What a fuckin' shit show tonight turned out to be. So, I get home knowing that I have a few things to do tonight, but that Mercs 2 and ToV are sitting in the mailbox. I figure I'll get home, make dinner, chow, take my laundry down and then settle in for 45 mins or so of Game Time. Here's what happened:
I get home. My French roommate is watching the US Open, but he might as well be watching the gladiatorial fights in Rome. "HOOO HEE WOAHAHAH WOOHOOHOO WAHEHAHA" for a solid 40 minutes while I'm trying to cook. I knock a pot of 325 degree oil and it spills inside the oven. I lift the cooktop to clean the pools of oil now sitting dangerously close to an open flame. Unfortuantely, the last fella to do this put the cover back wrong and lifting the cover RIPS OUT A SHITLOAD OF WIRES FROM THE BOWELS OF THE OVEN. Things go POP, sparks shoot out of the oven and the fuse trips. I am scared shitless. In the background, fuckin' Cheesehead is still going "OOOH WOOHOO HEE WOO HAHAHAOWOA" to the game that inspired the incredible thrill ride of PONG. The oven no longer works.
At this point I'm stressed and my nerves are shot and I feel like shit and the laundry still isn't done. My wife and I decide to just take the laundry downstairs and then walk down the street to snag some Falafel. Spare you the details: The laundry room is broken. So we pack all of our laundry in suitcases and laundry bags and hoof it down to the laundry. Which would be fine if the BLEACH JUG WASN'T LEAKING. All of my new shirts now look like those distinguished mentally-challenged fellow Hyper Color clothes from the 80s.
After much sniping and yelling in public, we manage to get the laundry done around 9. I am excited to come home and play ToV, finally. We get home and our roommates are watching Spinal Tap. Whatevs, but I'm DEAD EXHAUSTED. Why is this a problem you ask? We don't have a mattress. Early on we passed on the two mattresses we found because my sister was supposed to give my wife and I her mattress when we moved. She ended up not moving immediately, so now we're mattress-less. This was okay because we had an inflatable. I'll spare you the details, again, but our inflatable mattress is now a flat square of plastic about as capable of holding air as a pin cushion. So we've been camped out on the Sofa Bed for a solid two weeks now waiting for my sister to clear the mattress. Sofa Bed is fine, but now there are two Danes and a Frenchmen ("HHE WOOWEEHA WOHAHA") watching Spinal Tap on it.
At this point I'm just stressed and exhausted and feeling unreasonable, so my wife and I just go to sleep on the hardwood floor of our empty bedroom. I figure we'll snooze for a bit and wake up feeling more charitable and with the sofa vacated.
Instead, I wake up to the strains of Rock Band. I am going to kill someone. If you have never heard a Danish woman sing, well. They all sound like Bjork, but they are not all great singers. Most of them sound like high-pitched lawn mowers struggling through an ESL class.
