I'm Not Remotely Interested

I found myself in a very unusual situation the other day. I was completely alone in my house. I'm not used to that, and wasn't really sure if I liked it. Our house almost always has some kid or another hanging out. But then I realized that I could do whatever I pleased!

I wanted to swing around, singing like Maria in "The Sound of Music." The problem was, there was no music. In fact, there was very little sound at all since the televisions were turned off.

And I had no idea how to turn most of them on.

You see, the kids have taken over the living room, where they have a huge flat screen television that they don't like me touching. They've got a bunch of other gadgets hooked up to it, and remote controls litter the couch. The television itself has no noticeable buttons that I could discern. Truthfully, I half expected to see a picture of myself with a line slashed through it taped to the TV while they were gone.

My "domain" is in the kitchen, where the only electronic device is my 16" television. It has one remote, which turns the set on and off. It also turns the volume up or down. There are very few additional buttons on it. Man, I love that little TV.

My computer, however, is located in a corner of the sun room, which is my husband, Matt's, territory. He has a 46" flat screen (complete with high something or another) television with plasma. Great. My fear of electronics and robots coming to life and taking over the world may be realized in my lifetime, especially if they're requiring plasma!

Battlestar Galactica--you tried to warn us.

Matt also has a stereo, a few gaming systems and theater surround sound. There are some other apparati lining his entertainment wall, but I haven't a clue what they are or what they do. At this point, I just hope they stay where they are and don't wander into the kitchen looking for MY plasma.

To his credit, he bought a universal remote. He thought that having all the units controlled by one device might be easier for me (and so that I'd leave all his other ones alone). I tried to listen as he patiently explained what each section of the giant remote did. It actually has a little display which utilizes symbols that are meant to be fairly goof proof. That may be, but it had never met me.

And for some weird reason, it randomly turns the fan on in the kitchen. I promptly lost all interest.

But, since everyone was gone, I thought it would be fun to watch QVC on the big screen--it was Diamonique (simulated diamond) week. I could see the sparkly, sparkly baubles on the big screen! I went in search of the remote control but I only found the five that he uses. I had no clue which one turned what on, let alone how to change channels and turn up the sound.

I was as confused as Forrest Gump looking for a cherry cordial in a box of chocolates. Add to that the fact that I didn't have my glasses on and the die was cast for the series of events that would inevitably not turn out in my favor.

Completely baffled, I picked one of the remotes up, pointed it at the television and hit what I thought was the "on" button. Unfortunately, it was the stereo remote because all of a sudden George Strait was serenading me (at ear piercing levels) with one of his Ten Strait Hits, "Drinking Champagne."

I couldn't see if there was a red button that would allow me to turn George and his ode to inebriation off. At the very least, I wanted to turn it down from deafening to plain old loud.

I don't know why, but I figured that maybe if I managed to get the television on it would automatically turn off the stereo. So, squinting in an attempt to see, I began picking up remotes and punching buttons. Somehow, I managed to turn the TV on, but ol' George was still guzzling champagne at an alarming rate. 

While fumbling with the remotes, trying to turn George off and QVC on, I must have hit the game system. I know this because a message went across the screen, letting me know that Mr. Wavy was online and wanted to finish the fight we'd started in "Assassin's Creed." I'm betting he was thinking I was Boy.

So there I was, all by myself, with "10 Strait Hits" blaring loud enough that the space station astronauts were tapping their toes, Judge Judy bellowing at a trembling defendant who looked like he was going to have an accident because he was so terrified, and Mr. Wavy sending increasingly agitated messages over the screen because he was annoyed that I wasn't playing.

I was hoping that George would pass out and shut up already, Judge Judy would get a major case of laryngitis and the increasingly petulant Mr. Wavy would get writer's cramp. At the very least, he could learn how to spell his obscenities correctly!

When I thought that things couldn't get any worse, the fire alarm went off, adding piercing shrieks to the already ear-splitting assault on my senses.

Turns out that the plastic dish I was using to heat up a burrito wasn't exactly microwave safe. I'm still trying to pry the remnants of the now nonexistent bright pink plate from the oven.

By the time everyone came home, I was in my bedroom, clutching a glass of wine to my chest, mumbling incoherently and rocking myself. I don't remember much, but they said I kept muttering, "Make it stop, make it stop. Dear God, make it stop."

They all had a conference, and came to a conclusion. They briefly entertained the idea of training one of the dogs how to do basic remote control functions, rather than waste their time and energy trying to teach me. But in the end, it was decided that it was best that I'm never left alone.

After this experience, and the fact that I like being with my family, it wasn't a bad decision even a little bit. It was a happy ending all the way around.

To quote Charlie Sheen--winning!