems your talents don’t run to lawn mowers and that’s just fine! I’m sure you do have many talents. Good luck with the lawn wars.

  3. I’m not meant for this. My forte is in failing at music, not failing at being a male stereotype. Your encouragement, while appreciated, will not summon my mower man.

  4. rhijulbec says:

    I’m sorry..lol. You really do need your lawn mower guy. I’m just teeheeing away here. I’ve got one who can do a lot of things, but he’s at a loss with mechanics. Hope he comes along soon. Sometime spending the money is worth the lack of aggravation!

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