Recently my grandfather moved in and we had the complicated task of moving the computer from the computer room to my bedroom. My bedroom is in the basement and this really wouldn't be a difficult job for anybody that doesn't grace the last name "Gramling". We're convinced that we're cursed.
To demonstrate this I am going to go back in time a bit to when we lived in our old house and my mom decided to clean out the heating vents. She finished the last one and forgot to put the cover for the vent back in place. An hour later she went into the kitchen to get a drink and she fell into the vent. She screamed for my brother and the first thing he did was run down to the basement to see her leg sticking out of the ceiling.
Four years ago we fixed a doornob. Note, we. So just how many Gramling's does it take to fix a doornob? Six. Plus a Bechtel, my grandfather.
Three years ago I moved down to the basement bedroom. I decided to carry my twenty some inch tv down the stairs by myself not realizing it weighed about 50 pounds. I ended up losing my balance and landing on my butt. The tv landed at the bottom of the stairs.
Next down the stairs was my dresser, a two hundred pound solid as a rock piece of shit with a giant mirror. Unfortunately, adding to the curse, we were not able to take the drawers out to make it any lighter. So my dad, my mom, and I carried the thing down the first flight of stairs and out the front door (there's a landing at the door and then it twists around to another flight of stairs) and around through the garage (my room is next to the garage) so we wouldn't have to maneuver it around the wall. Needless to say, six hours later, and after much bloodshed and screaming, the dresser was in my bedroom.
So this week we had a fairly simple task. The desk is made of fake wood, one of those kit desks that you put together. We decided to take all of the stuff off of it and then take it downstairs. Easy. Simple. Yeah ok. So my dad has recently had a knee replacement done and can't really do any lifting. So it was up to my mom and I. She had one end and I had the other as we realized there was no way to slide the thing down the stairs without dropping it. So we flipped it over. That's right, we sommersaulted the thing down the stairs. When it was time for my mom to grab the end, she told me to let go. She had it.
I started to scream because I knew if I let go it would fall and she'd be smashed against the door. "MOM I CAN'T LET GO! I don't want it to break in half and," ut before I finished the second part of my sentence, the desk split in half. I was about to say "crush you". We were pissed after all of our work but needless to say, I was really glad the second part of my sentence didn't get a chance to be said seeing as though I would have jinxed it.
So now, I'm sitting at a glued together desk in my bedroom, happy that we got through that experience without an injury.
Tomorrow I might tell you about the time my mom stole an uprooted, dead tree home to decorate with Easter eggs. As for now, I'm off to write a new chapter of Carter. I'm inspired by my family's hilarious antics.