"When was the last time Barbara Streisand cleaned out your garage?" - Homer, The Simpsons

Perhaps I will never understand "art" since making a lifelike depiction of a bull is okay in my book, but making him a floating evil legless bull is not. Stupid artists.

Weekends seem shorter in Houston. Perhaps a part of that is that, having moved into a new different house, there’s never a shortage of things to do. Sadly, only rarely do they involve a chainsaw. Fortunately, they often involve beer.

Especially since the house was born when Reagan was president. And, not the second term.

Most of the house is really, really nice, especially the parts we could see when we bought the place. However, the septic system as been a nightmare, but, alas, we don’t live on Elm Street, so instead of being shredded by a man in a green and red Christmassy sort of sweater, well, this nightmare just keeps giving.

The concrete lid to one septic tank (there are . . . four!) was shattered in more pieces than Anna Nichole’s custody situation. They are somehow interconnected. Maybe. Let’s just say that the guys who do the work in replacing the lines are good at quoting dollar figures that start in the hundreds. Soon, if this keeps up, I’ll be a mere ten-aire instead of a happy hundredaire.

The Mrs. came outside while I was observing and/or haggling with the sewer guys. “The Boy has a temperature of 103ºF and Pugsley has a messy diaper. Do you even live here?”

The septic guys tried to leave (having accomplished nothing) and I was adamant that they at least pump a tank, for show if for no other reason. They promised they’d be back on Monday. It seems I have more money, and they want it.

After they left, the weekend was all mine. Being the weekend, I needed to venture out to purchase various things. I asked The Boy if he wanted to go. “No.”

“I’m going to Toys ‘r’ Us.”

“Let me get my shoes.”

We made our trip to Toys ‘r’ Us and got his brother, Pugsley, a nice toy box. That was nice, since we’d been using a cardboard box to story toys, and he was eating it. I imagine at least that there’s good fiber in a cardboard box.

I also took him to Home Despot, because every day I’m not working, I’m there buying some damn thing that’s necessary for making some repair that ensures our house doesn’t collapse in upon itself immediately. Today’s visit wasn’t based on emergency, but out of habit. I bought some light bulbs and slinked out. I just feel so empty if I don’t visit Home Despot once a weekend.

We got home, and I finally began the puttering that I had intended all along. The Mrs. was inside napping, and Pugsley was doing whatever it is he does when he’s in his crib and not eating. I have no idea what it is, but he’s quiet about it, so it suits me fine.

Part of the puttering included cleaning the garage. The Boy helped, primarily by being a constant source of mobility for small tasks. Yes, he knows where to get beer for me. Beyond that, he’s good at it.

The Boy didn’t feel well, but did manage to make one of the nicer comments of the day when I was attempting to rid the garage of the thousands of boxes that are still left over from our move. “It feels so empty in here now, Dad.”

Yes, empty like Paris Hilton’s soul. Or a clean garage.