Fried Electronic Brains

Life fries our nerves. Quirky people get quirkier; so do electronics. What was once wired, is now weird. Our whole house is driving me bonkers.

Like Crazy Uncle Donnie who can’t find his marbles after dark, our home is doing weird sh*t in the middle of the night. Forget early-morning Twitter rants, we freak out at 2:32 a.m. over BEEPS, BLEATS, BURPS, and RUMBLES.

First, the house alarm BLINKS & BLEATS (lights AND noise) to tell me there was a power blink. A. Power. Blink. Really? The security system awakened me to tell me of a power blink? I. Am. Asleep. Leave me alone. There’s zero chance of oversleeping. Why? The house won’t shut up long enough.

We’ve added extra battery-powered smoke detectors to augment the alarm system. If we hard-wired them, we’d have to hire an electrician. Our “security system” is mostly bastardized chaos.

By federal law, low-batteries must BLEAT & WHOOP (every three minutes) starting at 2:32 a.m.  The law, “The American Safety Act of 1997,” was drafted by the Association of American Hospital Moguls. Why? They wanted more paying ER business at 2:32 a.m. Gunshot wounds are seldom profitable.

Sound weird? It’s no weirder than the Trumpcare bill that has subsidies for health insurance EXECUTIVES. Click here to see the LA Times article. There’s nothing in it for the guy whose whose wife is dying from under-treated MS. She’s in a medically-underserved area … and the US is trying to deport foreign doctors practicing in areas like theirs. Sad, stupid, and true.

But I digress. Let’s return to the adventures of sleepy homeowners.

To silence the BLEAT & WHOOP of the smoke alarm, I roust out my husband. He finds a ladder, manhandles it up the stairs. I am the spotter. Sleep-addled, he risks his 74 year-old life (and limb) to climb it. He pulls the alarm off the wall, rips out the battery and throws the sucker to the floor. We leave the whole mess and try to go back to bed.

So, we have choices. Risk a broken neck or have the house go up in flames.If there were a fire, the newscaster would solemnly intone, “There wasn’t a working fire alarm in the house.”

NO SH*T, SHERLOCK. We murder them to get some sleep, MORON.

On the way back to bed after “Smoke Alarm-icide,” we encounter more trouble. Our  SOAP DISPENSER in the kitchen is battery-powered and motion-activated. It BURPS out out two slops of soap … WHEN THE KITCHEN LIGHT GOES OFF! This is TRUE. (Take comfort. When I lie to you, I tell you.)

I’m not even near the bratty thing and it’s sassing me. It sounds like a wet fart from a two-year old. I’d pitch the damned thing, but I have a bunch of refills. If I can find fresh batteries, I’ll replace them … and agonize over batteries in landfills.

Our ice machine also has Nocturnal Emissions. We use little ice, so it makes all of it in THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.  Why? WHO KNOWS? It dumps a load at 2:32 a.m. It sounds like a boulders falling onto the roof. RUMBLE. RUMBLE. CRASH.

As we stumble past the burping, rumbling kitchen, we need no night light to find our bed. Surge protectors flank the bed; each charges an army of electronics. The room looks like an LAX runway at night. We just jump into the dark spot, hoping it’s the bed.

Once in bed, we hope for no emergencies. Calling 911 can be iffy. What is the cell towers are out? Or the internet is down?  I saw a woman on TV who was whining about being unable call 911 on her cell. She had money for waaay too much collagen in her lips, but was too cheap to have a landline. What a CRYBABY!

Our cordless phones declared WAR on each other. Rather than trying to figure out the WHY of the hostilities, I bought new ones from Amazon. It was cheaper than the co-pay for Xanax. I need serious help for Tech Anxiety.

To Recap. A power blink BEEPS & BLINKS; smoke alarms BLEAT & WHOOP; a soap dispenser BURPS; the ice maker RUMBLES. The phones are at WAR. Our bedroom SUCKS so much power, we need a substation in the yard. And HELP may not be available.

I’m living amidst warring, insane electromagnetic fields. It’s driving me nuts. I fear for my sanity. Any day now, I’ll be claiming Obama bugged my house.