As I type this, a nice, young man contracted by a major satellite TV company is busy installing a network on my property. While I'm composing sentences, he's drilling, and measuring, and running cables. The whole idea was orchestrated by MFH a few days ago, and he is also overseeing the project. Which is why he's now number one on my shit list for telling Mr. Dish Network to secure their obscene piece of mechanical equipment right outside my fucking office window.
Oh, did I forget to mention that my office is in the front of the first level of my house? My bad...
As shallow as it might sound, my complaint is justified. Drive past my house and you'll understand what the fuck I'm talkin' 'bout. Since the day we purchased this house, my priority has been designing and ultimately renovating the outer-most portion of the structure. It needs it, and we knew that way back when. I've spent the past two years looking into contractors that might be capable of doing what I want done. Only for those plans to be dashed by a obstructive dome of titanium. Ok, I get it. it can be moved....eventually. But I know nothing if I know MFH, and something tells me it's time to scrap all previous ideas, because I'm going to have to work around a fucking satellite dish.
Why are men like this? Seriously. What makes them think that an intrusive piece of equipment mounted at fucking eye level on the front fucking windows isn't going to be a problem? I understand that the pitch of the front roof was too great to position it there, and I understand that the easier the better in terms of having to climb up onto the upper level of the house. But seriously. My home now looks like something out of Green Acres. Who needs garden gnomes when you have a bowl-shaped broadcast transmitter? Am I supposed to decorate it with icicle, or standard string lights? Ahh hell, maybe now we can just leave the outdoor Christmas trimmings up all year round. Maybe on #5's next birthday, I can tie a bundle of balloons to it. Because the first thing an obtrusive inanimate device needs is more attention.
I know, I'm anal about this kind of shit. But if I don't say something, I'll have a wheel-less, rusted Chevy parked on the front lawn by Memorial Day. If I let this slide, I'm going to come home one day and find the kids, dressed in denim overalls, playing banjo's on the front steps. Congratulations, MFH, we are now a wad of chewing tobacco and an oversized confederate flag away from the next episode of Wife Swap. If anyone out there troll's People Of Wal Mart, and you see our photos, please....just pretend like you didn't see 'em.
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