2005-03-07 - 1:54 p.m.

First up: A Public Service Announcement:

I’d like to state for the record, that if I ever find the piece of human shit who’s been stealing money out of my 91 year old grandmothers dresser in the nursing home, I will - and this is not an exaggeration- rip your fucking fingers off and stuff them down your throat. I will beat you with a blunt instrument to within an inch of your worthless life. Make no mistake about it, you fucking cock sucking asshole piece of shit.

Thank you.

Tales of the great laundry room adventure.

The Landry Room renovation saga continues. Never in the history of home remodeling has so much time and effort been expended to achieve so little.

Over the past few weeks I’ve been trying to spruce up the laundry room in my home. I’ve managed to patch the holes in the ceiling, paint the room white and hang a few storage cabinets. A normal, sane person would have probably stopped there.

Not me.

Last Thursday, while in the laundry room ironing, (Oh, here’s handy tip for you inexperienced ironers, Never iron naked.-Trust me on this). I decided that white wasn’t the appropriate color for a laundry room. No way. White? Ugh. What was I thinking?

“Blue! Blue! Blue!” Is what I announced to my lovely wife over coffee Saturday morning. “The laundry room should…no MUST be Blue!” I made grand, flamboyant, sweeping motions with my arms. “We’d be stupid not to paint it blue!!!”

My lovely wife looked at me like I was certifiable.

“Blue?”

“Yes. Blue.”

“But nothing in the house is blue. You hate blue. We just painted it white. Are you sure?”

“Blue. Blue. Blue. ”

And before she knew what I was doing, I was out the door to the hardware store, off to buy blue paint.

Blue Bayou, Blue Suede Shoes. Blue Berry Hill. Blue. Blue. Blue. Say it enough and it starts to sound like a meaningless sound. Blue. Blue. Blue.

Here’s a handy tip. You may want to re-think you color choice when the clerk at the paint store exclaims “Wow! I don’t think I’ve ever sold that particular color of blue before.”

If you’re too stupid to get the hint then, definitely choose another color if the paint clerk warns: “Sir, once this color is mixed, you cannot get your money back. Are you sure you want *this* particular shade of blue?”

“Sir” the store manager seeing the concern on the clerks face came over to the paint counter. “Have you spoken to your wife about this color choice?”

“Just shut up and mix the paint, Skippy.”

My wife watched in astonishment as I painted the room.

And in only a few, short hours, the room was painted blue. I was painted blue. The cat was painted blue.

I loved it!

It was a unique hue of blue. Almost like electric neon blue Pepsi can. My wife made a remark along lines of it looking like a building she once saw while in Tijuana. She didn’t say it in a complimentary manner, either. Huh.

Me? I loved it. It was everything I had hoped for. It was a triumphant blue. I was a home decorating god!

That evening, after returning from a celebratory Mai Tai at my favorite Chinese restaurant and regaling all the other regulars at the bar with tales of my wonderful Blue room., I stepped into my house only to be greeted by my wife, several of our closest friends, as well as my brother and my sisters.

“What’s this?” I asked cautiously.

“An intervention” My wife stated.

“My drinking isn’t that bad” I slurred.

“We’re not talking about your boozing there, lush boy” my best friend Mike offered.

“It’s the laundry room. You’ve got a problem.”

They sat me down.

“Andy. We love you. We won’t let you do this to yourself or your house. Friends don’t let friends have rooms like this. It’s bad.” My friend Candice calmly and matter factly told me.

My head was spinning. I felt the room getting very small. My wife took my hand. “Honey. They’re here to help you. Listen to them. Please.”

“It looks like a smurf exploded in there.” my sister stated.

“Electric Blue Vomit” Another voice offered.

“Andy, you suck”. A disembodied voice on the speakerphone announced.

“You’re teleconferencing my parents!??!?!?!”

After several hours of denial, arguing, and crying, I took another look at the room and had to admit. It was pretty bad. I had hit bottom. I should stick to white and maybe grays. I admitted defeat and surrendered myself to the higher power: My wife.

I agreed to re-paint the room.

“This is the first day of the rest of your new life” My friend Steve proudly said as he patted me on the back.

The next morning bright and early I was back at the paint store. “I’d like a gallon of white primer to cover a very bright blue, please.”

“Weren’t you just in here yesterday?” The clerk asked. “You’re the Blue guy!”

“Shut up and just mix the paint, Scooby.”

Cash Out - Another Round