Blah To The Blah

Today, I broke a plate. It was a leaf-shaped vintage plate. Today has been an annoyance since I woke up. Maybe even before I fell asleep.

I don't mean to sound like Debbie Downer, it's just that nearly the entire month of September sucked. And October started great, but I seem to have hit a snag.

My roommate decided to move out to help out a good friend of his, and he chose to break his lease. But really, it's me that had to deal with finding a new roommate. And I found one about three weeks ago, and now I have a slight tinge of nerves that he might not move in. Which blows seven ways to Sunday, 'cause he was the only person to see the house that seemed normal. So, please think good things for me that this guy moves in, it would be best for all involved.

The Blog That Time Forgot

Wow. Sometimes Life happens to ya, and it smacks ya right on your ass.

I got tagged.

Booger went missing. Booger came home!

My roommate is moving out.

Spent some time with Buckie, saw his first smiles.

Had first Auntie-and-Pickle Day.

New roommate moving in. After I clean the house top to bottom to remove all traces of the former (douche-bag) roommate.

And the Spiders! Oh God, THE SPIDERS!

All this and more to come....

Could This Day Get Any Better?!

The hits just keep on coming! Not only am I on vacation for the next 4 days (during which I get to see my parents and spend time with Pickle and the Bump that is Buckie (aka my Sister)), but my landlord just called to inform me that the house is no longer on the market. Which means....

THERE WILL BE NO MORE SHOWINGS OF THE HOUSE!

No more strangers walking through my stuff. Yippeee! My landlord also informed me that if, however, I still wanted to buy the house, I could make an offer. Or, if me and my roommate would like to get married and decided to buy the house together, he'd pay the down payment as a wedding present.

Yes.

He actually said that to me.

I don't know how long it's been since I've laughed that hard.

The "Joy" of an Open House

I signed a lease for a house in March, if you all recall. This particular house is for sale. Every time I drop off my rent, my landlord tries to convince me to buy the house. I'd be tempted, if the house didn't need SO MUCH WORK.

Now, the situation I find myself in is better than the situation I left. My bills are way lower, my roommate (while not the ideal) is not a psychopath and we get along, the neighborhood is great and I live close to friends.

The complete and total, soul-sucking downside of this house is that at least once a month, some group of strangers walks through my space. That means I've had strangers looking at my stuff and judging. Because that is why they are there, to look at this house that I live in and decide if they themselves could live there. Judging. It's like a miasma that hangs in every room. Ok, so maybe that's a little dramatic. But, really? Who in their right mind just invites random people in to look at their shit.

Plus, after every one of these showings, I'm so nervous that something might have happened to the cats.

And my landlord just doesn't understand how mentally disruptive this "minor inconvenience" is. He just wants to sell the house. But here's the catch--I wonder if any of the Realtors that have been through the house have told their clients, up front, that the house is occupied and will continue to be occupied until February 28, 2010.

I'm just scared the closer that date looms, the more showings there will be. Damn! I can't believe I'm being forced to think about moving again, after only 3 months!

Ikea, I Wish I Could Quit You...

I have the entire weekend off. I, the person who works All The Time, have two whole days off-In A Row-and have absolutely nothing planned except to visit with my mom at some point. This is what a real weekend is? Normal people have these all the time? This is glorious! So, just how exactly do you think I spent the first 4 hours of my whole weekend off?

Standing in line.

Yes, I stood in line at Ikea, for over 4 Hours. To buy bookshelves. Because they were on sale and I am cheap. Now, I got there early, I thought, and there was already a line around the building. To buy bookshelves and chairs. To be precise, Expedit bookshelves for $49, and a Poang chair for $39. They really were a good deal, I mean that's at least $40 off each item. But I'm justifying....

And after about 20 minutes in the full morning sun, my pale, pale arms glowing like two welcoming beacons, signaling new arrivals, I thought "Eff this, what the H-E-double hockey sticks am I doing wasting this day?"

But I had moved about ten feet. There were now People Behind Me. I was no longer the Last In Line. And even though I didn't realized it then, I was committed. I was getting that damn bookshelf and that damn chair. There were a few tense moments, like when an employee shouted from the ticket booth, "Only 175 chairs left, and 200 bookshelves!" and there were still a lot of people ahead of me. There were awkward moments, like standing in the full sun at 11:45 am and a single drop of sweat rolled down my cleavage. Or when I was jammed in line between two very chatty old broads, one who decorated for weddings and thought I'd care to know how she would use every single vase in an arraignment, and one who had a greenhouse and insisted I'd be very happy with an orchid, I really should get the orchid, really they're very lovely on an Eastern-facing window sill.

So, 4 hours later, I'm wheeling my little cart stacked with my loot, thinking, "really? was this really worth it?" I get that freakin' heavy bookshelf back to my house, out of my car, and set up in my room. It may not be much, but I think that damn orchid does look lovely. And the bookshelves are already packed.

That Monday Smell

For maybe the fifth day in a row, I woke up at 6:30. In The AM! As this was not the time my alarm was set to go off, I went back to sleep. And, same as it was for the last few days, when my alarm did go off I had a really hard time getting out of bed. So I snoozed.

But today was just slightly different, in that what finally got me out of bed was a very peculiar odor. Investigation lead me to Louie, who was curled up on my chest. She smelled like a very large man had rubbed his ass all over her. It was less than lovely.

Her paws were wet, and that's where the smell was coming from. So now, every one of the wet little paw prints she left on my comforter smells like ass. Now I'm tired, mad, and off to investigate.

I found the source of the ass smell. And at this point, I'm just going to remind everybody that I live with a Boy, not a boy I'm dating, not even a boy I'm friends with, just a Boy. And this Boy had left an Open Can Of Chicken On The Counter All Night. Is there anything more disgusting than canned Chicken!? Yes. Yes, there is--12 hour old canned chicken juice.

One the one hand, my cats are just well-behaved enough that they know better than to jump on the kitchen counter. My good little Booger, didn't touch the tempting rancid chicken juice. But Louie, she's got a little rebellious streak.

Letter To A Bitch (Please forgive the snark, I'm a little pissed off)

Dearest Former Land"Lady,"

I understand that the house I have lived in for the past year was the first home you ever owned, and that you loved it dearly. The fact of the matter is that you, out of whatever circumstances (you civil-unioned your longtime partner on a cruise off the coast of Canada, and the both of you decided to call her house "home"), decided to rent it out.

My roommate and I took care of your house. We had no wild and crazy parties in your house. We put up with a very scary spider infestation, and dealt with the lingering smell of your three large dogs. Not to mention the neighbor's delinquent son I once caught punching his own house.

So when you tell me that my two small cats caused $600 worth of damage, please forgive my disbelief. I understand that you are not a "cat person" (which if you REALLY think about it, is not a tiny bit ironic). And rather than call and have me remedy this situation a week ago (as technically today is the last day of the lease, so a week ago the house was still my residence), you decided to bring in a company (I'll assume it was the company your friend owns) to "fix" this "problem."

Also, it was very gracious of you NOT to charge us for the damage caused by the Ice and the Snow. I apologize for not informing you of the damage as it was being inflicted. To be unaware of the weight of the Ice and Snow warping the paving stones is Unforgivable.

I could go on, but really, I'm just not a nit-picky kind of person, as you can totally relate. I hope your next tenants truly reflect the Renter demographic of my former City of Residence.

Good Riddance,
Toots

Please Hold While...I Punch You In The Neck

Just called to switch over some utility service for the new house, and spent a good 10 minutes being MIS-directed by the automated menus. Yeah, fine whatever, you're switching to "something" that will eventually make "something" better. Whatever. Right now, I just want to drive down to Indiana and punch you in the neck.

Also, once I give up trying to navigate said menus and request to speak to a Person (who turned out to be very Pleasant and Helpful), please do not require this very nice and competent person to direct me, yet again, to another "helpful" service menu. One, I might add, that is the new, "more convenient" kind that makes you speak out your selections. Now everyone in my office thinks I'm some kind of nutter that shouts out random words for no apparent reason. This just wiped away previous gratitude I had for the operator.

Hmmm, the protein smoothie I had for lunch may have had a dash of rage in it.

Moving in Nine Bruises Or Less

The Move, it is almost Finished! I thought it would never be over, but it nearly is. Thank Baby Jesus.

I just don't feel ready to talk about this experience yet. I may never be ready. All I know is my Bro is helping me move the last of the big furniture (aka, my amazing bed) out of the old house, and into the Dreamboat's house. Because it will not fit into the new place. But at least I can go and visit it.

For the moment, the cats have only emerged from under the bed for very brief moments when I sing to them. Which somewhat illustrates their state of mind(s). You would know what this means if you've ever heard me sing.

Let Them Eat Cake

You know you're stressed out when you charge tickets for a play on Saturday, and by Monday you've forgotten that you even went to the theater, and freak out because there is a charge on your account, and you're sure you didn't make it.

And then you call your credit union to cancel the card, because the last thing you need is somebody trying to take what little money you have left after paying the ridiculous amount of bills you paid last week. Because you thought a good idea to reduce the stress of a move would be to overlap leases, and are paying rent for two houses. Yeah, that worked out real well.

Turns out I was stealing my own identity. Now if that's not a cry for things needin' a change, I just don't know what is.... Or I could fall back to the ol' standby and blame everything on the Time Change.

Brief Glimps Into My Head, Moving Edition

If you've been paying attention (or, let's be honest, if you give a rat's patoot), I am going to be moving in few weeks. In preparation, I have been going through my crap, sorting and purging.

I've learned a little bit about myself doing this. First and foremost, I have too much shit. A lot of it doesn't take up a lot of space, individually speaking. Which has, to this point, been the primary rationalization for Not Throwing It Out. But when you pile a whole bunch of small things together, they will make a mountain. Or a fort. Depending how much time you have on your hands, and how desperate you are to avoid sorting.

Then I opened a box, and found I have credit card statements going back about 7 years. For accounts that no longer exist. And let's not forget to mention the other box I opened last week, that had remained UNOPENED for nearly 8 years. This particular box moved with me 4 times, Without Ever Being Opened. Let's just let that sink in, shall we.

Upon further analysis, I've concluded that the majority of my crap is composed of four primary elements;
Paper (old bills, paperwork, notes, books--many, many books)
Fabric (yarn, yarn, and more yarn, clothes, blankets)
Glass (candle holders, vases, other decorative accouterments)
Plastic (sad to say this is mostly in the form of toys).

I would estimate the collective composition of my crap to be 50% Paper, 35% Fabric, 10% Glass and 5% Plastic. (In case you were wondering, Yes, my day job has been heavy into the data analysis lately. But let's also not forget that I am the Queen of Obsessive Thinking as well as a Master Level Procrastinator. And if I had a visual, I would provide it. But that would just be too much, even for me. I mean, seriously, who charts out clutter in Excel, whether by Bar Graph, Pie Chart, or Line Graph to determine the most visually appealing way to explain said clutter? Certainly not I.)

In conclusion, my only course of action is to Eliminate Useless Crap. I am calling this Operation EUC (pronounced Eyuck, which is pretty much how I feel about this activity). I hate throwing things out. I think I have Pack Rat in my DNA. What if I will use it again? What if it will come in handy at some point in the future (be it 5 days, or five years)? These are forces I'm battling against. And I Shall Prevail! No matter the emotional cost! I will not negotiate with Clutter! The Clutter will not win!

But mark my words, if I ever become famous, future generations will weep for the lost information of my spending habits during college. And it will be a great loss.....

Fashionable Fabulousness

Soon I will have an address that confirms my Fabulousness. Or maybe just a valid excuse for my eccentricities, as this neighborhood is home to some of the zaniest and nicest people in Metro Detroit. I shall very soon be signing a lease on a new place.

This place, I have been assured, has no major spider problem. It also has no creepy basement with monsters. It does have a creepy attic, but as access is through the ceiling I'll just never look up and pretend it's not there. It also has a lime green kitchen. Who could ask for anything more?

As My Life Flashed Before My Eyes....

Last night I was talking on my cell as I got out of my car, which I had parked in my driveway, and I nearly died. OK, fine. That might be a little dramatic, but I could have injured SOMETHING.

I slipped on a patch of ice wearing heels. I told the person I was talking to, "just to let you know, I almost died right then." Their reply, "Huh." Which I took to be 'Huh, wow your delivery was pretty calm, I don't know if I can take that seriously.'

And that could be the end of my little story, but of course, it is not. I slipped on the same effin spot this morning. Only I wasn't talking to anybody at the time, so now I feel the need to tell the story to the whole Internets. I think I pulled my core. (As opposed to two weeks ago when I BROKE my core while shoveling my driveway.) This slip was a bigger slip than last night, I think I might have exclaimed. Something along the lines of, "AIiiIkkgGkkkhhh...unhh"

I just picture my reclusive neighbor watching me out the window (as I imagine she often does, I'm fairly entertaining in my klutzy-ness), and giggling between puffs on her Virgina Slims. And I thought in that moment, please don't let me go out like this.

And the little incident sort of solidified what I've been thinking about lately. That is, I need to move. My lease is up at the end of March, and I just didn't want to think about moving again. Ever. In fact, I remember very clearly, stating as I moved the last box into the house nearly a year ago, "I AM NEVER MOVING AGAIN."

But with all the Spiders, the insanely expensive heating bill I got last month, and now the latest of being nearly brained by the driveway...I think maybe it's time this house and I parted ways. For my own continued existence.....

Bitter Cold To Linger...So Will My Bitter Attitude

I read this story this morning, and I just wanted to cry. And I would cry too, if I thought the tears might not freeze on my rosy little cheeks.

I just got our heating bill in the mail yesterday, and my reaction was to turn down the heat. But then I got so cold, I had to turn it up a little just so I could get some sleep. It's really hard to sleep when your body is shaking with the shivers. I tried to tent the covers and sleep in a little cave, but I felt like I was suffocating from the weight of the covers (that may be because I normally sleep with TWO down comforters. And an afghan. And two kitties. That's how cold my room is on a "normal" basis!).

One idea I've had, is to impose on the Dreamboat as much as possible. He'd rather I stay at his place anyway. And seriously, when your ass is freezing and you're trying to cut costs everywhere possible, what's a little loosening of the morals anyway? I'll just turn MY heat down on my way out the door.

Hey--it's every kitty for themselves!

Jigga What....

...Big Pimpin' all Christmas style. It begins tomorrow.

I've set my mind to start the holiday decorations. The Brit is setting up the outside lights very soon, and for once we might have the cutest house on the block. Snow is wonderful in that you don't have to mow or rake it.

I want a Pink and Gold tree, but I think The Brit wants to go with something a little more traditional.
Speaking of traditions, I'm hoping she will bring a Little Bit of England to our house this year.

Did I mention she has Style? Hip, British Style.

The Infestation, Yet Another Update

Last night I captured two monster big Yellow Sac spiders.

Add to that the couple I found on Sunday, and those captured on Friday and Wednesday of last week....Let's just say, I'm not keeping a spider count anymore because I'd never be able to sleep for fear they were crawling all over my body. Uggghhh.

On the bright side, thanks to The Brit, we have a mechanical contraption to humainly catch the spiders (that is, before flushing them down the toilet!). Viola! It is called the Spider Relocator


Dear, dear, Readers--I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you all for your support during this difficult time. The spiders surely cannot win now that I have the Spider Relocator in my arsonal! I know those who read this blog always, at all times, have my best interests at heart.

The Infestation, Another Update

Fall is nearly upon us. The weather is wonderful--chilly at night and perfect with a hint of rain during the day. Spider weather, Dhun, Dhun, Dhun!

I came home from work the other night to find my animal kingdom nemesis, the dreaded Yellow Sac, hanging out on the ceiling in the living room.

And I spent the next 10 minutes flinging shoes at the ceiling in an attempt to smush the bastard. Now, in my agitated state, it really did take 10 minutes for me to realize that my aim is shit, and it might be difficult to explain shoe prints on the ceiling to my OCD landlady. At which point I devised a plan which involved a broom. Simple, yet effective!

I am suspicious he might have been the first wave. I am hoping for an early and spider-crippling frost to avert the impending crisis.

Lone Wolf? Um, Not So Much...

For almost One Whole Month, I lived alone. It was not as much fun as I thought it would be. I thought it would be loads of giggles to walk around naked, watch whatever I wanted on TV, stay up late and sleep in without anything to wake me.

The reality is, I was too paranoid people would try to look in thru closed blinds to walk around naked. I didn't have cable to watch whatever I wanted, and was pretty bored with the movies I owned. And the absolute quiet started to wear on my nerves.

But all is now right in the Universe, because a few days ago my new roommate moved in! Now, I have a roommate with STYLE--crazy, hip, British style. And a whole new collection of DVDs. She has so much style, I feel like I need to update my wardrobe just to be able to live in my own home. Yay, shopping!

She's ok with my cats. Actually, it's a near perfect situation--she brushes them, makes sure they have food, and generally keeps them company during the day. And then shuts them out of her room so they have no choice but to snuggle up with me at night. I'm not sure how long this is going to last, because the new roommate has her sights set on getting a dog. I'm all for this, and actually looking forward to having a dog again. But I'm not sure how the cats will handle having competition for the Brit's affections.
Here are a few Reasons I Should Not Live Alone:
A roommate would not allow me to eat corndogs and chocolate martinis for dinner.
I have a hard time justifying leaving the house.
Left on my own, I have a hard time showering on a regular basis.
Strange house noises with a roommate = strange house noises; Strange house noises alone = monsters in the basement trying to get me.

I Would Have Peed My Pants (If I Had Been Wearing Any)

Let me just put this out there—I am afraid of the dark. Which, thinking about it is ironic, because I like the nightlife, baby. But fundamentally, it rubs me wrong. I need to know things, and you can’t know what’s in the dark. Because it’s, umm, dark. And scary.

Let me set the scene (que Humphrey Bogart noir voice-over):
-It’s 11:30pm Sunday night.
-I’ve been watching scary movies and knitting all day. (There are exactly two scenarios in which -I can watch scary movies—1. It’s a bright sun-shiny day and birdies are chirping, or 2. I have someone to watch them with me.)
-My roommate is in the process of moving out, ergo I am Home Alone.
-I have closed all the blinds (because ScaryDarkThings might be looking in) and turned on all the lights (so ScaryDarkThings can’t lurk in dark corners).
-I decide I’m finally ready for bed, and go to take a shower.

And this is when my entire block lost power.

I’m half-naked, in my bathroom, and the lights go out. Again, did I mention I’m afraid of the dark? And I had been watching scary movies all day. Alone.

I froze in attack position. It was like, instinctual or something. Then several thoughts hit me at once—
‘shit.’
‘clothes? Where are my clothes? I can’t look for a flashlight, in the dark, nekked!’ (by the way, I found my bra three days later on the kitchen counter. I seriously have no idea…)
‘maybe if I reach down and grab a kitty tail, they can lead me out of the bathroom, like Lassie or some shit’

I fumbled along the hallway (which by the way, I don’t remember that f***er being so long) to the kitchen hoping to find a lighter. Lucky for me, it was a full moon. But, out of my irrational fear of monsters, I had closed all the blinds (‘cause seriously, some dudes just found a Bigfoot carcass, that shit could be real and looking in my windows! http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2008/08/080818-bigfoot-dna.html ).

I managed to open the blinds, found a lighter wand, made my way to my bedroom and lit some candles. Yay, me!

An hour later, the power was back on and I had to leave the cave of protective blankies and turn off every light I had turned on ‘cause I am a big, fat, Chicken!

So, a few things I have learned—
I do not like living alone.
I would not make a good spy (insert appropriate sad smiley here).
Cats are not comforting in a crisis like this--they are super stealth, and have night vision.

But I’m not as big a chicken as I thought (the proof is the fact that I didn’t just drop into the fetal position on the bathroom floor!).

The Day The Lawn Won

This weekend was kinda rough. Last week we had a tree limb fall off of it's big happy host tree and on to our entire back yard, taking the power lines with it. (I'll tell you what a party is--live wires in your back yard! w00t!)

Anyway, it seemed that everyone from the power company guys to the tree guys to the neighbor man had some snarky comment for our LandLady, and it's not what you would think. Every stranger to enter out backyard made some statement as to the condition of our grass. Yes, I know it's long. Ha Ha, your kid would get lost back here. I GET it. If you'd be so kind as to cut the very large tree limb up and remove it from our yard, I will mow it. And no, I don't need to borrow your chainsaw.

So, this weekend I mowed the lawn. At least I tried. What started out as a pleasent enough afternoon of a movie, a light lunch and plenty of water in prepration, turned into some cheezy B-movie horror flick.

To begin with, waist-high weeds and a mulching push mower are not exactly a match made in heaven. Blisters ensued. Also, the mower clogged. At which point I turned it off, and (really, this part is genius) ran my fingers along the blade. Yes. Ran. My. Fingers. Along. The. Blade. This was followed by me starring at the blood dripping from the tip of my finger. I went into the house to clean and bandage my wound, was hit by the frigid air of the blessed AC, and proceeded to the bathroom. So, I'm running my hands under the water and this bitch just won't quit bleeding. All the blood in combination with the temperature change, and I nearly passed out. Bathroom tile cool and good, being verticle bad.

Finally, I recover enough to decently clean my finger, and I'm reaching for the anticeptic-that slips out of my hand, bounces off the counter, launches my glasses into air to smack on to the tile and snap in two. They snapped in two!

Now, I'm mad. The lawn will not win! I go back outside to finish the job. And I'm out of gas. Damn you, unseasonably wet summer causing lush green fast growing lawn!