31 October, 2007
An Open Letter to the @$$HOLE Downstairs:
I wasn't kidding. Next time, I will call the sheriff's office. And in case you didn't hear the words I was screaming when my husband clapped his hand over my mouth, I called you a son of a bitch. Do you know why? That's what I call people who wake me up at 1:30 in the morning with their floor-shaking thump-thump music.
Yes, I jumped up and down in the middle of my dining room. And when that didn't stop your music, I jumped up and down even harder and longer in the middle of my living room. And then the music stopped. But I still can't believe you had the audacity to knock on MY door and tell ME that I was inconsiderate for stomping on your ceiling (I'll just assume that's what you meant when you said "you don't gotta be stompin on my ceilin.").
I'm not going to stomp any more. The fury-filled-adrenaline-rush-jumping-and-stomping-spree left me with sore feet, and I have random muscle cramps in both legs. But I have used this sleepless time constructively. I found the non-emergency phone number for the local Sheriff's Office and posted it for easy reference under my computer monitor. Your floor-shaking loud music hardly seems like a reason to call 911, but it is against the law, and I'm sick of playing nice.
We have called the apartment managers on five separate occasions to complain about your loud music. You haven't listened to them. Maybe you'll listen to the cops.
Why is it so hard for people to understand that apartment buildings aren't sound-proof booths? I am so sorry I ever thought unkind thoughts about Mia and her boyfriend having loud sex on weekend mornings. I would give anything to have the door-slamming aerobics instructor back. And I am incredibly disappointed that we didn't upgrade to a two bedroom (in another building) when we renewed our lease for another year.
Here it is, now after 3:30 in the morning. I have to be up at 8:00 to go into work and train for six hours. Yeah, definitely not going to make it through the next 18 hours without crying. I'm so damn exhausted and I still can't sleep. And it's definitely too late to take anything. Oh well, at least the Tylenol seems to have helped a little with the leg cramps. Maybe I'll get two or three hours of sleep before the alarm goes off.
27 October, 2007
You know, I just had me a thought. I've been doing these here Weekend Assignments for, what? Three and a half years now? Every Thursday, posting something to amuse you and give you something do post about over the weekend. And what do I get in return? Well, yes, I get paid. In cash, even. But where is the love? Where is my amusement? Where is my fun? Damn it, when do I get mine? Huh? How about now?
Weekend Assignment #189: Amuse me, damn it!Yeah, that's right. You amuse me for a change.
Tell me a joke. Tell me a story. Show me a funny picture. point to a good online video game. Suggest a good book or movie. Link me to a diverting YouTube or AOL Video, like those soda/Mentos fountain things (but not that, I've already seen those). Anything, people, just as long as it's amusing. You know, something you think I would like. Like what, you say? Well, you know. Surprise me.
Well John, as I was just sharing with my other three readers (hi Mom!), I'm getting ready for NaBloPoMo '07 (which you totally need to share with the rest of your "By The Way..." crowd), and did some Internet trolling for blog fodder. I found this article on cnn.com (originally in Mental Floss, but I can't find it on their site) all about the best drinking stories in history. Here's my favorite:
In 1609, the Dutch sent English explorer Henry Hudson westward for a third attempt at finding the fabled Northeast Passage. A near mutiny forced him southward, and upon reaching land, he encountered members of the Delaware Indian tribe.Still not amused? Fine... then I leave you with a video from this summer's Encore Choir performance. This is my beautiful and talented friend Scherezada's solo - the Maria part in the song Tonight from West Side Story. The video was taken by her mom, so you can't see the whole choir and orchestra backing them up... but we were there. Check out her rocking that high C!
To foster good relations, Hudson shared his brandy with the tribal chief, who soon passed out. But upon waking up the next day, he asked Hudson to pour some more for the rest of his tribe. From then on, the Indians referred to the island as Manahachtanienk -- literally, "The High Island."
And not "high" as in "tall;" high as in "the place where we got blotto." Most people would agree that Manhattan has stayed true to the spirit of its name ever since.
If today were in November, I'd probably do a blog entry about my terrible broken nail, accompanied by fuzzy dark pictures taken before and after I trimmed it down closer to the actual break. Ouch! Stupid box of kitty litter!
Last Monday night, Cat came over to drink crappy wine. Oh - did I say crappy? I meant Crapple (which for some reason isn't listed on the website for the "winery" that makes it). We watched Saved! (oh how I love that movie) and caught up on old gossip topics.
While Cat was here, I visited the bathroom and was about to leave when I discovered the world's largest roach (actual length: somewhere between 1 inch and 3 feet) chilling out on the wall right next to the door frame, waiting to fly at me as I exited. I was trapped! So I did what any clear-thinking person would do: I grabbed my can of spray deodorant, stood up on the edge of the bathtub, and grabbed the mop that lives in the bathroom. Well, after I sprayed the terrorist, he started to run towards the corner. That's when I started in with the mop. I jousted with the terrorist until he fell off the wall and into a canvas bag. Then I banged on the bag a few more times, despite losing visual contact with the target. I knew that I had hit it with the deodorant, and at least made contact with the mop, so even if it wasn't dead I was pretty sure it was fatally wounded.
The roach never reappeared that night. Scott looked for it when he got home from work (a 16 hour shift, mind you) and didn't find it. For the last few days, the giant industrial size can of RAID has lived on my nightstand, just in case I got attacked in the night.
Fast-forward to last night. I got home from work and headed straight to the bathroom (as is my custom - I loathe employee bathrooms). After peeing and changing into my pajamas, I was standing in front of the sink brushing my hair when I spotted something behind me. Now, since I've been seeing phantom roaches in every shadow ever since Monday, I didn't immediately panic. I turned around and there he was - my nemesis - at the top of the wall in the corner of the shower - the opposite corner from where I had last seen him. And then I panicked.
The plan came to me almost immediately. I closed the shower curtain, ran to the bedroom to get the RAID ("why oh why did I ever take it out of the bathroom???") and ran back to the bathroom. I sprayed the RAID up into the corner for a good 15-30 seconds until the roach started twitching and fell from the wall. He landed on the top shelf of the corner unit in our bathtub and I could hear buzzing and twitching as he bounced around between Scott's bottles of face wash. And then I closed the bathroom door and waited for Scott to get home.
And this time, the damn roach stayed where I left him. He had wedged himself between the shelf and the wall, and was still twitching when Scott flushed him down the toilet (apparently it flipped off Scott and yelled something along the lines of "I'll be back..." as it was swirling towards the sewage treatment plant). Then I felt bad because Scott had to wash the RAID off of all of his various containers. But at least I warned him that he would need to do it.
I still did a full bathroom inspection this morning before I got in the shower. It seemed the sensible thing to do. And I probably will continue to do so for the next few days. Because that's how you stop terrorists: vigilance and 1/2 can of RAID.
26 October, 2007
I suppose it's possible that it was just a glancing blow, and that the bird was stunned for a second and flew away once it was out of my sight. It's more likely that it died. Either right there in the middle of the road (dear God, please don't make me drive over my own victim) or it managed to get out of the road and die some place more peaceful.
Right after I hit the bird, I called Scott. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. No, it's not funny. The bird would have been alive if not for my car occupying that space in the Universe at that time. But seeing it drop out of the sky in the mirror - it was straight out of a bad comedy. But make no mistake, I was upset. Imagine my surprise when my darling husband's first response was, "aww... the poor little bird."
Oh well, I might take the other way to work for a few days, just until my conscience is a little clearer.
24 October, 2007
Yesterday Scott and I went to a chain restaurant for lunch (not mentioning any names, but think birthstone + day of the week). We were seated at a table in the bar area (the only people seated in that section) and I think our waitress was the bartender. She was a little slow, but not worth complaining about.
We both ordered the salad bar, ordered an appetizer, and ordered burgers. Our appetizer was delivered by the food runner, who mumbled something along the lines of "here's your food" before running back to the kitchen. Scott still had a few bites of salad left, and finished that before starting on the appetizer. So imagine our surprise when, less than two minutes later, our burgers came out. Delivered by the same runner who had just left our table. AND she cleared my empty salad plate and Scott's completely untouched appetizer plate, leaving him to eat his appetizer off of his salad plate.
I brought this to the attention of the bar-tress, who asked if we still wanted the appetizer (umm... YEAH!) and apologized and said she'd tell the manager. A few minutes later, a girl dressed in jeans, a restaurant-logo t-shirt, and a restaurant-logo zip-up sweatshirt came out to apologize. I saw this girl a little while earlier, and assumed she was a busser by the way she was dressed.
So anyway, they didn't care. I thought that at the very least they would have knocked a few bucks off of our bill. This chain is one of my favorites (mmm... love those mini burgers), and this particular experience isn't going to stop us from going back. But I'm not so sure I'll go back to that location any time soon.
Life is too short to settle for bad service. Right?
17 October, 2007
We also took the little boats over to Tom Sawyer Island (the line for the boat was the longest line we encountered all day). Yes, we went over to the "glorified playground." And we had a lot of fun. There's a barrel bridge, and we had fun making it bounce and shake as much as possible while going across. We explored the dark caves, and went to the fort and shot pretend guns at the paddle boat.
I was pretty impressed that, even in places we've been hundreds of times, we can still find new adventures.
That's an important lesson in the real world, too.
Sadly, I need a little help coming up with a clever Sesame Street song to go with the photo. I was thinking of "who are the faces on your underwear?" to the tune of "who are the people in your neighborhood?" but that's lame.
By the way, Wal Mart also had Care Bears undies in grown up sizes, but I couldn't name the bears, so I thought I'd stick with what I know. I only wish that the Elmo ones were Big Bird instead.
12 October, 2007
If you guessed because the LEAD STORY on the main page is about ticket scalpers dashing the hopes of 10-year-old girls who want to see Hannah Montana (a fictional Disney Channel character) in concert, YOU WIN! What's the matter? Has actual news stopped happening?
So... guess what I saw on the AOL News page this morning. Nope, nothing to do with Britney, Nicole, Paris, or Lindsey. Apparently Al Gore now has a Nobel Peace Prize to go with his Oscar* and his Emmy.
It's great that he is having the best 8 years of his life. It's great that he cares about the world around him. You know what would be even greater? If he were sitting in the White House doing all of that caring. Damn you Katherine Harris!!!
*yes, I know the Oscar wasn't really his. But that's not the point.
10 October, 2007
Taking pictures on Cinderella's Golden Carousel is a dorky ParkHopper family tradition. Scott is generally pretty good sport about it.
No, your eyes don't deceive you. This isn't a Disney ride. This is from Hershey Park. I don't know the name of this ride, but it's some sort of torture contraption. It's a combination of Ferris wheel and teacup ride. And my Aunt Becky (and Scott) decided to spin us really really fast. There's something very wrong about spinning AND going up and down at the same time.
07 October, 2007
Yeah, I've been gone for a week. And I don't know when I'll really be back. Right now, I'm working under the rule of "if you can't say something nice..." and I don't have anything else to say. Don't worry, Milo is working on the problem. We'll be sorted out soon.