I'm in line at the grocery store in a non-express aisle. The woman in front of me is purchasing two bananas. Not two bunches of bananas. Two f-ing bananas. She ripped two bananas off their bunch and then stood in front of me in line.
And then she paid for them with a check.
This is the kind of day I'm having.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
In the Basement
My landlady is renovating the basement. She's lowering the floor, painting, adding shelves, the whole nine yards. Unfortunately, the floor-lowering part has been going on for longer than the entire project was supposed to take. For 2 weeks I've been dealing with the fallout from this project.
First to go was the laundry. They had to pour new concrete under the washer/dryer. Thus, I'm unable to do laundry. Of course, I find this out after accruing an entire week of dirty clothing. On the way into the house my landlady spots me and says "Oh, btw, no laundry for about a week or two." Great. Thanks for the heads up. Jerkface.
The next day she calls and offers to let me use her machines, which was very nice of her...but it leads me to think- how can she use her machines (situated directly beside mine) when I can't get to mine? I knock on her door with laundry basket in-hand, and soon have my answer. She has another set. Let me say this again. She has another set. She has two washer/dryer sets and she's complaining to ME about the water bill. Dude- why in the hell would you have two sets?!? And having two sets, why would you make me use a set from 1982 when BOTH of your sets are from 2000 or later? (Actually, I know the answer to that one- I am a lowly tenant.)
So, I put my first load into the washer and she assures me she'll call me when they're done and I can put my next load in/move everything over. A couple hours later, I finally grow weary of waiting for the call, so I give her a ring. "Oh, I went ahead and moved everything over...it should be ready in about 30 mins- I'll give you a call." Umm...you moved everything over? Meaning, you handled my dirty laundry? Gross. Omg my landlady handled my underwear. I'm just a little traumatized.
It's now what feels like day 26 of this nightmare. I've awakened to the sound of jackhammering more times than I'd like to think about, and as I type I'm trying very hard to breathe through my nose so I can filter all of the particulate matter floating about in the apartment. Seriously- tomorrow I'm going to weigh about 10 pounds more because of all the concrete dust that's accumulated in my lungs.
So, to sum up: it's dusty, I'm wearing dusty clothes because I have no laundry access, and somebody's using a sledgehammer on what I can only assume to be the entire foundation of the house. Because it's shaking. Oh, and construction workers are in my parking space. So, situation normal there.
First to go was the laundry. They had to pour new concrete under the washer/dryer. Thus, I'm unable to do laundry. Of course, I find this out after accruing an entire week of dirty clothing. On the way into the house my landlady spots me and says "Oh, btw, no laundry for about a week or two." Great. Thanks for the heads up. Jerkface.
The next day she calls and offers to let me use her machines, which was very nice of her...but it leads me to think- how can she use her machines (situated directly beside mine) when I can't get to mine? I knock on her door with laundry basket in-hand, and soon have my answer. She has another set. Let me say this again. She has another set. She has two washer/dryer sets and she's complaining to ME about the water bill. Dude- why in the hell would you have two sets?!? And having two sets, why would you make me use a set from 1982 when BOTH of your sets are from 2000 or later? (Actually, I know the answer to that one- I am a lowly tenant.)
So, I put my first load into the washer and she assures me she'll call me when they're done and I can put my next load in/move everything over. A couple hours later, I finally grow weary of waiting for the call, so I give her a ring. "Oh, I went ahead and moved everything over...it should be ready in about 30 mins- I'll give you a call." Umm...you moved everything over? Meaning, you handled my dirty laundry? Gross. Omg my landlady handled my underwear. I'm just a little traumatized.
It's now what feels like day 26 of this nightmare. I've awakened to the sound of jackhammering more times than I'd like to think about, and as I type I'm trying very hard to breathe through my nose so I can filter all of the particulate matter floating about in the apartment. Seriously- tomorrow I'm going to weigh about 10 pounds more because of all the concrete dust that's accumulated in my lungs.
So, to sum up: it's dusty, I'm wearing dusty clothes because I have no laundry access, and somebody's using a sledgehammer on what I can only assume to be the entire foundation of the house. Because it's shaking. Oh, and construction workers are in my parking space. So, situation normal there.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Good Advice Hotline- We're Open All Night
I have a sister who is a perfectionist. This isn't a bad thing, but when you're in college and there is the remotest chance of you not making a perfect score on every exam, evidently life can get a little stressful. So, my sister was having some issues yesterday after doing slightly less than stellar on an exam. I called her as soon as her Facebook status alerted me to the situation (I'm really getting too old to admit I have a Facebook account. And I'm way too old to be constantly motoring around on that site checking up on everyone. Note to self: Get a hobby.) Anyway, so I called her around midnight. She didn't answer, I left a voicemail and went to bed. I was asleep for probably 10 minutes before she called me back. I almost told her I'd call her back the next day, but she sounded so exasperated I decided I'd get on board for the long haul.
I didn't get to sleep til 2 AM. But it was okay, because geez did she need to vent. And not in a Coors Light kind of way. (Brief aside- WTF Coors Light? Those are the dumbest commercials advertising the dumbest concept ever introduced to beer cans. Venting? The beer doesn't get enough air on its way into the glass? Also, keep talking about how cold the beer needs to be. Really. If the number one asset of your beer is its temperature, you should maybe think about what you're doing with your life.)
Basically our entire conversation was one long run-on sentence. Including this exchange:
My sister: "So my friend keeps complaining that she's fat and I try to be a good friend and I always say "aw, you're not fat" but today was just such a horrible day so she said "I'm so fat" and it was the last straw and I said "You're right! So get off your fat ass and go running with me, or shut up about it!" and she did go running with me, and then we went and got coffee and I'm pretty sure her boyfriend is gay. Hey! Did you know that "expresso" is actually "espresso"?"
Me: "Yes."
My sister: "Oh. Well I didn't. And when I call it "espresso" I feel like I'm talking with a lisp. But if I say "expresso" I sound like an idiot! But then I thought I'd rather sound like an idiot than feel like I have a lisp, so I'm just going to keep calling it "expresso."
Me: "You should probably say "espresso"...or quit ordering it."
My sister: "Yeah...you're probably right. And then there's this guy I like but he doesn't like me and I don't even need or want a boyfriend right now! But then I meet a guy who's smart and doesn't have a Southern accent and I think "I better jump on that before someone else does!" and then I get all neurotic."
Me: "Wow. Yeah...you should probably at least wait for finals to be over before you worry about jumping on anything."
My sister: "That's a good point. Okay...well I'm going to bed."
Me: "Okay...g'night."
My sister: "G'night."
I didn't get to sleep til 2 AM. But it was okay, because geez did she need to vent. And not in a Coors Light kind of way. (Brief aside- WTF Coors Light? Those are the dumbest commercials advertising the dumbest concept ever introduced to beer cans. Venting? The beer doesn't get enough air on its way into the glass? Also, keep talking about how cold the beer needs to be. Really. If the number one asset of your beer is its temperature, you should maybe think about what you're doing with your life.)
Basically our entire conversation was one long run-on sentence. Including this exchange:
My sister: "So my friend keeps complaining that she's fat and I try to be a good friend and I always say "aw, you're not fat" but today was just such a horrible day so she said "I'm so fat" and it was the last straw and I said "You're right! So get off your fat ass and go running with me, or shut up about it!" and she did go running with me, and then we went and got coffee and I'm pretty sure her boyfriend is gay. Hey! Did you know that "expresso" is actually "espresso"?"
Me: "Yes."
My sister: "Oh. Well I didn't. And when I call it "espresso" I feel like I'm talking with a lisp. But if I say "expresso" I sound like an idiot! But then I thought I'd rather sound like an idiot than feel like I have a lisp, so I'm just going to keep calling it "expresso."
Me: "You should probably say "espresso"...or quit ordering it."
My sister: "Yeah...you're probably right. And then there's this guy I like but he doesn't like me and I don't even need or want a boyfriend right now! But then I meet a guy who's smart and doesn't have a Southern accent and I think "I better jump on that before someone else does!" and then I get all neurotic."
Me: "Wow. Yeah...you should probably at least wait for finals to be over before you worry about jumping on anything."
My sister: "That's a good point. Okay...well I'm going to bed."
Me: "Okay...g'night."
My sister: "G'night."
Monday, April 14, 2008
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
It Happened One Night
I got lost in a hospital. I left the floor with specific directions to the parking garage, but at 3:30 AM, I have the short-term memory of a fruitfly on amphetamines. I ended up walking to every floor in that hospital trying to find a bridge that would take me to the parking deck. Finally I give up and decide to just go outside and take the long way to the darkened parking lot. Sure, I'll probably get mugged, but on the upside, at this point I'm so tired I probably won't feel it.
Go to open the door, hey guess what?! The doors are locked. This is what happens in hospitals with children. They go into crisis lockdown mode every night. I understand you don't want your kids snatched, but I also do not want to die in a place where the walls are covered in clowns. After walking up and down the stairs finding neither a way out, nor a person to ask, I decide to stop and use one of the information telephones. There are two numbers that seem promising: security (because they usually show me around in hospitals where I'm lost) or assistance (which is probably manned by 100 year old volunteers and only during daylight hours.) I opt for security because I figure they'll be there.
*Ring*
Gruff security guy: "Emergency Line"
Me: "Oh, this is an emergency line?"
GSG: "Yes ma'am, what is your emergency?"
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry. Bye."
I hang up and try the assistance line. As I thought, they were nowhere to be found. So, I walked a couple more floors, still no parking deck. Actually strike that, I found no less than 2 doors that led to the deck, but they were both locked. So close, and yet so far away. By this point I could cry I am so tired and frustrated and hungry (oh yeah...I hadn't eaten anything all day...so my stomach was complaining almost as loudly as I was.)
I end up back on the floor with the phone.
*Ring*
GSG: "Emergency Line"
Me: "Hi...I called a few minutes ago? I changed my mind. It's kind of an emergency that I get out of this hospital before I start freaking out."
GSG: "Are you a patient?"
Me: "Oh, no. Not really freaking out. I was kidding. I work for [redacted] and just finished up but can't figure out how to get to the parking deck."
GSG sounding frustrated: "Where are you, ma'am?"
So, I finally escaped the confines of the hospital. Got lost (thanks for nothing Magellan) for 30 minutes in the city, and finally got home around 4:30 AM. At this point, my stomach is ready to break free and go hunt for food on its own because I'm definitely not cutting the mustard. I get home, brush my teeth, and realize that I've forgotten to eat. Sleeping is not an option since my stomach sounds like something out of Jurassic Park so I head back downstairs to the kitchen. What to eat, what to eat. I'm too lazy to cook anything, too lazy to prepare anything, and too lazy to microwave anything (not that I had anything microwaveable anyway.) In the end, I got a glass of tap water and a loaf of potato bread and went upstairs. I ate potato bread plain out of a plastic bag while lying in bed. Classy.
So, today I slept in as late as the masonry work in the basement would let me and later I'm going to dustbust my mattress. Woo!
Go to open the door, hey guess what?! The doors are locked. This is what happens in hospitals with children. They go into crisis lockdown mode every night. I understand you don't want your kids snatched, but I also do not want to die in a place where the walls are covered in clowns. After walking up and down the stairs finding neither a way out, nor a person to ask, I decide to stop and use one of the information telephones. There are two numbers that seem promising: security (because they usually show me around in hospitals where I'm lost) or assistance (which is probably manned by 100 year old volunteers and only during daylight hours.) I opt for security because I figure they'll be there.
*Ring*
Gruff security guy: "Emergency Line"
Me: "Oh, this is an emergency line?"
GSG: "Yes ma'am, what is your emergency?"
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry. Bye."
I hang up and try the assistance line. As I thought, they were nowhere to be found. So, I walked a couple more floors, still no parking deck. Actually strike that, I found no less than 2 doors that led to the deck, but they were both locked. So close, and yet so far away. By this point I could cry I am so tired and frustrated and hungry (oh yeah...I hadn't eaten anything all day...so my stomach was complaining almost as loudly as I was.)
I end up back on the floor with the phone.
*Ring*
GSG: "Emergency Line"
Me: "Hi...I called a few minutes ago? I changed my mind. It's kind of an emergency that I get out of this hospital before I start freaking out."
GSG: "Are you a patient?"
Me: "Oh, no. Not really freaking out. I was kidding. I work for [redacted] and just finished up but can't figure out how to get to the parking deck."
GSG sounding frustrated: "Where are you, ma'am?"
So, I finally escaped the confines of the hospital. Got lost (thanks for nothing Magellan) for 30 minutes in the city, and finally got home around 4:30 AM. At this point, my stomach is ready to break free and go hunt for food on its own because I'm definitely not cutting the mustard. I get home, brush my teeth, and realize that I've forgotten to eat. Sleeping is not an option since my stomach sounds like something out of Jurassic Park so I head back downstairs to the kitchen. What to eat, what to eat. I'm too lazy to cook anything, too lazy to prepare anything, and too lazy to microwave anything (not that I had anything microwaveable anyway.) In the end, I got a glass of tap water and a loaf of potato bread and went upstairs. I ate potato bread plain out of a plastic bag while lying in bed. Classy.
So, today I slept in as late as the masonry work in the basement would let me and later I'm going to dustbust my mattress. Woo!
A Love Note
Dear Google,
Best. April. Fools. Ever.
Love,
Me
PS- Everybody, check out any of the featured videos before the end of the day.
Best. April. Fools. Ever.
Love,
Me
PS- Everybody, check out any of the featured videos before the end of the day.
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