If you look up the definition of SoCal (that's what locals call Southern California) in that hypothetical, personalized dictionary everybody refers to for his/her definitions of the undefined, you might think of movie stars, sunshine, Beverly Hills, or beaches; but, yesterday, I was almost hit by the definition of SoCal: two fake blonds, talking on cell phones, driving a white BMW, not paying attention to anything but themselves, rolling through a stop sign, and then giving me the "who the hell are you" look when they almost t-boned me; and I am pretty sure, had they gotten out of their car, I would have seen 5 pounds of plastic strapped to their chests. Come to think about this, minus the silicon and their driving reminded me of Madison.
On to better stories. The big project of the weekend: puting up a baby gate. Yeah, I kIf you were to loonow what you are thinking, it's a baby gate! Get a couple of screws, drill a couple of holes, how hard can it be? In fact, reading this you probably have a twinge of sympathy for my projected inability at handy work. Well, we will see about all this. First, our stairs are not set in a normal configuration, but are in the corner of the room, and thus, the baby gate goes from corner to corner and not between two walls. Second, this is a baby gate our neighbors gave us, which they had to have wood pieces customly cut in order to install the gate. Third, though they gave us their custom-cut wood pieces, their stairs are on the opposite side of the room, and (trust me on this) no matter how you flipped and turned the wood pieces, the baby gate would not fit in our house. So yesterday, after I spent an hour flipping the various pieces around, feeling like I was trying to figure out a rubix-cube type puzzel and not installing a baby gate, I determined I was going to need my own specially cut pieces of wood (but not before Shelly and I had a long fight where she accused me of being too pig headed and not willing to swallow my pride and ask my neighbor, the fellow pilot who wears yellow dish glove, for help). In the end, I tucked my tail between my legs and asked for help. The only solace I have for this shameful act is that he concluded I was right, that there was no way to assemble the baby gate with the current pieces of wood.
So, yesterday, I made my high school math teacher proud and used trigonometery to figure out the cut of wood needed to install the baby gate. Of course, I had to look it all up on the internet, but considering my last math class was ten years ago, I was pretty damn proud of myself. After calculating that I would need a 75 degree cut, lengthwise, on a 2x4 -Bob Vila would also be proud of me at this point- I went to the local lumberyard, calculations in hand, to have the lumber cut. I don't know how it is where you are, but the people who work at the lumber yards at home are legitimate professionals of the trade. You know the type, crusty old men, dressed in either flannel or white t-shirts, who can frame a house in a day, and can cut a piece of wood to any angle or length just by eyeing it. Well in San Diego, it is a young, typical SoCal guy, with his ultra-cool haircut and a MTV wardrobe. When I tell him what I need, he first tells me he can't cut the wood using angles alone and need me to draw him a line where I wanted him to cut. So after I did some more quick math (I was a math genius yesterday), determined the proportional ratios, I drew a 75 degree angled line on the 2x4 and had him attempt to cut it, which he couldn't do. Seriously, the guy looked so confused that I almost volunteered to cut the wood myself. In the end, I came home with to wedges that add up to approximately the 75 degrees I need, and after spending another hour sanding the wood, I was ready to install the gate. Striving for perfection, this, in iteslf, was no easy task. First, I had to drill holes within holes in order to make the screws flush with the wood. I used pre-existing holes in the drywall (we have turned our walls into swiss cheese hanging things, so I feel guilty adding any more holes to our walls), and finally, I had to do all of this with my wife watching with a skeptical eye. In the end, though Bob Vila probably would not be that proud, the baby gate is up!
On yet another note, our friends have introduced Madison to two new activities this weekend -one constructive and one questionable at best. We will let you decide which one is which. Either way, we thought we would share you some pictures of Madison bonding with both Sharon and RJ.
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