inveil: round three, mofo.

Lather. Rinse. Repent.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

The Lazy Days of Summer

I had a whole day off today. No jobs. Downside: It's 5:00 pm and I've already had a pap, a tetanus shot and a biopsy ordered by my doctor. Also, my ENTIRE FUCKING APARTMENT is flooded. Well. Not the whole thing. Just both bedrooms and all of my closets. Some sort of pipe connected to the sprinkler they like to let run for 36-hour intervals outside my bedroom window broke somewhere. Or something. I don't know. Maintenance did, however, fix my dishwasher after FIVE MONTHS of continual maintenance requests. Much to their troll-like, oily surprise, this did not make the four thousand gallons of water in my house magically evaporate. But. I really thought it was going to work, too. When I left they were peering suspiciously inside my toilet grunting at each other and making wide, flamboyant arm gestures.

We went to the office on our way out to point out that:

a.) Our apartment is flooded because maintenance is incompetent.
b.) Our furnace leaked carbon monoxide for the first three months of Winter because the maintenance team is incompetent.
c.) White trash kids shot our window.
d.) "High-functioning" group-home individuals have been caught sniffing our unmentionables in the laundry room.

They pointed out that everything will be okay. Maintenance has fans. OF COURSE! Thank god. I apologized on the spot for my lack of faith in my apartment community. I mean. WHY didn't they tell me in the BEGINNING that they had FANS? I cried and offered to pay an extra hundred a month. I mean. I hear these fans can be very expensive - I don't want my apartment community to lose money because of my selfish request for a dry, mold-free apartment with a working dishwasher, safe carbon monoxide levels and minimal panty sniffing. She smiled benevolently and told me that THEY are the management team and it is THEIR job to provide the fans.

Fuck.
Thank god for fans.

P.S. Do you think that I would go to jail for punching an old lady with Costco glasses in the face? I'm leaning towards 'Yes, but do it anyway because that bitch is totally asking for it.' Maybe I should take an internet poll.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

I'm too tired for this shit.

So my brain melted. I worked over 60 hours last week because we fired someone and can't get anyone in to replace her. I need some fucking time off. I got out of my second shift in the lab tonight and left the office a full hour early. I had such high hopes for today, too. I have papers to write, an apartment to clean, a Banana to cuddle mercilessly, twenty-odd pounds to elliptical-away at the gym and [ironically, subsequently?] a weeks worth of cookies to bake.

More like. An hour of Zelda, fifteen minutes of standing on a rickety chair in my kitchen, peering into the dark cabinets above my oven and realizing that I am forced to go *without* cookies seeing as how I can create NOTHING EDIBLE with rice crispies, coconut milk and molasses. Follow with another forty minutes staring at the lake outside my patio, desperately trying to figure out - somehow - how long it would take pasta to cook if I simmered it in the actual sauce.

I really want to cook the pasta in the sauce.

...like I'll actually even make sauce...

Sunday, June 05, 2005

Giant red crosses.

The Wedding in Kokomo: I spent the first thirty minutes glaring suspiciously at my copper-painted nails. The color looked so nice in the bottle. Tony assured me over and over that it was fine, but I still think it makes me look like a cut-rate Vegas showgirl.

The invitation said "dress casually". While our friends were being married, I was trapped behind an old lady with big, frizzy hair pulled back into pigtails by those thick, fuzzy hair ties that four-year-olds use. There were two little kids on either side of her. One was swinging a pigtail back and forth and the other was rubbing her arm. Poking through the back of her shirt, I could see the purple straps of a bikini tied into a bow. Next to me, this man in plaid pants with a matching plaid vest and a short-sleeved monogramed white collared shirt kept grinning at me. Even his camera was from the seventies.

The reception was dry. Tony and I sat in the corner under a giant, wooden cross. We found some cards and taught some girls I work with how to play asshole. I was having a little too much fun yelling "ASSHOLE" in the church. Another man I work with, a part-time minister came and sat with us so I, being sensitive to other's needs and emotions, changed the name to "anus". While we were trying to teach one of the girls how to say "sphincter" [she just couldn't say it. for some reason], I looked over and noticed that the whole time we had been playing, there has been a video camera not three feet away. The lens was pointed towards our newly-married friends. The microphone, however, was pointed towards us.

The best wedding present I've ever given.

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