The internet is a strange and wonderful place. I'm sitting at the table trying to put the postage on the Halloween cards for my family (or in my Mom's case, her Halloween "cod"- hilarious!) so I can have them arrive PRIOR to the holiday for the first time ever. The card that I got for my sisters has that stupid little "Requires Extra Postage" mark in the corner. Typically I just stick an extra stamp on and send whatever on its way...I hate going to the post office so whatever why not. However, because this card will be going to my parents' house- where my Dad the former postal worker lives- I was a little leery of the lecture that might accompany the wasting of an extra stamp where maybe a 3 cent will suffice.
So, because my father isn't answering the phone this afternoon (most likely because the subject of our last conversation was one Barack Obama) I decided I would google how much postage actually is warranted when "extra" is indicated. I believe my exact google search term was "extra postage required" how much. I clicked the first return. And immediately I was taken to this website.
That's right. PRISON TALK! Just the single page of the forum (which, bt-dubs did not give me the answer to my query) is full of amazingness.
One user had the following signature:
Tell me He's Lazy, Tell Me He's Slow, Tell Me He's Crazy, Maybe I Know...Can't Help Lovin' That Man of Mine!
So, it is not lost on me that I am constantly complaining about those who share my habitat. This blog could previously have been named "OH MY GOD I HATE MY LANDLADY." And then we bought a house, and I was no longer under the tyrannical rule of a woman who would arbitrarily cut me off from the water supply or allow random workmen to use my toilet. And life was good.
But then we lived here a while, and I started to realize that I may hate my neighbor. Like, a lot. You see, my neighbors are annoying. And obnoxious. Actually, I suspect it's actually my neighbor's 20-something punk son that I hate and the Dad is actually decent, but those genes came from somewhere. So I hate them both.
First, they started to park in front of our house. Which shouldn't be a big deal. We live on a street on which parking is allowed- actually it's allowed on both sides of the street which is ri-friggin-diculous, but that's a grievance for the city. I don't mind if you park your Honda Accord in front of my house. I'm not going to see it over our hedge anyway. And we have room in our driveway for both of our cars, plus a bonus invisible car that probably drives better than my Chevy pickup despite the limitation of NOT EXISTING (sorry..also hate my truck.) So I don't need the street parking in front of my house. But you know what I am bothered by parking in front of my house? Your Ford F-5000. Seriously. This truck is as tall as my house.
This is not my neighbor. But I'd probably like him better if it was. This guy looks hilarious.
So when I open my windows in the living room and look out to enjoy the neighborhood (or check out what's happening with the 2 police cruisers in front of my other neighbor's house like this morning- juicy!) my view is hindered by this MONSTROSITY. It's also kind of tough to see past when I'm trying to back out of my driveway. I've almost been hit twice, but really I'm more bothered by the aesthetics.
This is extra annoying because I'm pretty sure that my neighbors are single-handedly fueling the demand for off-shore drilling. They own the above tank, another pick-up of similar size, 2 SUVs, and the kid has a motorcycle (which is obnoxiously loud)! There are only 2 people living in the house! And we live in the suburbs of Boston, people. I'm from the South and people didn't own this many gas guzzlers. I feel like there should be some kind of evil stupidity tax.
Finally, today I went into the back yard to put down ant spikes (my yard is overrun by ants-augh!) and found a dead bird. Actually dead bird number 2 in the last week. My yard might be the epicenter of West Nile Virus this summer. Sooo, sorry about that. Anyway, found the bird, was disgusted, put down ant spikes. Then an hour later I went out to pick my husband up from the train and noticed a piece of paper next to the bird that had not been there before. When I got home I went and picked it up. It was a piece of mail addressed to us. Where did it come from?!
Here's my theory: the punk kid got it in their mail (our mailman sucks and constantly mis-delivers things) and then just threw it over the fence rather than walk all the way to our mailbox. I have absolutely no evidence to back this up, but I almost flung a dead bird into their pool in the name of vengeance.
Speaking of their pool, they have a pool. Bastards.
So I received a brochure in the mail today. Addressed specifically to me. Not "Current Resident" or "Our Neighbor" or even to both of us. No. Addressed to me.
On the front it says, "Can we help with your Planning?" and this picture:
The subheading describes this patch of grass as "One of the most naturally beautiful settings in New England!" Nice try, Puritans.
So, I assumed it was a wedding brochure (Tip: never ever get a profile on TheKnot.com) Get married or have your reception in this big field! Something like that.
No.
Open the brochure, it's from "Puritan Lawn Memorial Park" and below is the subheading "If this arrives at a time of sickness or sorrow, please accept our sincerest apologies."
And then it goes on to outline my traditional and cremation planning options. And if I return the postage-paid info card, they'll send a complimentary guide for my survivors. Sooo, when the rocks finally get me, I'll have my arrangements all set.
So this afternoon I went to pick up this hammock stand:
Whaaaaaaaaaaat??!???!!!
From a dude named Cesar that looked a lot like this:
So not kidding. Thank you Craigslist.
So I think we can all agree, my day was going pretty well. And then I drove home.
It's gorgeous out, not as warm as yesterday (86 degrees in April? Yes please.) but definitely nice enough to have the windows down. I have a ton of hair that is easily blown into knots, so I rarely have my window down further than an inch- as was the case today.
So I'm driving with my sunglasses on, I hear something like a rock hitting the windshield, and all of a sudden it feels as though the glasses have moved on my face. You know what happened?
A ROCK CAME IN THROUGH THE 1-INCH CRACK IN THE WINDOW, PLINKED ME IN THE FACE, AND BROKE MY SUNGLASSES!
Look at these things!!! That missing chunk could easily have been my forehead. Or cornea.
Seriously what the hell?! How does that happen?! I couldn't find the assassin rock, or the missing piece of plastic. I guess they both disintegrated. There's an entire windshield for minerals to target, but instead they choose my face. Either this kind of thing happens to everyone and I'm just better with documentation, or there's an entire Kingdom that is out to destroy me. So now I am without sunglasses (AKA much-needed armor for my eyeballs.)
I worked overnight and was completely starved and exhausted. So, I stopped at a gas station for fuel and a sandwich. And yes, it is totally gross that I ate at a gas station Subway.
I intended to order the same thing I always order at Subway. A tuna salad sandwich with lettuce, tomato, olives, and topped with oil and vinegar. Again, gross, I know. Instead, Zombie Sam decided to order the food.
Subway Kid: "What can I get for you?" Zombie Me: "I'll have an egg and cheese on honey...wow. No I won't. Sorry. Can I get a tuna sandwich on....do you have some kind of honey bread?" SK: "Honey Oat?" Me: "Yes! That please." Note: At this point this kid is looking at me like he really wishes he had some of whatever I was on. SK: "What would you like on it?" Me: "Lettuce, tomato, and olives" SK: "Mayonnaise or mustard?" Me: "No, just salt and vinegar." SK: "Ok...salt and vinegar." And he starts shaking salt onto my sandwich. Me: "Why are you putting salt on my sandwich?!" SK: "You wanted salt and vinegar?" Me: "Salt and vinegar? Oh my God no....OIL and vinegar. I'm sorry. Just give it to me." SK: "Are you sure? I can make you another one." Me: "No no, it's my fault. I'll eat it. Thanks."
FYI...it was gross. Luckily I'd also purchased a bag of pepperidge far macadamia nut cookies to wash it down with. Mmmmm....healthy. :-p
When my raging Republican father told me that the Census was a government ploy to enter our homes and give all our personal information to corrupt ACORN workers, I calmly defended you. When Michelle Bachman popped up urging me not to answer the Census, I threw things at my own television. And when my mother said that despite what I thought about the usefulness of Census data, it was still a huge waste of money, I again explained to her your value.
Please stop proving my mother right. It is painful to me.
Two weeks ago I received a letter in the mail with a return address of "Census 2010." I was genuinely excited to have received my very own Census form. I was going to answer every question just to spite my parents. Also because I love public health and understand the ramifications of frikkin' Census data. So imagine my surprise when I opened the letter, pencil in hand, to find that it was not a survey. Rather it was a letter explaining that in the next week or so, I would be receiving a Census survey. Um...okay? That was a waste of whatever in God's name postage costs this week. And I shudder to think of what you spent sending that letter to every household in America. Particularly because I am of the opinion that those members of society least likely to answer the Census accurately and completely (i.e. The Teabaggers...God I love that they call themselves that) are going to need more than a letter outlining the way the Census benefits our society to change their minds. Pretty sure they're immune to facts. And Glenn Beck is taking down social justice too, so it's all downhill from here.
(I could only watch about 3 minutes of this before I choked on my own rage.)
Anyway, I thought the letter was dumb. I put my pencil down and awaited the (way too) heralded arrival of my actual census form.
About 5 days later, it came. I got the short form. None of the questions that my father feared were destroying America were even there! And I was so looking forward to telling Barack Hussein Obama my life story! In the end I put my and Tom's names in the little blanks, confessed to being totally uninteresting in the ethnicity department, and mailed the stupid thing back in. How anti-climactic.
And then today I got a postcard in the mail. From the Census Bureau. Letting me know that a few days ago I should have received a request to participate in the Census. And that it was important that I respond. You know what's really important? Not sending $3 worth of postage for no reason! Holy crap! I support the Census. I love that it saved me a lot of leg work on papers in grad school. But I do not love that it's making my mother do her "I told you so" dance via telephone.
I know I've completely stopped writing in this blog, which I really regret. I've always enjoyed writing, and the format of the blog was especially fun because you could get instantaneous feedback. Unfortunately instant feedback is also an included feature with the institute of marriage. Plus there's twitter. So I am the worst.
But, I've not just left you guys for Twitter. I've really stopped a lot of my writing because I've been too busy reading. My friend C gave me (us I guess but really me) a membership in a book club as a wedding gift. It's awesome- every month I get a signed first-edition of a book. I guess I'm probably not supposed to be reading these books, or at least not the way that I read books (I am a destroyer of spines) but I'm really enjoying them. The selections are skewed toward Southern authors- probably because that's who's willing to stop by the Alabama Booksellers and sign stuff, but I've enjoyed the vast majority so far.
So basically I have been ravenously tearing through books for the past several months. Which works well for my love of reading and my love of not watching my husband play video games. It's the gift that keeps on giving!
If you're looking for any book recommendations, feel free to drop me a line in the comments. I have a ton of suggestions. Or you can find me on Goodreads where I am writing crappy little reviews of the books that I've read. I find it really difficult to review books- I either generalize ("This was a very interesting book.") or spoil ("I really liked the part where the main character killed the bad guy.") I should probably work on that.
I'm looking for appetizer recipes to serve at our BONYE Mafia party. I was just thumbing through a Crock-Pot cookbook my mother gave me a couple years ago (bc I just unearthed it from the upstairs bookcase.) I like the health tip at the end of it.
Mexican Bean and Cheese Dip
15-oz can refried beans 8 oz jar taco sauce 1 lb. velveeta cheese, cubed 1 pkg. dry taco seasoning
Combine ingredients in slow cooker. Cover, cook 2-3 hrs. Serve warm from the cooker with tortilla chips.
Note: If you're cautious about salt, choose minimally salted chips.
Let me translate this recipe for you.
Mexican Salt Dip
15-oz can beans dredged in salt then fried 8 oz jar liquid salt, taco style 1 lb. gelatinous cheese-flavored salt lick 1 pkg. taco-flavored salt
Combine ingredients in slow cooker. Cover, cook 2-3 hrs. Serve warm from the cooker with tortilla chips.
Note: If you're cautious about salt, maybe skip this recipe.
A couple weeks ago my friend and I went shopping at the outlet mall. I bought 3 pairs of pants, none of which were the right length. But, my friend convinced me that I am old enough to handle getting my pants hemmed and should purchase them anyway. So, here I am with 3 pairs of unwearable pants (they are sooo long.) I finally decided to expend some effort and get the stupid things up off the ground. My friend recommended that I take the pants to the stores that sell them at the mall to get them hemmed because then the hem will match that of the original manufacturer. The pants are trouser style jeans and a pair of cords, so I could see the value in having a matching hem. Plus she said it was pretty inexpensive, so why not. I head to the mall.
Go into J. Crew and the staff is great. There's only one chick in the store who knows how to pin pants for hemming, but we finally find her and we're on our way. I ask her whether I can also get a pair of jeans originally sold at Banana Republic hemmed. I figured that because I am paying to have them hemmed, it really shouldn't matter what kind of pants they are. Also I am lazy and didn't want to walk to Banana Republic. The saleslady thinks that would probably be fine but she'll have to check their policy. In the meantime she's happy to pin them for me anyway. Cool beans, I like J. Crew.
Get to the desk and it turns out that they cannot hem pants that aren't from their store. Fiiiiiine. I'll go to stupid Banana. She also tells me that the pants go out to their tailor on Thursday and return the following Thursday. It's going to be a red hot second to get these pants back...but that's fine.
I set off for the Banana Republic to get the stupid almost identical pair of jeans sewn by that company. Walk in and the people working there haven't a clue. They looked terrified that they'd have to pin the pants. I told them not to worry, they're already pinned, just hem them for me. The girl has me fill out a slip and then she goes to look at the tag. I assume to confirm that they're from Banana Republic.
Girl: "Oh. These are from the outlet." Me: "Yes. The Banana Republic outlet." Girl: "We don't do alterations on outlet clothes." Me: "Why not?" Girl: "The outlet is different. They have different stock and different clothes..." Me: "Yes...they have the clothes you guys used to have in stock. I don't understand the problem." Girl: "We don't alter outlet clothes because we're not the same store." Me: "The pants are already pinned. I will give you money to have someone sew the pants. How is this a problem??" Girl: "Umm....these are from the outlet....sooo....we can't alter them." Me: "Oh my God that is so stupid. Okay fine thanks."
My favorite part is that she had already explained to me that the pants go out to their tailor on Thursday and return the following Thursday. I would lay down good money that J. Crew and Banana Republic use the same tailor. AUUUGHGH.
So I guess I'm going to have to fix the Banana pants myself. My Mom got halfway through explaining the hemming process to me before I finally stopped her and explained that I owned neither needle nor thread. So that might be step one. Or I could just pull out the super-glue.
**I bet this was the most boring "pantless" post you could ever have imagined. How disappointing.
I am in bed with my husband at 11:30 PM last night. His phone starts making some noise from Star Wars signifying that he has a text message.
Him: "Who the hell is texting me this late?" and grabs the phone. Me: "Who is it?" Him: "It's Timmy. He wants to know whether I remember the cheat code for Sonic off the top of my head."
Silence.
Me: "Oh my God do you?!" Him: "I think it's up-down-up-down-left-right-B." Me: "omg I am married to you."
He texts back, sets down the phone and rolls back over. Then doesn't move.
Me: "What's the matter?" Him: "I think it's actually up-down-up-down-B-A-B." Me: "Sweet baby Jesus."
He grabs the phone and texts Timmy back with the new code. Timmy replies.
Timmy: "It's okay...I was just proving a point to my roommates." Me: "His point is that you are a huge nerd."
So, I'm watching this show so I can talk about it at work. And it is already painful to me.
We're toward the beginning and they're going into their "Transplant Committee Meeting." I haven't really been paying attention, primarily because if the idiot kid in the tie who was surprised that livers could be split turned out to be the transplant coordinator, I was going to throw Tom's laptop through the television. Let's take it from there.
21:17- OMG do they have their staff meetings at CNN headquarters? What is up with that CRAZY technology?! Also, projecting patient histories onto a glass wall seems like it would be a pretty big HIPAA violation. 21:18- It takes longer than "how about right now" to decide to put in a VAD. How about some workup people? She walked in off the street 20 minutes ago. Cripes. 21:19- Who is this random woman in a lab coat asking about organ donation at the bedside? Make it stop!!!!!!! 21:20- I can't liveblog this anymore. It hurts me so badly. Also Counselor Troi has aged terribly and isn't really great at doing an accent other than her own. 21:21- Okay, so Troi's husband is going to donate...the pregnant chick gets the heart...what is up with the kid who swallows things? I am confused. 21:24- Nobody spouts off their doctor's credentials to them. They are well-aware of their abilities. 21:26- All of these patients look totally great for needing a heart transplant. 21:26- Umm...your son eats metal. This is obviously a problem. 21:27- Via Tom "Also, his name is f-ing Auden! Auden Drinkwater?! There's no way he would've lived long enough to eat metal because he would've already been pummeled to death!" 21:28- Oh lord I think the woman who got consent at the bedside was probably the donation coordinator. Auuuugh. 21:29- Yup. The idiot is a transplant coordinator. I will cry soon. 21:30- Ummmm....jet is on standby? Really? Also, what a kickass tablet. We don't actually have these. 21:30- Good thing that dude fell off the ladder. Otherwise his wife wouldn't be having a c-section and a heart transplant all in the same day.
Commercial break: I love that now when people ask what I do for a living I can say, "You know that kid on 3 Rivers who has the IQ of an amoeba and fetches donuts for the staff meeting? That's me." Awesome. Way to totally de-glamourize the role of transplant coordination. Aaand we're back.
21:33- Of course the doctor identifies with the metal eating kid. I'm sorry, but no physician is going to tell her boss that her father wasn't home enough waaaah. 21:34- Alfre Woodard, I liked you better in basically everything else you've ever done. 21:35- Aaaand, we're back to the donor side. Time for the daughter to pitch a fit about organ donation. 21:36- CALLED IT! Also, why are the surgeons getting on a jet when the wife had already said that she didn't want to do anything til her daughter got there? The timing on this is so unrealistic. Also I want to punch the coordinator kid in the face. 21:37- omg omg omg omg that kid has to get out of there. Why would he be within 100 feet of a donor family, let alone speak to one? Who lets the cooler guys into the unit? Nobody. That's who. 21:38- How is this kid not fired right now? What is their screening process for hiring transplant coordinators? Do they go to the nearest high school and pick the dumbest kid they can find? 21:39- Is this kid going to need a transplant or is this all back-story for the whiny doctor with an absent-parent complex? 21:40- "My brain itches." So of course I swallowed tweezers and a pair of scissors. Makes sense. 21:42- And of course the pregnant chick crashes. If the solution is for the transplant team to talk to the donor family I will just die.
Commercial break: This is unrelated, but there was just a Kohler commercial where this guy flushed like 30 things down his toilet. Call me crazy, but that seems like the worst idea ever. I don't care what brand of toilet you have.
21:46- "Given everything that Terri's been through today..." You mean, her husband falling off a ladder, and then her heart stopping like 12 times? 21:47- Holy crap is she going to be a donor too? This show is depressing. 21:47- Oh Jesus please don't talk to her again. I knew they were going to turn this into a good thing. Stupid show. 21:49- This child should not be talking to this poor donor family member. I really want him off of this show. And I kind of want to choke him. A lot. 21:50- Also, way to break patient confidentiality. Yes...tell the donor family everything about the recipient. We totally do that. NOT. 21:51- Those are some pretty healthy lungs on that kid. Ah, the miracles of television. 21:52- LOL the donor's breathing tube isn't hooked up to anything. 21:53- I'm still confused why the metal eating kid is on this show. He's not getting any new organs or anything. And he's not a very cute kid. Plus he eats metal. Did she just confiscate a railroad spike from him? 21:54- Seriously...the doctor is going to be holding her hand when she wakes up? Where is her HUSBAND? And child?! 21:55- "Hi. We stole your baby and implanted you with a new heart. That'll teach you for bringing your husband into the ER with a minor scalp lac. Next time use a band-aid." 21:56- Oh Jesus. There is a satellite uplink into the nursery? They couldn't bring the baby into the room with her? The husband didn't want to be there when she woke up? Worst. Family. Ever. 21:57- I do not know a single male surgeon who would wear powder blue scrubs.
Wrap Up: Okay, so it's over. And my TV and the laptop survived. Primarily bc I needed the laptop to convey my dissatisfaction to the masses. There were some pretty glaring inaccuracies in the portrayal of the transplant process...like the timing...and some medical mistakes...like how he said her "injection fraction" was low (it's EJECTION fraction)...but overall it was just terrible. Plus really what the heck with the metal-eating kid? He didn't give or receive a transplant! Also, most doctors would've figured out that he had pica way before assuming that mommy going away for meetings once a week was making a teenager swallow tweezers.
I'll probably pop in next week to mock it again though. Because I've gotten too lazy to have original thoughts for my blog, and this show is easy to mock. Although not as easy as this show:
Mom: "Ugh, my pager's going off. I wish I hadn't replaced it." Me: "What happened to your other pager?" Mom: "Oh, I flushed it." Me: "Is that a euphemism?" Mom: "Oh no. I flushed and then noticed 'OH MY GOD THAT'S MY PAGER!'" Me: "Very astute. How did you manage that?" Mom: "Well, you know, it fell in the toilet! And I didn't notice until it was too late. So, I plunged it thinking that maybe it would float to the top. But it must've really been far in there! I was actually pretty impressed- it's just a normal household toilet. Pretty powerful. So, I flushed it like 5 more times and hoped for the best." Me: "Wow. Quite a solution." Mom: "Yeah. So then I told Karen* that I'd flushed my pager so she'd have to call me at home if she needed anything because my pager was gone." Me: "Good idea." Mom: "And then she said it hadn't gone far enough. The toilet almost overflowed yesterday. It is really jammed." Me: "Wow. That is totally embarrassing." Mom: "Yeah. I hope I don't have to pay a plumber to go fishing for my pager."
My only hope is that slugs are dancing around with it.
*Mom's co-worker *Felecia, C&C Music Factory is BACK
I got married on Saturday, August 15th. And it was an absolute blast. It was everything I hoped it would be. Namely, my sisters sang with pretend microphones all night and when it was over I didn't drive Tom home. Mission accomplished.
So, married Saturday, dying of some horrible infection on Tuesday. What was it? "In sickness and in health"? 90% of our marriage thus far has been the sickness part. I blame the air conditioner. Before I moved to Massachusetts 2 years ago, my future landlady (and unbeknownst to me, archnemesis) called and said that her current tenant had an air conditioner that she wouldn't need in her next apartment. I could purchase it from her at a discount. At the time I was living in Alabama in July and an air conditioner sounded like the best idea ever.
So, I bought it. Moved here and realized that my apartment stayed 20 degrees cooler than the rest of the world. Which was great in the summer. Pretty miserable in the winter. But that's beside the point. We took the unit out of the window when cold air started coming in, and it sat in the closet ever after. 2 years. Bottom of the closet. Never cleaned.
When we got back to our new house (yay new house no landlady woo!) after the wedding, it was 1000 degrees. Really. I used a candy thermometer. So, we put the A/C in the window and cranked that bad boy up. I woke up sounding like a 40 pack year smoker. Hmmm. Maybe I wasn't used to air conditioning. It'll be okay. Used it again the next night, woke up even froggier. And a little sniffly.
Me: "Do window units have air filters or anything on them?" Tom: "Yeah." Me: "Did we clean it before we used it?" Tom: "I don't think so." Me: "We should probably do that."
Pull out the filter. It is DISGUSTING. It is black with filth. Covered with mold and other particles that I have been breathing for two nights. Awesome. So, we clean it, pop it back in and hope for the best. The next morning I can't breathe. But as the day progresses I feel better and I assume I've caught a cold on top of the horrible allergic reaction that started the week. I do a 24 hour shift, and things go downhill from there. On Thursday I ended up having to get someone to relieve me at work because I was too sick to be on the hospital unit. The nurses were all eyeing me. Hello our patients are already sick, they don't need whatever you have too.
Went home and decided to try to have a bowl of soup to soothe my throat. I went to the cabinet to pull out a bowl, and there was my trusty "Bowl of Self-Esteem." It was a graduation gift from my master's thesis advisor, and it's my favorite bowl because it will hold an entire package of ramen noodles in broth without coming anywhere near spilling. It's a huge bowl. I only use it when I'm sick, but it never fails. When it gets to the point that I'm resorting to ramen, there's the bowl ready to go. I realized for the first time why this is. Because it is the largest, the bowl of self-esteem is always at the bottom of the stack. It's always ready to go when I am at my sickest because at that point, EVERY OTHER DISH AND BOWL THAT I OWN IS DIRTY. When I am sick, my house becomes a sty.
It took me 4 years to figure this out. Before I just assumed it was magical and sensed when it was needed. Because apparently when I am sick I super-anthropomorphize my dishes. Awesome.
So, I finally went to the doctor on Friday where I was dosed with antibiotics and narcotic cough syrup. I slept 12 hours that night and woke up a much happier camper. Completely better now, and the bowl is back at the bottom of the stack where it belongs. Hopefully I can stay well long enough to make it to my honeymoon on Saturday. :)
I promise that some day my blog will become something more than a repository of hatred for my landlady.
But not today.
So yesterday I was working at a hospital until about 5 PM. I got home, changed clothes, and received a phone call from my landlady. It's 5:15.
Her: "Hey, there might be someone coming to see the apartment." Me: "Okay, when?" Her: "Possibly at 5:45." Me: "You couldn't give me any more notice than this?!" Her: "Well, they called this morning and I told them to call back to confirm and they haven't called back. So I'm not even sure whether they're coming...I'd say it's about 50/50." Me: "Okay, well I have to clean up." Her: "Well, don't do too much, I don't think they're even coming."
So I get up and dump out the bucket of mop water that's been sitting in the kitchen since the day before. Try to wash the dishes really quickly. Take the giant pile of laundry that I was going to do prior to being called into work and stuff it into a hamper. Try to start cleaning the tub a little when the doorbell rings. Awesome. It's the landlady, and her totally annoying 3 year old. It's 5:20.
Her: "They're definitely coming." Me: "When?" Her: "They said they'd be here by 5:30." Me: "Awesome."
So she's standing in my living room and I can hear her scolding her kid to quit touching things. Meanwhile I am STORMING around upstairs, throwing things in closets, making up the bed, slamming doors, muttering. I go downstairs and she's just staring out holding the kid who is making a fuss. He wants to rip all the DVDs off my shelves. She's grabbing him and telling him to stop but he's still having a tantrum. Also he's wearing nothing but a shirt and a diaper, his face is filthy, and he has some dirty little bootie things on.
Her: "Nobody's going to rent this place if he starts screaming." Me: "Yeah. Want me to turn on a movie for him?"
Keep in mind that I have a vested interest in this apartment being rented. If she doesn't find a renter by the end of July, I'm paying for August even though we'll be living in the new house by then. I have no desire to pay for this friggin' apartment when I'm not even living here. I can barely bring myself to pay when I am.
Her: "Yeah, if you don't mind, that'd be great."
Of course he wants to watch Monsters Inc, which is not in its case. I try to talk him into any one of the 50 other children's movies I have (Muppet Movie? Madagascar? Alice in Wonderland? Babe? How old am I again?) and he is not having it. The landlady finally says to throw on Little Mermaid and he'll watch it. So I do. As I'm turning on the DVD, the potential renters park on the street. Meanwhile her child is still fussing and yelling that he'd rather watch "Monster movie!"
Her: "Here they are." Kids still fussing. Her: "He's not my kid..." (I think she's joking) And greets the potential renters.
My plan at this point is to turn on the movie, hop in my car, and come back in a half an hour as I've done with every other showing.
The people walk in, the landlady introduces herself to them, and then steps over her kid and I and says "I guess they're going to watch a movie." Then takes the renters upstairs.
I am stuck downstairs and she has just passed her child off as mine. How did that just happen?!??
She's upstairs with them, kid is watching the movie with occasional bouts of "I hate this." I'm wondering if there's any way I can leave this kid sitting here alone without him tearing apart everything I own. 5 minutes in, he hops out of his chair and takes off out the front door. I run after him, grab him, and tell him to plant his butt back in the chair. He behaved the rest of the time. But clearly, if I'd ditched him he would've run into traffic.
The renters have no interest in the apartment and leave. The landlady turns to me and says, smiling:
"They thought he was yours. He looks more like you anyway." And leaves.
I am living in some kind of surreal nightmare world where my landlady is on crazy pills and has no idea how incredibly inappropriate she is. Her poor kid.
As you all well know, my landlady is the worst human being ever to have walked this earth. I'm pretty sure she lives to inconvenience me. Tom and I are in the process of purchasing a house, and every ten minutes I look up and say, "I want to go live in my houuuuse." He has interpreted this as a quality that he never knew about- "You are incredibly impatient." But I don't think that's correct. It's just that every ten minutes it dawns on me that I still live in the same house as this horrible woman- and it dawns on me because I live in constant fear of the next thing she's going to do to completely piss me off.
So, last week she puts a note in my mailbox that she received from the city. The city will be flushing the water mains on every street, so you should check the city website every evening and if they're going to be flushing your street the next day you should go ahead and put some water in pots and pans, or shower the night before. The flushing would only be taking place between 8 AM and 4 PM however, so when you get home you should be all set...just run the water til it's not cloudy anymore. She reiterated the message on the note when I saw her outside later that day- "I don't want a bunch of sediment in my pipes, so make sure you check and don't turn on the water the day that they're flushing." Okay, 'nuff said.
Yesterday was the first day that flushing would be taking place. But, I had a class to attend in Northern China and was therefore gone for most of the day. I didn't get home til about 6 PM. When I got home, the water seemed a little cloudy so I checked the website. My street was completed- the flush had been done that morning. Sweet. I go to pick Tom up from work, stop by the grocery store so I can make dinner, and come home with a plan to run the water until it turns clear and move on with my life. I walk into the kitchen, turn on the faucet, and it's a trickle. Apparently the only reason the toilet flushed and I was able to wash my hands when I got home was that there was that much water left in the system.
So, I call my landlady. Me: "Hi, is your water working? Mine is off." Her: "Oh, well they're flushing the water mains, remember?" Me: "Yes, from 8 AM to 4 PM. It's 7 and my water is off." Her: "I don't know, I'm not home. That's strange..." Me: "Well, will you call me when you get home and let me know what's going on?" Her: "Yeah, I'll be home in about an hour. OH! Oh...it's in the basement...it's....um.....you'll have water later." Click.
I look at Tom and say, "I'm pretty sure that she turned off the water." So, I can't make dinner, I can't flush the toilet, I can't have a glass of water. Luckily what I really needed at that point was a beer, and I did have that readily accessible. A couple of Tom's brothers came over and hung out (played cards and listened to me call my landlady a whorebag) for a while. So, 2 hours after the initial phone call, I've had some beer and would like to use my bathroom again. I'd also really like to eat some friggin' dinner since it's 9 PM. I call her back:
Me: "Hi, it's me again." Her: "Hey, what's up?" Me: "Is there something I can do to get the water back on?" Her: "You mean it's not back on yet?" Me: "Should it be? I'll check....nope. Still not on." Her: "Okay, well I'm having like the worst night ever at work, I was supposed to be home 3 hours ago. Can you just let me deal with this? I'll be home later." Me: "Well, I'd really like to be able to use my toilet, and it's 9 PM and I haven't been able to make dinner yet. Is there something I can just do to turn the water back on?" Her: "No. I don't want you touching anything. I'll figure out what's going on when I get home. Could you just order out? I'm just having a terrible night." Me: "Fine bye."
SHE IS SUCH A TERRIBLE PERSON! Okay, so a few points. 1. "It's not back on yet?" Don't act like the water was going to turn itself back on. You know damn well you turned off the water without notifying me, and then didn't remember to turn it back on before you left the house for the next 6 hours. Don't lie to me. I'm not an idiot. And I hate you. 2. "I'm having the worst night ever at work." I work with dead people. You manage real estate. And half the time you don't have the courtesy to leave my parking space open when I get home after a 24 hour shift. Go screw yourself. 3. "Could you just order out?" Are you gonna pay for it? I just signed up for a mortgage. I cannot afford to order out. Again, screw.
So, she gets home around 10 PM, immediately the water magically reappears. Do you think she calls to let me know the water is back on? Nope. I hate her so much it makes me want to punch a hole in the wall.
This morning she calls. Is it to apologize for turning off the water? Hellz no. Her: "Hey Sam, I just wanted to remind you that they're flushing the water mains." Me: "They did it yesterday." Her: "No, I just called the city and they said that they were on Florence Street today. If you remember, the sheet said that it didn't even start until today." Me: "No, the sheet said it started yesterday. I checked the website last night and it said our street was completed. And if they didn't do it yesterday then why the hell was my water off last night?" Her: "The water was off because I turned it off. Last time they did this I got all kinds of sediment it my house and I didn't want that happening again so I turned off the water." Me: "Well, it's nice of you to let me know you were going to do that." Her: "I'm going to call them back because I was here all day yesterday and I don't think they flushed the pipes. I'll call you back."
I swear to God if she's going to turn the water off again today I'm going to call and get myself kicked out of this apartment.
Her: "You're right. They did it yesterday. They must've done it after I left." Me: "Fine. Bye."
I'm not impatient. I just have to get away from her. I want to go live in my new houuuuuuse.
I got home from the dress fitting and was trying to unload stuff from the car when I realized that my landlady was standing right next to me.
Me: "What's up?" Her: "We have a bit of a situation here." Me: "What's wrong?" Her: "There's a baby possum trapped in one of the recycling bins." Me: "Let it out." Her: "But it's daytime and they're nocturnal!" Me: "It can take a nap when it gets home." Her: "Do you know what they eat?" Me: "You want to feed it?? They eat anything. They eat garbage! I'm sure if you let it get close enough it will try to eat your face." (please please test that theory) Her: "Well, I put some grass in there with it." Me: "I don't think it's going to eat grass. It'll eat dog food, but really you should just throw it somewhere." Her: "But it's a baby!" Me: "It's a rat." Her: "Do you think if I tip the bin over tonight its mother will come get it?" Me: "Sure." (actual answer: no) Her: "If I pick it up do you think it'll bite?" Me: "Absolutely." Her: "Even though it's a baby?" Me: "If it was a baby, it'd still be living in its mother's pouch. That thing is on its own and I guarantee it has teeth. Either let it out or call Animal Control." Her: "I'm sorry, I'm a city girl. You're the one from the country, that's why I'm asking you!" Me: "In the country, someone would shoot it." Her(looking horrified): "I'll go get some dog food." Me: "See you later."
This is the first thing I think of when I think of possums. Thank you Disney for taking over my mind. Also, the little yodeling girl is hilaarious in this video. We used to tease my sister for looking like her.
The bridal store called to confirm the appointment I'd made for a fitting.
Salesperson: "Be sure to bring the underwear and shoes you'll be wearing on the wedding day." Me: "Okay, thanks."
So, since then I've been trying to find shoes to wear. Today, I was getting ready to leave and still didn't have my shoes. Scramble, finally just grab a pair of heels- I figure it really can't matter that much since my dress is short and won't need to have the length altered. And hustle out the door.
