Dripping Faucet? Go Get Your Tools

I'm not good with tools. I know the difference between a Phillips screwdriver and the other kind, but that's about it.

I recently did some caulking in the bedroom. I bought the tube of caulk and the squeezy thing with the trigger that you need to make it work. I successfully squirted a wad of goo into a big crack between the floor and the wall and smoothed it out. Some extra goo got smeared around adjacent areas. Attempting to clean it up with a paper towel just made it worse. It looks like hell. But I did it. I was proud.

Recently I had to reset the cable modem. To do that,  I needed to insert something small inside a little hole on the back. A nail would be ideal. I looked everywhere, but other than the nails jammed into the wall for the purpose of holding artwork, I couldn't find one anywhere. I finally found one in Clyde's tool box.

I have a tool box too, but I couldn't find a nail there. Are you surprised I have a tool box? I don't remember how I got it but it's always been in one of my closets, sometimes buried under paper bags or Christmas decorations. It contains a hammer and two different types of screwdrivers, Phillips and the other kind. It also contains a lot of cords and adapters for computers and VCRs from the 90s which I've held on to, just in case. They are not helpful for the current problem we are having with the cable modem, but that's a story for a different time.

I learned everything I know about machines from my dad. He was a good man, very wise about many things. But he was not "handy." Dad taught me everything he knew about fixing cars: get out your credit card and take it to a mechanic. The family tradition continues.

For the record, I do know how to change a tire, thanks to that long stretch of Interstate 80 between Laramie and Rawlins, Wyoming. Picture it: no AAA. Just me and a jack standing over a flattened wheel. And my equally inept boyfriend at the time who was at least able to read the directions from the driver's manual while I skinned my knees on gravel and got my hands and shirt all dirty and sweaty. I earned some butch points that day.

Currently, Clyde and I are coping with a drippy kitchen faucet, a bathroom towel bar that is falling off the wall, and a front door latch which sticks so badly that if there were a fire, we'd probably burn up just trying to get out. Any normal man (and many women, of course) could just make these repairs with their tools. I have even seen little kits at Ace Hardware for drippy faucets. But I don't know how to use them and my little Phillips isn't adequate anyway. I have decided to call a "handyman" company to fix all of these things at once.

I imagine the handyperson coming through our sticking front door expecting to see old people too frail to wield a wrench but finding instead two able-bodied men who should be able to fix their own towel bar. What can I say? I'm an embarrassment to manhood. So I just whip out my credit card and the job gets done.

TV in Every Room Not Quite Enough

We have three TVs in our house - 1.5 per person. One in every room except the kitchen and the bathroom.

As far as I can tell from a quick internet search, we are about average for U.S. households.

I've always watched a lot of television. When I was a kid, I plunked down after school for Petticoat Junction and Gilligan's Island, and after a break for dinner I sat through the prime time lineup, followed by the news at 10:00 and reruns of M*A*S*H before bed. In the summer, I would go outside and play, but only after the mid-day broadcast of Love American Style and before The Adams Family at 4:30. As a result, I've participated in a number of pop culture trivia contests over the years. I won a prize once for being able to sing all three verses to The Beverly Hillbillies.

In the mid 70s, I could recite the entire week's programming schedule for every channel. I was a walking TV Guide. To be fair, there were only four channels at the time. And none of them were on 24 hours.

Other than during dinner, my parents never limited TV time. There was one exception: my mother forbade me from watching Charlie's Angels. Of course it wasn't hard to disobey down in the basement with the volume turned low. I think Mom was worried that the sexy female detectives would inflame my youthful passions. If she'd only known my true nature, we could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble. The Six Million Dollar Man - now that inflamed me. And of course, Captain Kirk when he fought aliens with his shirt off. Other boys had angel Farrah Fawcett in a swim suit over their beds. I had a poster of speedo-clad male divers from Casa Bonita. Mom thought I was interested in diving. But I digress.

So apparently, now in the 21st century with hundreds and hundreds of channels, we need three TVs to keep up.

It's a wonder we ever do anything else.

It's better now than in the old days. You don't have to schedule your play time around the TV. You can watch when it's convenient. In addition to recording the traditional and cable network shows, you can also, courtesy of Netflix and cable on demand, watch multiple episodes of many series, past and present. Currently we are enjoying occasional marathons of Veep, Frasier, House, and Royal Pains.

Clyde and I watch TV together most of the time, as opposed to watching simultaneously in different rooms. This potentially changes when Clyde decides to watch an overly depressing or violent movie, or if I want to watch a sitcom that is beyond his tolerance for stupid.

While the television may be the center of attention when we sit in the living room, you can also find nearby: three laptops, an iPad, and two iPhones, all of which are capable of delivering YouTube, Netflix, and any number of other video streaming services. They are rarely all used at the same time, but usually the TV isn't the only screen running.

The laptops have the added advantage of being good platforms on which the cats may lounge.

There is plenty of entertainment available thanks to technology, but I think we need a TV in the kitchen. I can carry a laptop into the bathroom.

Living Together Signals a Change in Ways

Most of my adult life, I've only lived with cats. I last lived with another human nearly 20 years ago. Even back then when I was considerably younger, I was accused of being  too set in my ways to tolerate the day to day presence of another person in my home.

I had two roommates in college. College roommates are supposed to help you learn tolerance and compromise. All I learned was that I didn't want roommates.

Nevertheless, after a year of dating, Clyde has moved to my address. There is additional furniture in the house and an unusually full refrigerator.

What's happened to change my mind? For one thing, Clyde spends so much time at my house anyway that he might as well move in. My neighbors already assumed we lived together.

I do have some questions about cohabiting.

Forget about whether the toothpaste is squeezed from the middle or which way the toilet paper is loaded. What I need to know is, how do people who live together share a DVR? Is there room to record both persons' programs? What if one watches something but doesn't know whether the other has watched it - how does the former know whether to delete it?  Erasing Cosmos too soon could actually ruin the relationship.

Another issue which concerns me: step-parents are often resented by the children. I have the opposite problem with my non-human dependents. Far from viewing Clyde as an evil step-daddy, the cats prefer him to me. No, my feelings aren't hurt - just because I  have fed, kitty littered, paid vet bills for, given pills to, worried about, and generally taken care of them most of their lives. When Clyde and I are both sitting on the sofa, whose lap do you suppose they go to first? Not mine.

There are other adjustments to be made when the boyfriend moves in. For example, I can't put the remote on the other side of the bed like I used to. And it's more difficult to secretly watch Steam Room Stories (guys in towels) on YouTube. And even though Clyde is not judgmental, I feel guilty when he sees me eating junk food.

Of course there are advantages to having Clyde around.

I now eat fish occasionally, and it's not always disgusting.

Someone else did the laundry last weekend!

Also, Clyde has reorganized the kitchen closet. I can now locate the double-A batteries. And who knew I had two tape measures? Last time I looked, I couldn't even find one.

Clyde likes my cooking. He makes coffee early in the morning. He folds things that I just wad up. He even has an iron. I haven't had one in decades.

The other day, we went to Safeway instead of King Soopers. Who says I'm set in my ways?

I just have to figure out how to get my cats back.