Sharp Corners

Today I talked to a drip about a drip.

Beautiful as my house is, the roof appears to be nothing but palm fronds thatched together haphazardly which is great for stargazing at night from the living room couch but presents a big problem when it rains. I’m guessing that though the house was built in the forties, the roof was actually assembled sometime at the turn of the century. The 17th century.

Can you see where I’m going with this?

We’re getting a new roof put on the house. Because I am anal to the nth degree, I have approximately 93 roofing companies coming out to give me estimates. Also, because I am really that anal, I spent two weeks researching roof repair and replacement before calling the aforementioned companies. Since Hurricanes Charley, Frances, Jeanne, Ivan, Elvira, Fester, Gertrude, Leoma, Pustule, Scythe and Xavier saw fit to relieve South Florida of every affixed shingle in existence, it seems that the only roofing companies available are these fly-by-night outfits that double as pawn brokers and bounty hunters on the rainy days. As a result, I have met some real smegma in the last few days. Of the ones that bother to show up, they are usually some toothpick-chewing toothless guy driving a Sanford & Son pickup truck with his magnetic "Rufus’s Roofing" sign upside down on the door. His first order of business upon exiting his vehicle is to spit, followed closely by a scratch of some body part I’d rather not know he had. The conversation usually goes something like this:

Him: "Uh-huh…hiya there little lady. I’m here to talk to someone about fixin’ yer roof."

Me: "Yes….well, thank you for coming out. You see, here’s what I was…."

Him: "Erm…uh…’scuse me. Is yer husband home?"

Me: "Um, no." (I don’t even bother with the "I’m not married" thing in case he’d try to pair me up with one of his bulls back at the farm or something) "But, I’d like you to take a look at…."

Him: "Oh, well. Okay, then. Let me jest git my ladder and git up on that there roof a’yours."

After ten minutes wandering around up there with a phony "I unnerstand jest what I’m lookin’ at" expression, they usually come down and report that my very life is in danger because the whole ceiling is about to collapse on my "purty little head" at any moment. They insist it they can ward off danger if I’ll "sign this form" and give a "small" down payment towards the repair costs. I just listen patiently, take their business card (usually a phone number scrawled on the back of a losing lottery ticket) and tell them I’ll be in touch.

The only time I got really testy was when one guy stood looking at the house from the end of the driveway, never once walked around it, much less got on the roof, then used his fingers to make his calculations. He dropped a price on me and then said, "Of course, that’s only until we get up there and see what’s underneath. Then it’s anybody’s guess what the final cost would be but we’ll let you know when we’re done." Anybody’s guess? No, sir. It’s your guess. My guess is that you’re an ass.

The guy that came out Saturday was a Roofing God compared to these other clowns. He trotted out a digital camera to snap pictures of offending shingles, he drew me diagrams, he nearly quoted me the estimate in haiku. His only fault was that he didn’t know the Heimlich Maneuver because, MY GOD, do you know what it costs to replace a roof these days?!?! I nearly choked.

Oh well, it has to get done and so far he’s got my vote for who I think should do the work. Maybe it was his professionalism. Maybe it was because he took the time to answer all my questions. Maybe it was because he didn’t talk down to me. Oh, hell. Who am I kidding? It’s because he was the only guy who wasn’t named Tex.

Let’s take things one at a time:

• The Plague of the Damned continues to rape and pillage my family. A trip to the doctor revealed that I had strep throat and bronchitis, among other things. Here’s how not to spend an enjoyable Tuesday morning: report to the local ER at 6:00 AM complaining of trouble breathing. Pretend not to be nervous when a nurse peers down your throat with a little light and whisks you into the nearest curtained cubicle. Pretend not to be nervous when they ask a respiratory therapist to wait near you. Pretend not to cry as your four year old climbs onto the hospital bed and pats your face while telling you he loves you. Act nonchalant as you stuff a piece of paper in your wallet on which you’ve scrawled emergency contact information. Try not to jump for joy when they finally release you into the wild six hours later with enough medication to cure a third world country. I had approximately four and a half minutes to recuperate before the next person in the household got sick. Now J and Son Two are battling some sort of nasty bug or other. Who’s next? The dog? Nah, he won’t stand still long enough to germs catch him.
• Speaking of the dog: is it bad form for a dog trainer to tell you he has to reschedule his next appointment with you because he’s taking an impromptu Cruise? No? What if you had just written him a trillion dollar check for his services that he insisted were "a good buy for the money." Uh-huh.
• Something I wrote was recently published in a local paper. When I looked at my bio at the end of the piece, I was momentarily confused when it referred to the author as "a single mother of three." Oh. Wait. That is me. For as much as I like the sound of it, you’d think I’d be used to that description by now.
• Is it possible for a taxidermist to stuff a large cockroach? This came up the other day and I need to know.
• I finally saw "Love Actually" and now I know what all the fuss was about. I finally saw "Lost in Translation" and can’t understand what all the fuss was about.
• I could tell you 100 more things or you could just read it here.

I read this post over at Catawampus earlier this morning and it’s stuck with me all day. Kim has hit some rough patches lately with people she considered close friends and it’s left her reeling. I’ve been checking back periodically to see what kinds of comments she’s been getting and, just as I suspected, a lot of other women report similar problems as well.

Though a shrink would have a field day with this, I find it’s easier to not make friends in the first place. It’s kind of a quandary for me because, on the one hand, I want my boys to learn about being a good friend to someone and I’d like to lead by example. On the other hand, I’m not all that interested in having close friends. It just doesn’t seem to be worth it.

I have had friendships disintegrate for the stupidest reasons and, frankly, I have little desire to cultivate another one and have it fall apart because it’s the third Saturday of a month ending in "Y" or some such crap. I’ll keep the small (and I do mean small) handful of friends I have now and call it a day.

I remember a couple of years ago I became fast friends with a gal I thought was just great. We had so much in common and could talk for hours about anything. She was smart and funny and our kids loved each other. Then one day it all fell apart…over a guy. She decided she wanted to have a certain man in her life and, though I wasn’t sure it was the greatest plan she’d ever had, I supported her unconditionally. When he decided to cut her loose from all her friends and family, I got the boot as well. It was too bad. I often wonder what became of them.

Like Kim, my divorce cost me a few friendships as well. Some people were unwilling to accept my decision and ended their involvement with me. Again, that was too bad, but I can’t say I lost any sleep over it.

Since I work out of the house, I don’t have a ready made circle of people where I might make new girlfriends but, you know what? That’s fine. There are a couple of gals I know locally and that is plenty for me. In fact, one of them has gotten busy with some things in her life that have temporarily relegated us to "penpal" status and I find that I actually like that. I think I’m better at phoned-in friendships than real life friendships since they’re "safer" in many ways. It forces a certain distance between me and people I might end up liking too much. Ergo, if I don’t let you get too close to me, you can’t hurt me too badly if you decide to end our friendship.

Does that make me sound freakish? Yeah, maybe. But I’m not lonely, that much I can promise. My friends are spread out all over the country so our main mode of communication is via email, not coffee over the back fence but if you’ve heard this once from me, you’ve heard it a thousand times: I like some of the people I’ve met online better than some I know in real life. Yes, they could be considered superficial friendships but I don’t see it that way. I’ve needed advice more than once lately and the people I’ve contacted have been great about helping me out. I was feeling very low a few days ago and a friend IM’d with me until I was laughing again. The fact that one of my blogger friends and his wife would take time out of his brief visit to the area to have coffee with me made me feel like a million bucks. Where is it written that your "true" friends have to be people that live nearby?

To me, a friend is someone who listen to you when you’re sad, offer advice when you ask and tell you that your pants make you look like the side view of a sofa. A friend will make you laugh, worry over you when you’re sick and not scream when they catch you without makeup. Tell me, aren’t these things anyone can do, regardless of whether they live three blocks away or three states away? I thought so.

I’m no social butterfly and I don’t have a ton of friends. It’s partly because I can’t deal with the nonsense that goes along with so many face to face friendships. It’s also due to the knowledge that I make a lousy friend because my family comes first. It’s mainly because I’m just a pain in the butt to deal with in person, though, and most people will opt out fairly early on. That’s why I like my friends to be far enough away that I won’t get on their nerves some distance away.

Maybe some day I’ll find that special friend in town and we’ll click like we’re long lost sisters. I can’t really say that I care, though. If it happens, great. If not, great. I still have my children, my family, a couple of good local friends and a guy who loves me for some reason I have yet to decipher. And all of my friends who live inside my computer. Life is good.