Despise Thy Neighbor

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.

It's going to be a long summer.

Pantless

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.

The Kid Is Not My Son

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.

I Can't Live Here Anymore

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.

Priorities

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.

Halfway to the store I realize.

I left the dress at home.

There's really no excuse for being this stupid.

This is Worse Than Snakes on a Plane

I had to work the other day in an area I don't usually cover. This resulted in me driving 4 hours, working overnight, and then driving 4 hours home after having been awake for 24 hours. I've done this before, and granted it doesn't sound like the safest move in the world, but it's okay. It's much better than having to sleep in a hotel room for a few hours. Do you know how often they wash the blankets in those places? Never. Sheets, all the time. Blankets? Don't kid yourself. Those things have never been washed. Ever.

So, I'm driving home and I'm on the phone pretty much the entire way because otherwise I will lose consciousness. In this instance I called the only person who would understand my need to be on the phone for 4 hours at 7 AM. My mother. We're talking about swine flu and how I should wear a mask when I fly home for a visit next week (yeah...that's not going to freak anyone out. Actually, after Biden's remarks today they'll probably be handing them out at the gate.)

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So, we're chatting and I'm driving about 85 miles an hour on the highway when I look down at the speedometer. And there is an F-ING HUGE SPIDER. It is brown and it is large and it is only a foot away from me.

Mom: "So you need to make sure you grab a mask from the hospital so you'll have one blah blah bl-"
Me: "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD"
Mom: "SAMANTHA what's the matter?!"
Me: "There is a SPIDER and it is crawling right in front of me and it is moving down toward my legs on my god oh my god"
Mom: "It's okay just pull the car over...."
Me: "I AM! It's just that I am going 85 miles an hour on a 4 lane highway talking on a cell phone haven't slept for 24 hours and a SPIDER IS TRYING TO KILL ME!"
Mom: "I KNOW! Be careful."

I successfully pull over to the narrowest shoulder of all time. It is exactly the width of my car. I'm lucky none of my vehicle is hanging over into the nearest lane. I immediately unbuckle and jump out of my seat. I can't jump out of the car because if I open the door, it will immediately be ripped off by a semi and I will be sucked out into traffic by the sheer force of it. Kind of like Titanic but sideways and dry.

Unfortunately during the 5 seconds I took my eyes off the spider to successfully navigate off the highway, it disappeared.

Mom: "Did you kill it?"
Me: "I can't find it! I have no idea where it is! It's probably in my hair!!!"
Mom: "Oh you have to find it...otherwise you'll be freaked out the whole way home!"
Me: "I KNOW!"

Bear in mind that the entire time we're having this really productive conversation, my car is being buffeted like crazy by every passing semi. One of those guys veers a little off the road and I'm going to become real familiar with my steering wheel. Because it's going to be crammed into my chest.

Mom: "Look under the steering wheel."
Me: "You want me to bend over and stick my head under the steering wheel? What if the spider's there? I'm just going to scream and jump into traffic. I'd almost rather not find the stupid spider."
Mom: "Yeah, but I know you. If it pops back up while you're driving, you'll scream and run right off the road."
Me: "This coming from the woman who discovered a bee in the car and rather than pull over to protect the lives of the 5 children she was driving at the time, decided to scream and slap at the air until her 14-year-old daughter could successfully pull them over from the passenger seat?"
Mom: "Shut up. Bee stings hurt! That spider doesn't bite anyway."
Me: "You haven't even seen this spider!"
Mom: "There aren't poisonous spiders that far north."
Me: "What are you, an entymologist?"
Mom: "Maybe you imagined the spider because you're tired."
Me: "I did not. I double-checked before I started screaming. Oh my God I can't find this spider."
Mom: "Well, you can't leave without killing it."
Me: "I have to. My car is going to get sucked into traffic by a semi."

So, I start the engine and jump back onto the highway. Totally suspect of every feeling, thought, sight, and sound. The tiny crack that's been in my windshield for a year? Giant spider. My legs itching like crazy? Spider is tap-dancing up and down my legs just to screw with me. Horrible creaking noise? Spider's going to eat me. (Just kidding! That sound is actually the metal-wrenching noise from my driver's side door that's about to fall off.) I made it back home in record time. I drove with the windows down and the radio up because my mother said that spiders hate wind (I'm pretty sure she made that up) and music (I think that is actually Mormon crickets.)

As for next steps, since the spider's still on the loose? I think Ripley has the right idea.

F-ing spiders.

Retreat!

So we went on the Marriage Preparation Retreat last weekend. And it was awful. More awful than I ever imagined. I think that I had modeled my assumptions about what it would be like on the Simpsons episode where they go on a weekend marriage retreat. You know, some sitting on the couch complaining about each other, and then a bunch of fishing.

(I couldn't find the video I was looking for...and then spent an hour watching Simpsons clips on Hulu. I miss when that show was funny.)

This weekend was much different. First of all, I assumed there may have been 5 or 6 couples. I don't know why I thought that, possibly because I thought more than that would require a great deal more couches to rest upon. We got there and it was like a swarm. There were easily 60 couples there. And we were all packing into the "auditorium" which was code for "room full of REALLY uncomfortable chairs." They looked deceptively padded, but when you actually sat it was like sitting on a piece of plywood. The second day I sat on Tom's sweatshirt because I was still sore from the previous day.

Anyway, so we get there. And we're sitting in the auditorium. And we're being lectured to about marriage by two couples, and a crazy priest. They talk about marriage for half an hour and then we're separated (men stay in the room, women go outside) to fill out worksheets. After 15 minutes, the guys in the auditorium leave to find their fiances outside and "share" their answers/feelings. Of course between Tom and I there was less "sharing" of feelings about marriage and more sharing about the feeling we had toward people lying on the grass with their heads in each other's laps. What is this? Some kind of cheesy commercial? Are you going to feed each other grapes? Everyone's holding hands, in the auditorium they have their arms around each other. It's weird. They even did mass on Sunday and everyone IN CHURCH is touching each other. Not. Cool.

Okay, sorry for the digression. You have to realize...watching 120 people fawning over each other like high school kids in "love" for 2 days straight is pretty little painful. Especially when the majority of them are so unattractive you're just hoping that they don't breed. You know....for the sake of humanity. So, back to the worksheets. Here's a glimpse:

Q: After we are married, if we disagree on a spending issue, who will have the last word?
Tom: Whoever speaks slower.

Q: (Blah blah certain situation) What were my fiance's thoughts and feelings?
Tom: No idea. She was probably thinking about cake. (He's right.)

Q: Do I feel called by the Church to be matrimonied to you?
Tom: I refuse to answer on the grounds that the word "matrimonied" is featured.
Me: I don't know- could you not find a real verb for this?

Q: Is my decision to have a Catholic wedding a free and honest one?
Me: No. The church is charging like $700. It's ridiculous.

Q: What would you like your fiance to do differently when you disagree?
Me: My bidding.

Q: Name some ways I can make a decision to love my fiance when:

• I feel angry at him/her: Physically
• I don't feel like talking: Physically
• My fiance is angry at me: Physically
• I realize I have hurt my fiance: Call EMTs.
  

You can tell that we really worked hard on these. :-p What we actually worked hard on was correcting the worksheets. There were so many grammatical errors. And they're dated from 2001. In 8 years no one has corrected these?! Fiance is spelled incorrectly on every page. And they have these little gems: "What would I most want you, my beloved to change?" There's another comma in there people!! AUGH! Painful.

Anyway, we sat through it. Even though it was the first absolutely beautiful weekend of the year. It was 80 degrees all weekend and we're either sitting in the world's most uncomfortable auditorium or out in my 80 degree car pondering whether we could drive away and still be given our certificates. Included were calculations of how many couples we could take out with the getaway car. Bonus!

So, mission accomplished. And now I understand why Catholics don't get divorced. It's not worth the possibility that you may have to sit through that weekend again. Cripes.

Earth Day Resolution

This morning I had a presentation to give at a hospital. I needed to be there by 8 AM, so I woke up at the crack of dawn, sat in traffic, and arrived to the hospital 15 minutes early. This punctuality meant that I deserved a trip to the Dunkin' Donuts situated on the ground floor of the hospital. Woo coffee and croissanwich (which I don't think is what they call it, but that's what it is.) I walk in and take my place in line. Ahead of me is a woman of petite stature, and not so petite proportions. She is wearing gigantic sunglasses, texting incessantly, and looking completely ridiculous.

DD Employee: "May I help you?"
Ridiculous Woman: "Yeah, can I get a bagel with cream cheese, and a coolata?"
DDE: "Yes ma'am, would you like the cream cheese on the bagel?"
RW: "Yeah!"
The DD lady grabs a bagel and starts toward the prep station. The ridiculous woman basically runs after her yelling,
RW: "Can you make it a coconut coolata? COCONUT COOLATA!"
DDE: "Sure."

Apparently she then orders a waffle breakfast sandwich. First of all, there is no reason to order a breakfast housed between two blueberry hockey pucks, but I doubt reason comes into play in RW's daily life at all.

DDE: "I'm sorry ma'am, we're fresh out of waffles."
Me muttering: "Omg there is nothing fresh about those waffles."
RW: "Hang on a second, I'll be right back."

Now, to get a good picture of this, you need to remember that throughout the requests, the stalking up and down the store following the poor Dunkin' Donuts chick behind the counter, the being INDOORS, this ridiculous woman has yet to:
1. Take off her ginormous sunglasses or
2. Stop texting for a single frikkin' second.

So, she goes to the door. She opens the door, and keeping one foot in the store at all times as if she would be melted by lava if she stepped all the way out, she starts yelling.

RW: "Wanda!"
RW: "WANDA!"
RW: "WANDA!!!!"

Everyone in the store flinches, but apparently she's gotten Wanda's attention. Bully for her.

RW: "They're outta waffles!"
RW: "THEY'RE OUTTA WAFFLES!"
RW: "THEY AIN'T GOT NO MORE WAFFLES!!!"

Sweet baby Jesus Wanda there is a waffle crisis, DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?!

So wouldn't you know it, the impending waffle famine spurs Wanda indoors to make the decision of a lifetime. She walks in, and I'm seeing double. She's the exact same size and shape as RW, and apparently they took a trip together to the Sunglass Hut. At least Wanda has the good sense to remove her blinders indoors.

They walk in together and move toward the food prep station where RW had previously been barking orders over the barricade. Then they promptly stop. Right in front of me. They're standing right in front of me, and they're texting. Not moving, not making decisions, not getting the hell out of my way. The lady at the counter is asking for the next customer and I am trapped behind a waffle-lovin' wall of stupidity. I finally make my way around the T-mobile twins and ask for a cup of coffee. I'm about to order my breakfast sandwich when I hear Wanda ask whether she can add bacon to her sandwich and whipped cream to her Coolata.

DD Employee: "And can I get you anything else?"
Me: "Oh my God, just whatever you can reach the fastest."

She smiled, glanced at me sympathetically and threw a Boston creme donut in a bag. I paid and left as quickly as possible as Wanda and RW's food sat on the counter unclaimed while they texted.

Screw the earth. From now on I'm using the drive-thru.

Diagnosis: Your Car Hates You

The mechanic finally got around to taking a look at my poor pathetic mode of transportation. Their opinion? I am mean to my car. The guy calls me at about 7:30 last night. What he's still doing at his garage at that hour, I don't know...obviously I was at the bar by then...but it's nice to know he's dedicated to his work.

Mechanic: "Hi Sam, just wanted to give you a call about your truck."
Me: "Great. How does it look?""
Mechanic: "Well, it's not good. Tell me- did you recently hit anything?"
Me: "Well, it's the end of winter in New England. I'm sure I've hit a lot of things. Not like kids, or animals, or anything...but probably my share of potholes."
Mechanic: Yeah...that makes sense. You've got a few problems that we'll need to fix. First of all, your front right rotor is shattered. It isn't worn out, it's more like you hit something and it broke into a bunch of pieces. Actually that whole assembly is destroyed. It's lucky you had it towed in here because that wheel was actually about to fall off of your car*.
Me: "Wow. Good thing."
Mechanic: "The second thing we'd want to fix is your shocks. You have no shocks on the front of your car. They're so....fluid....not even working...much smoother ride..." (at this point I had no idea what he was talking about and kind of tuned out.)
Me: "Okay...smoother ride sounds good."
Mechanic: "So, I'm thinking at the absolute most it's going to end up being about $900 and I can hopefully get it back to you by the end of the week."
Me: "OK. Thanks?"

I wish I knew anything about cars. I think he's also doing something else to the car, and according to my companions at the bar the front end stuff will take a lot of labor. So maybe $900 isn't the worst price of all time. But then I think about the bluebook value of my truck (maaaybe $1500 if I was lucky) and shudder. I have doubled the value of my truck twice in 2 years. The thing is a rolling moneypit.

*Aside: Those of you who read my previous blog about the trip from Atlanta will remember that this is the EXACT same problem that I had two years ago. And which I drove on for a grand total of 3 hrs on an interstate prior to getting repairs. Wildcard!

In Which My Car Was Probably Trying To Tell Me Something

Readers of my previous blog may recall the last time my car made funny noises. It sounded like metal grinding on metal- primarily because that's exactly what had happened. My rotors had exploded and my axle was pretty much just held in place by the will of God. As a solution, I of course drove the car 60 mph for 2 hrs until the wheels almost literally fell off.

So, when my car started making funny noises yesterday...I'm sure you can all guess where this is headed. The car has been making occasional strange noises for a while now, but I just chalked that up to my car being a total piece of crap. Leave well enough alone is my motto, and I had extended it to "Leave well enough alone and the sound of ducks dying is a standard feature in American-made cars." I lead a rich fantasy life. But yesterday the noise became less of an occasional squeak or quack and more of a rubbing that simultaneously tried to pull me off the road. I knew I would have to take it to a mechanic today, but thought I'd be able to make it to my meetings in Boston first. The truck only has 130K miles on it- it'll be fine, right?

Not so much. The view from my windshield quickly became the view from Timmy's windshield...and it really needs cleaning.I made it about 3 miles before the rubbing sound became more akin to the sound of all my car's parts being run through a dryer. It sounded terrible. So I decided to pull over. I applied the brake...applied more brake...sweet Jesus I am braking aren't I?! Before finally grinding to a halt. Needless to say I was a little terrified to drive any further and had to call my friendly roadside assistance provider.

Now my car is sitting outside a mechanic's near my house where they "might" get around to doing a diagnostic today. I have a bad feeling about how much this is going to cost...and how long it's going to take. As Timmy was driving me home I just stared at my pitiful vehicle and thought, "I am never buying American again."

I Suck at Dy(e)ing

In honor of Easter and nostalgia for my childhood, I've decided to dye eggs this year. So, I went to the grocery store and purchased 2 dozen thinking that maybe Tom's younger siblings would want to come over and help. I bought the eggs I usually buy- vegetarian, cage-free. Because I have a conscience, but primarily because I don't want to die of mad-chicken disease (oh, it's coming people.)

Anybody else see the problem with this?Go ahead, think about it. I'll wait.


Need a hint?
They're brown. I bought 2 dozen BROWN eggs to dye. I'm officially a moron.

Jinxed

I think that last post jinxed me. My landlady's boyfriend(?) no idea who he actually is, but he's been picking up her mail...just rang the doorbell. He just stopped by to tell me that I need to get my car out of the driveway because my landlady is coming back early. As in tomorrow morning.

Luckily for me it just happens to coincide with the only rain we've had in two weeks. Meaning I get to go park my car in the mud pit.

I hate her.

Still Here

I haven't updated this blog in over a month. It's getting sad. Although with no daytime television, you'd think I'd start updating more. So, let's get you all caught up. (Shouldn't take long...my life isn't that interesting.)

• In February we went to Alabama to visit my family. My Dad has decided he hates my fiance. I kind of already knew this, but it was nice to have my suspicions confirmed by pleas not to marry him. Definitely a feel-good moment.
• While in Alabama, my former roommates C and P threw an engagement party for Tom and I. It was the most fun I'd had in a really long time. There was delicious food, a kickass cake, and Pranathi made us play her version of the Newlywed Game. My favorite question/answer combo? Q: What is the first thing Tom noticed about Sam? A: Her typing speed. (My favorite part was that I would never have thought of that answer, and two of my friends that had never met each other both said it. This is what happens when your relationship starts via blog.)
• While on the topic of weddings, I've been attempting to do a lot of planning. I know a lot of my readers are getting or have recently gotten married. Dudes, what the hell?! It is SO expensive! My parents are paying for it, but if you've met my parents you know that it's like squeezing pennies from a turnip. That doesn't even make sense, and that's why it's applicable. It's almost impossible. And I don't like doing it. Every other day I say, "screw it, we're having sandwiches and iPod music." Because seriously, DJs are making several hundred dollars an hour. And I understand that they have equipment blah blah blah, but they're not buying new equipment for every performance. Actually, Tom is in charge of the DJ and I've been pretty impressed with his bargaining skills. We're down to $800 from a quote of $1500. At this point I'd marry him just for that.
• So far I have ordered my wedding dress (finally), we have a reception site (cheap), but one which will require us to rent pretty much everything including tables and chairs (expensive), and we have the church. I am pretty much appalled by the amount of money the church is charging us...AND apparently we have to deal with some crazy music lady. I'm a step away from City Hall.
  
• The best thing about March has been my living situation. My landlady is out of town. For a MONTH. I have been parking in the driveway, playing music at whatever volume I damn well please, and sleeping in as late as I like because there's no 3 year old in clodhoppers running back and forth down the hallway. It's heaven. I've also been able to have people over. So far it's only been Tom's family, but hopefully we'll extend it out before she gets back. We've been having Trivia Nights on Saturdays. We were playing Trivial Pursuit, but people were frustrated with 1. the difficulty of the questions and 2. the fact that Trivial Pursuit (when played the right way- something we never did in my childhood) NEVER ENDS. Seriously. The game takes hours. So, we purchased the Mental Floss trivia game. It's an easier, shorter, more fun version of Trivial Pursuit created by the same guys who do the Mental Floss Magazine in Birmingham, AL. It's a great magazine, and I'm loving the game. You should buy it. Really.
• Also in March, John came to visit! Yay! It's always nice to have people visit...even nicer when they treat you to dinner. We went out not realizing it was restaurant week. We went to this little place in the North End that Tom and I had taken C and P to when they visited. The food was awesome. Not so awesome was the fact that I hadn't realized we'd be trekking all over the city and therefore wore some high-heeled boots. I think I ended up walking a couple miles that night. My feet were bruised the next day. Thank goodness I was on call the next day and was therefore able to wear comfy sneakers to work. Also, John had a Kindle 2 and it looked awesome. This post is becoming a gift-guide.
  
• It's almost April and it has FINALLY warmed up. I'm pretty excited. Tom spent all weekend sick as a dog, so hopefully that will be his one bout of illness for the year and we can enjoy the Spring and Summer now :)

I'll try to keep this thing updated, but there are no guarantees. There are days when I think, "Should I blog, or lie down on the couch and take a nap?" and those that know me are not surprised by the way that plays out. Every. Time.

Also, why does my blogger now have a tab that says "Monetize"? I just noticed that...going to investigate. Laters :)

Seasons of Denial

Yesterday it was almost 60 degrees here in Boston. It was a beautiful, sunny day. I had my coat on, but it wasn't buttoned...I was wearing a sweater and a thermal undershirt but I didn't have to put on a scarf. These are the things that pass for warmth up here in February. So, I thought we'd finally turned a corner. Then last night the weatherman said the word "accumulation". I promptly stuck my fingers in my ears and started singing the theme from "The Love Boat." Because it felt like Spring yesterday, and therefore it is Spring.

Today I'm getting ready to go to a meeting at work. I put on my corduroys, socks to my knees, a turtleneck and a sweater. And before I walk to the door I think, "I'll wear my light jacket today...because it is Spring. And I'll wear my dress boots...because the ice melted yesterday." And I left the house. I climbed in the car... and snowflakes began to fall.

SNOWFLAKES!!! WHAT THE HELL!!!

Defiant, I started the vehicle and drove to work. I parked in the deck, and decided to walk to the Dunkin' Donuts across the street for coffee. I shielded my eyes so that the falling ice crystals wouldn't impale my corneas and still I denied. I walked into the office, did my work, packed up my things and got ready to brave the weather again. I thought, it's snowing but it's not that cold...it can still be Spring. I walked toward my car with my backpack, keys in hand, refusing to give in to my rage at the groundhog.

And then I slip. And I fall. Because that is what happens when you're wearing boots that have no tread and 3 inch heels in the snow. I effing hate winter.

Open Letter

Dear National Grid,

I am a paying customer of yours, partaking in both your electrical and natural gas services. If I had any choice at all in the matter, I would get a waterwheel and tell you to go screw yourselves. My electric bill DirectPay option is set up to withdraw from an account that I no longer replenish. So, the well has finally runneth dry and I need to change my payment options. Because National Grid swallowed up the company that used to provide my electric services, I went to your website to reset my payment options. Apparently the natural gas and electric divisions of the company are separate, and to inconvenience me in the maximum amount possible, you use separate account numbers to represent the different services even though they are for the same customer. Thanks so much for that.

So, I have my account information for my natural gas billing, because I receive monthly email statements. My electric bill is also supposed to be paperless, but I never receive them. So, I just have my account direct-pay and hope that you don't overcharge me. Such is my faith in the goodness of man, and my laziness about resetting any options. Unfortunately recently my outdated account became overdrawn as my electric bills have finally used up all the money. So, I need to reset the directpay to draw from a different account. Enter me putting my fist through a wall.

I come home today with the intention of accomplishing Operation Directpay Reset. I go to the national grid website. Of course I don't remember any of my login information- or what I thought the information was, it wasn't. So, I go to the "Forgot password" form. Apparently my username is incorrect. So I go to the "Forgot username" form. It asks me to enter my email address affiliated with the account. I do and it says that "Email addresses should be in the form address@isp.com". Umm...duh? I know what an effing email address looks like...and furthermore, I know what MY email address looks like. So, obviously, your company has no idea that I exist...probably a remnant of your hostile takeover of my former provider.

I have no choice but to call the company. I know it's not going to be pleasant, I know it's going to take forever, but it has to be done. Because overdraft charges suck. So, I call. First I have to listen to a 5 minute announcement about a power outage that doesn't apply to my area. Fine. Then we get to the automated operator. He reads a menu, I choose an option. He reads another menu, I choose another option. I have to listen to 4 different scripts before the phone starts ringing. At this point, I'm informed that all operators are (shockingly) busy assisting other customers, but they have this great system where they'll call ME back when they're ready. Great. Sign me up. I enter my information and wait 20 minutes for a call back. Which is fine because honestly this game is like crack.

When the phone finally rings, it's another automated operator. "We're calling for...(recording of me saying my name). Please press 1 when this person is on the line." I immediately press 1, and I kid you not am placed on hold. The old familiar sound of "All operators are busy assisting other customers, but your call is important to us. Please stay on the line." Didn't I have you call me so I didn't have to listen to this?!? The phone finally rings through to an operator and all of a sudden the line is dead. Dead. I was disconnected. At this point I have spent an hour trying to switch the credit card billing information on my electric bill.

So, I go back to the website. I try alternate emails and passwords (even though I know which email address should work.) After 3 tries, the system locks me out. I close the window, I'm still locked out. So I have no option but to call back. I call and again hear the message about the power outage. No amount of button mashing will get me around it. I again get the automated menu. I swear and yell in the hopes that you have one of those systems that recognizes when the caller is pissed. Apparently you do because the automated guy apologizes to me and immediately puts me on the phone with a person in billing.

Billing makes sense, right? I'm trying to update my automated BILLING option. I want to give you money. Payments and billing should be the right people, if your company made any sense. But it doesn't. On the other end of the line was the loudest woman in the world, totally pissed that I didn't have my account number ready.

Billing Lady: "You don't know your account number?"
Me: "I know my gas account number, I don't know my electric because I do online statements and I can't access my account."
Billing Lady: "Those are totally separate accounts."
Me: "Okay, so what do we do?"
Billing Lady: "What's your social?"

So she finds my account and then asks me what I need. I tell her I need to update my DirectPay.

Billing Lady: "Oh! That's customer service. Customer service does that. We don't do that. Your account number is 123455432324 (spouted off quickly without even asking whether I had paper and pen handy, which I didn't), call the 800 number then option 2 then option 4."

Does she offer to transfer me? Does she help me in any way? Of course not...God forbid the payment department have anything to do with helping you make a payment.

I called back, listened to the outage message, hit 2 and then 4, ended up having to listen to the menu anyway because hitting numbers didn't get me to the right place. I eventually screamed "CUSTOMER SERVICE" and a couple f-bombs and was placed on hold for a representative. I didn't opt to have them call me back because that obviously is a ploy. When given my estimated 20 minute wait time on the phone, I took into consideration the fact that my next payment wasn't to be deducted until February and decided to give the blood vessel in my forehead a break. After 10 minutes on hold, I hung up and screamed into a pillow.

I guess I'll call back tomorrow. Or stop using electricity. Because seriously, I hate your company.

Thanks for nothing,
Sam

Unsupervised

My landlady is having the house painted. She's been having the house painted for a month now, and they just finished yesterday. Thank God. For the past month, I've been awakening to the sound of sanding, ladders clattering on the house, and guys speaking some language I've never heard in my life. It's exhausting, and it's annoying. Primarily because I have a penchant for not walking around my house-where I live alone-in a whole lot of clothing. However, there's a window upstairs that's kind of oddly placed, so there's no blinds and no reason to have blinds. Except now there are painters standing at that upstairs window every morning. Everytime I walk from my bedroom to the bathroom now I have to wear pants. Pants! It's a travesty.

Over the course of this month, my landlady calls me all the time and asks me to do things.
8 AM- "Can you open both your doors?"
8 AM- "Are you going anywhere today?"
8 AM- "Can you move your car out onto the street?"

Why she always has to ask me crap while I'm still asleep is beyond me, but such is my life. So, yesterday I left for work early in the morning. The painters were outside my door painting the threshold. I stepped over them, hopped in the car and headed to the office. Later that night, my meetings were over and I was at a bar with some coworkers. My landlady calls.

"Hey Sam, when are you coming home?"
"I don't know, an hour or two? Why?"
"Well, it's just that the painters had to paint the thresholds, so both of your doors are open."
"You opened my doors?"
"Yeah, cause they had to paint."
"So do you need me to come home and guard my stuff? What do you need?"
"Oh no, I would never ask you to do that. I'm here and I'm checking on everything, so no worries."
"Okay bye."

So, I stay at the bar another hour, get home about 3 hours after she called. I arrive home, the house is dark, her car is not in the driveway, and both of my doors are wide open. In my living room sit Tom's computer and various gaming systems. However, nothing's missing, so Tom and I turn on the lights and the Red Sox game and go on about our business. About an hour later we hear the landlady pull up. She's probably left my stuff unguarded for a good 3 hours...I'm sure she was calling to see if I was coming home so she could leave. But, I hate her, I've already renewed my lease, nothing's missing, I'm just gonna leave it alone.

I've been home for about an hour when I walk upstairs to use the restroom. I walk in, and the toilet seat is up. I freak out. You see, in 14 months of living near Tom and even for the year he would come visit me in Alabama, Tom has never once left the toilet seat up. Not once. It's kind of amazing actually. Plus, he hadn't been up to the bathroom since we'd been home and I know I hadn't left it up that morning. Someone had been in my house. Not just in my house, pretty much in every single room of my house because to use the restrooom you have to go all the way upstairs.

So, I run downstairs and call my landlady.
"Hey, did you let your guys use my bathroom?"
"What? No. I'll call them and find out if they used it."
"Fine. I know they used it though- someone did."
"Okay, I'll call them."

So, she calls them and of course one of the painters admits to having used it.
"What? I had to use the toilet!"

She calls me and insists that she was there supervising them all day...oh, except when she went to get her kid. "He must've intentionally waited for me to leave to go in." Yeah, well maybe you should've gotten someone else to pick up the kid, or someone else to watch the house, or NOT open my frikkin' doors without my permission. Cripes.

So, the painter incident, combined with the fact that I wasn't allowed to close my doors til midnite even though it was 50 degrees out (had to let the paint dry) kind of made last night craptastic. If I get robbed this weekend, I think we all know who did it.

The only good thing? On my way out of the bar last night, I found a $50 bill in the street.

The Itsy Bitsy Spiders

*Disclaimer: Daniel, and anyone else with severe arachnophobia probably shouldn't read this.*

My apartment is overrun. I have no idea how this happened, I have no idea why this happened, I just know that it has to stop. For the past 2 days, I've been noticing a lot of spiders. And when I say "a lot" I mean, every single time I sit down on the couch I see at least one. I've lived in my apartment for almost a year now, and never have I had any insect problems. I don't think I've ever had a roach, last year there were no ants, minimal spider activity- I think Tom's had to get rid of 3 in a year tops.

This year, the insects are making up for it. For the past 2 weeks, there have been ants all over the place. I chalked it up to the rain- it rained almost every day for 2 weeks. Ants can't swim, I get it. Now that it's cleared up outside, and I vacuumed up all the rice-cake crumbs, I haven't seen any more. Did the ants lure the spiders? Don't spiders eat flies? I don't remember ants being featured anywhere in that song....of course, I haven't swallowed any flies lately either, so maybe that's not so applicable.

So, regardless of reasoning, the spiders are here. They're probably a millimeter in size...obviously little baby spiders. But here's the problem- there are like a million of them. Is there a GIANT spider in my house that is just laying offspring left and right? I haven't had any spiders until now- is it spider breeding season? Is there a giant male spider in addition to the obviously present female? How long have these things been gestating? Is there some busted-up egg sac in my apartment somewhere, because that would be totally disgusting. Did the Mom die when all the spiders hatched? (Isn't that what happened to that Charlotte spider?) Whatever. I'm trying not to worry about it because I don't know where they're coming from and I assume at some point they'll die from lack of other bugs to eat, or move out of the house into the wild of the suburbs.

Of course, it doesn't help that I get emails like this:

From: Tom@ilovemybuddy.org
To: Sam@spidervilleusa.com
re: omg the spiders

I'm not really worried. What I would do, is try and track down the source of the tiny spiders, and see if you can locate a small nest or something they're sprouting from. Then vacuum it up, and that should solve the problem.

NEST?!? These things nest?!? Also, I am not emptying a vacuum canister full of live spiders. Absolutely not going to happen. So, I'm sitting on the couch, holding a can of bug spray, jumping a mile everytime a strand of hair brushes my shoulder. And my foot itches. I assume it's a spider bite.

So, if I disappear for another month, it's probably a safe bet that I'm cocooned somewhere in the house. Send help.

Dressing for the Summer

Wow. It's obvious that I totally forgot I had a blog because there is no way I would have left evidence of my Star Trek nerd-dom up that long if I'd remembered. Cripes. I haven't blogged in forever because a. as mentioned earlier, I forgot I had a blog. and b. there is not a thing going on in my life. I work, I sit around, I read. That's about it. We're going on a couple of trips this summer, so that's exciting. Such exotic destinations as Cincinnatti, Ohio and Rural, Alabama. Woo. :) Actually, Cincinnatti will be a blast, and Alabama...well, I'll see my friends for a portion of the trip so that'll be fun. And there's no way that hanging out with my sisters won't be a blast. Of course, poor Tom will have to be in the company of my father for a week, so the trip will probably suck for him. And it's Alabama in July, so 1000 degree weather might not help. But we have a pool! I just keep stressing the pool. :-p

So, with that amazing lack of things to post about, let's get back to why this place was really created: for me to complain about things in a forum other than face to face, because honestly, then I just come off as a big whiner. I seem like that here too, but I can pretend I don't know you guys. (Although about 100% of my readership is probably people that actually do know me.) Anyways- on with the show.

I went dress shopping the other day. I need something to wear to Ohio, and I was attending a graduation, and it was a blazing bajillion degrees out, so I thought- how about a nice summer dress. A sundress. Whatever they're called. Something where my legs could be caressed by the breeze rather than encapsulated in denim (as they usually are.) So, I first hit up Old Navy. Why? It's a great question, and one I asked myself several times as I moved among the 12 year old teens in headsets in search of a dress. What is up with those headsets? The store is not that big, and even if it were, I've never seen those headsets used for good. If I need a price check, invariably they yell at the closest tween who then proceeds to walk slowly in circles for ten minutes and come back without an answer. I really wonder if those things are even hooked up to anything. Hopefully they're not using them to look cool, cause Tom has one for playing XBox live, and I can tell you- those things are unequivocally uncool. Nerd-alert. Seriously.

So, I'm wandering around and I see NONE of the dresses that the girls in the commercial were wearing. Shocker, right? The only dress that is remotely what I'm looking for actually has a nice fit...but of course, it's only available in off-white and when I put the dress on I basically become a column with hair. Because such is my skin tone. So, on to the next store. I hit up Target because I can shop and simultaneously obtain the Reese's peanut butter cups I so desperately need at this point in a shopping day. Seriously, shopping feels like crossing a desert to me. It's miserable and hot (for some inexplicable reason) and my hair gets messed up. I hate it. So, I get to Target, find a couple of dresses with cute prints, and decide to bite the bullet and try them on.

Herein lies the problem: I'm pretty thin, and I'm pretty tall. And based on everything television has taught me, I should be able to go to the store and wear whatever I want because everything is made for girls my size. Un-true. All the clothes this summer are pulled straight from the 80's. Remember the 80's? Shoulder pads? Giant t-shirts w/ leggings underneath? Huge sweaters and acid-wash jeans? It's all back. Well, I haven't seen any shoulder pads, but the aesthetic is back. It's all form-masking. Which could work to the advantage of some, but for me, everything is adding 20 pounds. Also everything's really short, which I'm sure is some sort of evil bid to make me wear leggings. Not gonna happen.

The next day I went to the mall and encountered the same problems. I went into one store specifically because the mannequin was wearing a dress I would've purchased. This is my favorite way to shop- someone is already wearing all the pieces of the outfit, I just have to get a salesperson to round them up for me, and I'm out. So, I walk in the store, go to the teenybopper in a headset, and ask for the dress in the window. "Well...I've been standing in this area (points at three racks in a sea of hundreds) and I haven't seen it. So, I'd look over there. (Gestures toward remainder of the store.)" Did she ask someone in the headset? No. Did she make any effort to find the dress? Of course not. Needless to say, I was in there a grand total of 10 minutes before giving up and wandering toward the food court for iced coffee.

Every store has the exact same styles, fabrics (a lot of which are miserable as well...why is rayon back?), and God help me 80's music blaring in the background. Which leads me to wonder: am I going to be relegated to wearing the same outfits until late 90's-early 00's clothing returns? I hate the stores where nothing but Strawberry Shortcake t-shirts are being purchased by kids who aren't old enough to know who the hell Strawberry Shortcake is, but I also have a panic attack when I'm standing in Macy's pawing through a rack with 4 women who are older than my mother. I need a happy medium.

Nudism is a thing, right?

Coming to Terms

Healthcare is full of jargon. Public health is full of jargon. So my job, which includes aspects of both, has a whole frikkin' lot of jargon. This isn't necessarily a bad thing- we have more abbreviations than you can shake a stick at, but it beats the pants off of writing out "arterial blood gas" every 36 seconds. My problem when it comes to the language of my profession, is the buzzwords. Terms that have no real meaning- even for people in the job.

You know that part in "Juno" where people keep asking if she's "sexually active" and she says, "What does that even mean? Can I become sexually inactive or is this a permanent state?" It's just like that. I don't understand what these terms mean, and every time I hear them I want to slam my head into a wall. Por ejemplo:

• Real-Time. As in, "I think it's really important that we take care of this in real-time." or "Oh, you spoke to him in real-time? Then that should be fine." WTF!? What time can I speak to someone when it isn't real? If you want me to speak to someone now, or immediately, I can do that. I refuse to categorize it as a whole new type of time. This isn't Star Trek.
  
• Off-Line. As in, "Well, this is a very interesting conversation we're having, and I think it's very valuable, but let's continue it off-line." If you were referring to working on your computer without the internet, I would be fine with off-line. If all the electronic systems were down, I'd be fine with off-line. You wanna call me back? Fine. I don't need to be told to "take it off-line." Asses.
• Collaborative. As in, "Our plan is to work collaboratively to collaborate on a collaborative plan for collaboration." The problem is not that they don't know how to use it- it's that they use it so much that I feel like my organization is sponsored by the word "Collaborate". And the number 2. It also helps that no one ever works collaboratively. They just talk about it. A lot.

I liked it better at my old job. If you asked to speak to someone off-line in real-time so you could come up with a collaborative plan, they'd probably just punch you in the face. I miss my old job.

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.