Today I met my parents over at the Fort Lauderdale Museum of Art while the kid was with her dad. Since I've produced a grandchild for my parents, I'm no longer interesting on my own, so it was a rare opportunity to just walk around a museum with two grownups, and without a hungry-tired-bored 4-year old.
The only downside was when I parked my car in the municipal garage, and my driver's side window refused to roll up. For whatever reason, I had a drill in the car, and began removing the door panel while I waited for my parents to find me. However, the Phillips head bit wasn't long enough to take off the door handle, so the panel was only accessible via the tips of my fingers, a maneuver which also managed to break all of my nails. My parents were a fantastic wealth of information. "Push the button again!"
"Mom, it's not a slot machine."
"You don't know, maybe you jiggled something."
"Jiggle this, ma."
"I'll jiggle you."
"Would the two of you shut the hell up?" (that was my dad). "Push the button again."
A 200-year old man parked next to me, and noticed that my lights were on, so he shuffled over to the driver's side door of my car, where I sat on the ground, surrounded by screws and pieces of my door, and my parents tried to alternately manually pull up the window or pry the panel open further.
"Your lights are on!" the old man croaked, helpfully.
Yeah, ok, electric windows and all. You might notice the car is also running, and we're kind of mid-project, here. "Thanks!" I yelled back.
We continued, and two minutes later, I turned to see if there was a bag in my trunk for the spare parts, and almosts walked headfirst right into the old man, still standing there.
He looked at me, interested. "What's going on, here?"
Egads.
I was tempted to tell him that we were building a flying machine. But because it's so close to the celebration of the birth of our lord and karma's a bitch and all, I refrained from doing so.
Instead, I clunked him over the head with the drill and rolled him for quarters.
Eventually, I got my fingers far enough into the door panel to find some kind of gear thingy and managed to move that up enough so that the latch caught and I was able to close the window, but now I have to take the rest of it off tomorrow to figure out what's acutally causing the problem, before I get stuck in the rain with a wet left side of the head.
The only downside was when I parked my car in the municipal garage, and my driver's side window refused to roll up. For whatever reason, I had a drill in the car, and began removing the door panel while I waited for my parents to find me. However, the Phillips head bit wasn't long enough to take off the door handle, so the panel was only accessible via the tips of my fingers, a maneuver which also managed to break all of my nails. My parents were a fantastic wealth of information. "Push the button again!"
"Mom, it's not a slot machine."
"You don't know, maybe you jiggled something."
"Jiggle this, ma."
"I'll jiggle you."
"Would the two of you shut the hell up?" (that was my dad). "Push the button again."
A 200-year old man parked next to me, and noticed that my lights were on, so he shuffled over to the driver's side door of my car, where I sat on the ground, surrounded by screws and pieces of my door, and my parents tried to alternately manually pull up the window or pry the panel open further.
"Your lights are on!" the old man croaked, helpfully.
Yeah, ok, electric windows and all. You might notice the car is also running, and we're kind of mid-project, here. "Thanks!" I yelled back.
We continued, and two minutes later, I turned to see if there was a bag in my trunk for the spare parts, and almosts walked headfirst right into the old man, still standing there.
He looked at me, interested. "What's going on, here?"
Egads.
I was tempted to tell him that we were building a flying machine. But because it's so close to the celebration of the birth of our lord and karma's a bitch and all, I refrained from doing so.
Instead, I clunked him over the head with the drill and rolled him for quarters.
Eventually, I got my fingers far enough into the door panel to find some kind of gear thingy and managed to move that up enough so that the latch caught and I was able to close the window, but now I have to take the rest of it off tomorrow to figure out what's acutally causing the problem, before I get stuck in the rain with a wet left side of the head.
You know it will happen.
When we finally got into the museum, it was a nice relief, even the Carlos Luna exhibit, which seemed to have a dick and balls theme.
Don't take my word, for it, though.
When we finally got into the museum, it was a nice relief, even the Carlos Luna exhibit, which seemed to have a dick and balls theme.
Don't take my word, for it, though.
The first painting we saw was gigantic, and I think it was 4 panels together. There were a lot of Spanish words woven in, and some Puerto Rican flags. I didn't know where the artist was from, but at first glance, it had a very afro-caribbean feel, especially with some urns in the middle of the exhibit that looked like Santería.
Some of the paintings looked more Mexican, with bulls, and a Dia de los Muertos feel to them... and especially when one of them had 'PINCHE' painted down the side.
"Mary, what does 'pinche' mean?"
"Uhh, it's Mexican, for 'fucking', mom".
"Interesting."
Then my dad walks up giggling and says "I just saw a guy with four balls back there".
Ok, everybody back in the bus.
1 comment:
I love your dad!!!
T
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