Saturday, April 30, 2011

Pretty flowers! Look at them!

I really must be Award Season on Blogger because I've just received an award from Rebecca over at Randomness That Is Life. And it's one I've never been given before and it's got sunflowers. For those of you who don't know, my favorite flowers are as follows:

1. Belladonna and Daffodils
2. Sunflowers
3. Yellow Lilies

I love yellow flowers (and Belladonna is a beautiful purple color that I adore. Don't judge. I don't love it because it's highly toxic) and anything with a sunflower on it is A-OK with me.

I'm not really sure what the criteria is for this award. It's not a "you've done this!" award, or "your blog looks like this!" award. (Speaking of blog looks, isn't it about time I do another blog makeover?)  But it still has rules, so I guess that makes it an award.

  1. Thank the person who gave you the award and link back to their blog.
  2. Post seven random facts about yourself.
  3. Pass the award along to 15 other bloggers.

I already did the first one.

Seven Random Facts...

1. My favorite flower is tied between Belladonna and Daffodils, but Padawan can never get me a bouquet of those flowers because no florist in his/her right mind carries Belladonna. So when I want a big, beautiful bouquet I get all of my favorite yellow flowers and then purple irises, too, because the purple pops with the yellow and it's also the closest I can get to the Belladonna color.

2. I will have my first Yoga class on Monday. I know, right? I'm actually doing it. I'm not going alone. My new gal pal Jazz is going with me because who wants to do yoga alone? Plus we get the entire month of May free and if we don't like it we can just quit. 

3. I was out of clean jeans the other day (I was protesting the entire system of laundry because I was very angry with my washer) and consequently had nothing to wear but miniskirts or shorts. Given that the only kind of underwear I had left at the time were...not the kind you should EVER wear under a miniskirt, my only option was the shorts. I've only ever worn shorts to work once before in December (it was eighty degrees outside! I wasn't crazy!) so it's pretty unusual for me. I felt uncomfortable the whole time. Technically they are the same length as my miniskirts, but I feel so exposed wearing shorts.

4. My cousin Peace Maker is coming up to visit this week, coming all the way from Jacksonville, Florida. It's been just over two years since we last saw each other. (A couple of years ago Relly, Padawan, and I drove up to Virginia to visit Daddy and his wife and Peace Maker flew up from Jax to visit all of us at the same time.) Last time we weren't all legal to go anywhere fun together (Peace Maker and I were both 20 and Relly was 21 and Padawan was 22) so she wants to make up for it this time. She's done her research on Austin and has decided she wants to hit Sixth Street for Cinco de Mayo. God help the poor bastards out on the town that night...

5. I seriously think I was born in the wrong century.

6. I actually used to hate my eyes. I spent every day from the age of twelve, when a boy in my class said it was creepy how my eyes changed color, until the age of nineteen despising them and wishing for normal, straight up green eyes. It actually wasn't until I was eighteen and finally got to make the decision myself to spend my money to get colored contacts that I learned to appreciate my eyes for the oddity that they are. I wore phony green contacts for just over a year and by the time my prescription was out I hated colored contacts more than anything on the planet. Do you know how awful it feels to have someone tell you how beautiful your eyes are when you're wearing colored contacts? It's not a real compliment. It sucks. And after a year of that, I threw out the last pair and started wearing normal, run of the mill, clear contacts.

7. I hate hamburgers. Actually, I hate ground beef. That stuff is freaking nasty, and the only thing I hate more than ground beef is a hot dog. This makes cookouts rather difficult for me because I don't generally like the food. And before you jump on me about being unAmerican or a Nazi: I prefer steak. And do you know what's IN a hot dog? 

8. (BONUS FACT!) I'm still sad George went away, even if it IS temporary.

There. Seven facts about myself plus one.

Fifteen other bloggers? 

You know what, I'm going to list all of the bloggers I follow regularly and then I'm going to cross out the ones who don't like awards in general and what is left gets the award. Also if your blog is for some reason deleted you get crossed out.

Frisky Virgin

BUT, if your name is crossed out and you decide you WANT the award you can take it. But I'm not attaching links because I'm really just to lazy to make links for all sixteen blogs I regularly follow.

And that is all for now. Stay tuned on Monday for another "Things I Learned in my First Apartment" post, probably with video if I can get them to work.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Alas, George, where have you gone?

There I was, minding my own business, clicking on a nineteen minute old post from It's Time I Said Something About This...

And I got the "This blog has been removed" message.

George, why did you leave us? Don't you love us anymore? You said you were going to post occasionally...and then you promised us poetry...

But then you just left us.

And now I am sad. (I'm sure we're all sad, actually, but I can't speak for everyone. Just me.)

I was totally going to shoot you an e-mail challenging you to a duel because my feelings are all hurt. You're one of my favorite bloggers. But then I couldn't even send you an e-mail from your profile! Now, if I was really clever I could probably just work around that, but I'm not. So I'm just writing this.

George, you've hurt my feelings. Who else will be able to name Kevin Spacey movies with me? Who else will be able to offer me somewhat reasonable explanations for Kane's actions? Who else am I going to secretly call "Georgie" in my head when I'm commenting or responding to a comment?

Who can take your place, George? 

Nobody. That's who.

Now what do you have to say for yourself?

*insert sad face here*

In fact, where do I sign an official Letter of Protest?

Wednesday, April 27, 2011


Every month on the first of the month I give my dog a bath and when she's dry I give her her heart worm, flea, and tick topical regimen. I've been using the Revolution brand for almost three years now, and I've never had a problem with it.

A couple of weeks ago I took Choo Choo to visit my Uncle at his house in the middle of nowhere, and like she does at Memaw's, she ran out into the open yard and played outside. When I brought her home I noticed she started scratching, but dogs sometimes have itches, so it didn't concern me.

But she kept itching. It seemed like every time I looked at her she was scratching herself. She was scratching so hard that she started ripping out tufts of fur on her head. And then a week ago I was petting her and I saw something black on the top of her head. I picked her up and pulled it off (after a battle of wills) and realized it was a flea.

A flea on my dog.


The Vet told me to NEVER give my dog more than one treatment of the Revolution in a thirty day period, so I went out to the store and bought some flea and tick and mosquito killer. It said it killed fleas and eggs, so I figured if there had been any nests made, it would take care of them.

Then today I was walking Choo Choo and I looked down and saw a black spot on her head. I pulled it off. It was a mother fucking flea! On my dog! My dog who spends NINETY EIGHT percent of her time indoors, who rides around with me in my purse, who doesn't so much as roll in the grass when she goes for walks! 

I am pissed now. What am I paying all of this money for if the products don't even work?

I'm about to give her a second of that flea killing treatment because I just gave her a bath. And I'm also going to take a fine toothed comb and run it through that fur of hers until I find every last one of those nasty fuckers! And I'm also setting bug bombs next Friday and I'm taking her to work with me because I don't want those fuckers in my apartment!
And speaking of pests...

Last night, at about twelve thirty, I was taking Choo Choo out for a walk and we were going down the stairs when she stopped suddenly, put her ears down and her tails between her legs, and started whining. She refused to go any further down the stairs. So I picked her up and was about to take her down myself when I happened to look down at the bottom of the stairs.

I screamed.

Big freaking snake. Of course, he slithered to the building and started going under it when I screamed, so I didn't get the whole picture. 

But THAT snake, dears, is poisonous and is commonly called a Copperhead. 

You don't normally see them in the city like this, especially in highly people populated areas, but on either end of my building you will find large open fields of grassy meadow that haven't been developed yet filled with field mice and bunnies and other furry creatures, so snakes probably live there, too. He probably just accidentally wandered over. 

But there are children that live in this building, and children are stupid and will try to play with snakes because they mostly think snakes are cool and harmless. This is NOT a green garden snake or some harmless little brown snake. This is a Copperhead, and he can kill you.

So I had to report it to my office (pictures and all) and they're calling the pest control people. Apparently there's something they can do to prevent snakes from coming. The office apologized. They didn't need to say sorry. This is Texas and there are snakes here. It happens.

I don't have problems with snakes. I find them kind of fascinating in this totally creepy kind of way. They move without bones. Awesome!

I just don't like poisonous snakes that may or may not try to eat my dog.

I'm actually lucky I had my camera on me. This was too awesome to not take pictures. 

I woke up Padawan on my way inside because I had to upload the pictures and confirm it was a copperhead. Which is is. Yay for me! I saved lives!
Of course, I will no longer be walking through the meadow on the right on my way to work anymore. I'll just stick to the streets and sidewalks because I have no desire to be snake bitten. 

Monday, April 25, 2011

Things I Learned in My First Apartment: Part 1

I graduated from high school and went off to college at the ripe old age of seventeen. When collage didn't work out, mostly due to monetary reasons, I packed my things and returned to my blue sky and white clouds bedroom in with my grandparents in Lago while I tried to figure out what I was going to do.

I spent four months moping around in misery while my older sister squandered her opportunities for school and my younger sisters enjoyed the freedoms of youth that no longer applied to me. And then I got sick and tired of being yelled at for things like eating chips in the living room or playing on my computer in my room all night or going out until four in the morning with my friends...So I went and applied for a job at Wal-Mart and within two hours got a call back for an interview in Electronics.

A few months later, employed and sick of still being nagged, I decided to move out of the house and into an apartment in REAL Austin with my best friend of eight years, J-Lynn. I happily thrust myself into the world of rent and bills and adult responsibilities, and I did well. I borrowed twenty dollars from my grandparents ONCE to feed me after my deposit and first month's rent, and I paid it back and never asked for money again.

There were lots of things that J-Lynn and I learned in our first apartment, and I thought I could share some of those with you guys.


No matter what My Big Fat Greek Wedding says, you should NOT put Windex on a scrape. It's a movie, and movies lie.

Pine Sol is even worse. It will take your already ugly boo boo and turn it into a swollen, neon green monstrosity that smells bad and hurts worse. 

Sucking wasps into a vacuum cleaner is brilliant and effective. However, the nests do not suck in as easily. Torching those with hairspray and a lighter is the far better solution after you suck up the adults.

Lighting phone books on fire takes a little effort, but is worth it. The colors are pretty.

Leaving a white shirt in a sink full of bleach overnight is a really fucking stupid idea if you actually like the shirt you're trying to get the stain out of. It will fall to pieces when you try to pull it out.

Tying a cat toy to a string and then attaching it to a ceiling fan will always seem like a good idea in practice it is very funny, but wrong and unfair to the cats.

It is especially wrong if your roommate has a male cat that hasn't got two brain cells to rub together. He will  actually jump up and attach himself to the cat the toy before being swung around a couple of times by the fan. This is amusing on YouTube, but in your own living room you will feel bad.

Giving a cat a shower and trying to keep him in there long enough to get clean by holding the plastic shower curtain closed on both ends will fail. Every. Single. Time. It's just a bad idea.

It is even worse if you and your (unfortunate) roommate (that would be ME in this scenario) are barefoot and wearing pajama shorts.

Making your apartment an "official no pants zone after one a.m." is only good on nights it is just the two of you. Guy friends will always try to comply.

Letting your friend boil his pipe in your kitchen is not a good idea. The entire apartment will reek of weed for hours, no matter how much air freshener you spray.

Scooping the lumps of feces out of the kitty litter and flushing it down the toilet is bad. It will clog the toilet. Doing this repeatedly and then asking your roommate, "Nae, why does the toilet keep clogging up?" is stupid and annoying. Just leave it at "it's a bad idea" and move on.

So was trying to give the cat a bath in the toilet. Oops. Promised her I wouldn't talk about that one.

Shaving the tip of your cat's tail  is a bad idea. Even if you accidentally dropped the electric groomer and it cut off fur at the tip in a way that looked silly, evening it out will NEVER be a good idea. It will not look better with the whole tip shaved. The tip will closely resemble the tip of a penis and you will not be able to hold her without laughing until it grows back. She will not forgive you, even though you were actually doing her a favor. 

There are several things I learned and this will make for several posts.

But I also have some videos from that time in the apartment. Short, tiny little clips of myself being very amusing. And I will share them with you next long as you all solemnly swear not to judge my eighteen year old self, and also to not take these videos and post them other places on the internet. These videos are NOT on YouTube, and they will NEVER go there. Agreed?

Also, Candice of Thoughts By Candice has seen fit to offer me the Overlord Award again.

So have three more things that I will change.

1. Kolaches will expand to be served in every single city in every single state in the United States. It's a secret that should not be a best kept secret. It should be shared and loved and adored by all! They are delicious, lovely little bits of heaven that bring joy to millions of people!

2. I firmly believe that idiots should not reproduce. If you want to have children, you must be tested. You will not be able to have children if you fail to meet my standards. I do not mean people who just aren't as intelligent as other people. There's a specific type of idiot I am referring to: you may not reproduce if you are ignorant and offensive, xenophobic, racist, prejudice, sexist, homophobic, or generally unable or unwilling to accept people who are different from you. Anyone fitting this description will be reeducated, and if they refuse to learn to be accepting of others they will be "fixed" (yes, like a dog) and then Candice can send them to an Island far, far away where they will all die out eventually. Teaching your children that it takes all sorts to make the world go round is a much better way to look at the world than teaching them to hate people they don't even know. Ignorance breeds ignorance.

3. "Organic" will no longer be ridiculously expensive. I refuse to pay more for something that has been processed less and is supposed to be better for me. Things that are not organic will be more expensive, and fresh things will be cheaper. And no more of this washing lettuce in chlorine. That's just freaking nasty.

4. By the way, health care if free. If you're sick, go to the doctor. 

Saturday, April 23, 2011

What a waste of my thirty minutes

Last night, an hour before leaving work, I happened to overhear B-Money telling Raver, "Don't forget you have to be here at nine tomorrow morning!" as she was leaving the store. Nine? That seemed odd. The store doesn't even open until nine thirty. Why did she have to come in early? 

Now, he wasn't talking to me, and I knew I really shouldn't ask, but I was curious (mostly to know if she was being called in to have a meeting with the manager about her frequent tardiness, call ins, and customer complaints) so I asked her, "Why do you have to come in at nine?"

"We all have to come in at nine," she said. "For the store meeting."


I've been here for three years and I've never been to a store meeting. There's never been a store meeting. I turned to B-Money and I asked, "Um, do I have to come in at nine, too?"

And he said, "Oh yeah, you weren't here Wednesday. I forgot to tell you. Yeah, you have to come early, too."

Fuck. I should have just kept my mouth shut. Then I wouldn't have had to worry about getting up half an hour earlier and nobody could have blamed me for not showing up because it's not my fault I don't work Wednesdays and nobody bothered telling me about the meeting.

You can bet your bottom dollar that I will never make that mistake again. Curiosity killed the cat and all that. 

So I drag myself in here early, and the first twenty minutes of the meeting didn't even apply to me in any way, shape, or form. I do not steal other peoples' sales. I do not take the last of the ice and then leave the empty trays sitting on the counter. I don't leave dirty dishes full of nasty stuff sitting in the kitchen or on the counter tops. I'm not fifteen minutes late or later every day. (In fact, Jay Jay and I are consistently ten minutes early while everybody else is generally fifteen minutes late or later.) I don't eat or drink things in the kitchen that do no belong to me.  I do not leave food in the refrigerator for weeks at a time and I don't leave food sitting out to rot. 

Basically, I'm a clean person and a model employee.

However, at the very end, my manager said, "Chanel, if you could page calls directly to the department instead of all over the store, that would help cut the noise factor down." To which I replied, "That only works for Band Repair. Everybody else can't hear one phone."

And then Dizzy, who I'm still a little miffed with after his tantrum yesterday, said, "Yeah, don't page me nine times when I'm with a customer."

And I snapped, "I page twice, and if nobody picks up I take a message. The ONLY time I keep paging is when the customer refuses to hang up, or when I know you're just talking on your cell phone. If you want to take a break, fine. Go to the kitchen. But if you're on the floor, then you have to take your calls."

And then Manager said, "Yes, guys. Don't blow her off. If you want a break, you get two fifteen minute breaks every four hours. But don't ignore her pages because you don't want to take the calls."

Manger then continued with, "And Chanel, if you could just turn around and tell them when they're standing right behind you, that would help, too."

I smiled and said, "No, I can't do it that way."

"Why not?"

"Because when I tell them without announcing it over the entire store, they pretend they can't hear me and just keep doing whatever the hell they want."

He frowned. "You guys can't just blow her off like that."

"It's also really hard to get you guys to take your messages. If I try to give you one, you can't just tell me no, I don't want it. I don't want to answer the calls in the first place, but I've got to. I if I just decided to not do my job, where would that leave you guys? So just grow up and take your damn messages. If you're with a customer, come tell me like Raspy and Reverend."

Then we all moved on to Coffin, who calls thirty minutes after he's supposed to be at work and then shows up thirty minutes after he calls. Then when he gets here he clocks in before going to the back where he sits down in front of the TV and eats his lunch for an hour before actually getting his ass in gear. 

All in all, the meeting had very little to offer me except for some pretty good juice, a donut, and a kolache. I didn't learn anything new, nothing could improve anything I already do, and I sat down at my desk at nine thirty thinking I would never be curious again.

Now, I need some coffee or tea or something because I'm freaking tired.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Prepare yourselves for TOTAL DOMINATION at the hands of your new, all-powerful Overlord(ess)!

Things To Remember If I Ever Become an Evil Overlord(ess) 

I think THAT particular site is well worth a read, and yes, I've had that site bookmarked for AGES because I just knew one day I would find a way to work it into a post. And look at that. A perfect reason. Obviously there are some flaws in this person's planning as some of those things clearly apply to MALE Overlords, but you can see how I would admire (for the most part) the mind of the writer. And yes, I agree with a vast majority of it. Evil takes careful planning.

In case you're wondering why I've decided to share this link, it is because Bryan gave me an award from this blog, not this one. It's completely relevant to this post because the award in question was...


Can I get a muah-ha-haa?

Yes. Yes, I can.

Muah ha ha ha ha haa!

Enough of that. Can't be a successful evil Overlord(ess) if I get distracted by the sound of my own evil laugh. But you have to admit, it's a pretty awesome evil laugh, isn't it? You should hear it in real life. It's pretty spectacular. Of course, in real life I very rarely get to use it. Mostly it just happens when I'm playing Uno with my family and they think they've finally beaten me, but I'm a completely masterful player and I always win. And when I realize that I've got them all beat, I do the evil laugh. It just happens. And then they all fold before I even play my final cards, and when I finish them off with my brilliant strategy (that they never learn from) I feel like I've just conquered the world.

Anyway, the award has rules.

1. List three things you would change if you were Overlord(ess)

2. List ten blogs worthy of world domination.

3. Contact them about their bastard, I mean award.

Why do I only get to change three things, though? That hardly seems fair. If I was Overlord(ess) I would certainly have the power to change whatever the hell I wanted, and I certainly wouldn't leave it at just three things.

  1. We're getting rid of this whole "abstinence is the only way" bullshit in school. I personally always thought that was a bullshit thing anyway. Abstinence is not the only answer, and when you don't supply alternative information to them, teenagers, who are going to have sex anyway, just sneak around and have unprotected sex and then wind up pregnant and/or diseased. It makes a lot more sense to do what my mom did. Take a deep breath and say, "Kids, if you're going to have sex just use a damn condom." Any teachers found saying any variation of, "If you have sex you're going to get pregnant, no matter what you do to prevent pregnancy, and you'll get AIDS. So just don't have sex," will be re-educated. Teenagers aren't stupid. They're going to have sex no matter what lies you tell them. (By the way, when I was eleven my teacher informed the class that you would DEFINITELY get pregnant if you had sex without a condom, and you'd have a 99% chance of getting pregnant with a condom. Obviously that's nowhere near accurate, and I hate misinformation.)

  2. Blowjobs are hereby outlawed. The female equivalent, however, is a mandatory bi-weekly occurrence. Violators of this law will be prosecuted with the harshest punishment available. (This will teach you to mess with me, oh slightly less mighty in comparison to me Overlord who thinks he can do whatever he wants.) And in case you're wondering what that punishment will be...Men who refuse the bi-weekly action will be put in pens underground and used only for breeding stock, but not in the pleasurable way you'd like that to mean. You shall not be love slaves. You will provide specimen weekly, and if you refuse there are shocking ways with which we can retrieve your swimmers. It involves a probe, though. So you should just give your wives/girlfriends what they want. (Obviously, gay men are completely exempt from this change. Don't think it's fair? Tough! I am the Overlord(ess)! My will be done!)

  3. Anybody found guilty of abusing a child or an animal shall be abused in the same way as the victim. And if I feel particularly vindictive, I may do a little more. I've been favoring the idea of Chinese Water Torture, for instance. And I just watched this movie called "Hard Candy" which gave me a few ideas for child molesters. And believe me, there is no END to the amount of evil things I can think of for justice on behalf of those who are too young and too small to defend themselves.

  4. Just because I hate being limited, here's a fourth rule: Wal-Mart is officially closed down.
Now, the next rule says something about ten bloggers worthy of world domination. But I don't feel like ten since I've also got another award to dish out. Some of the other Overlords have just given three. Well, I will give out five.

Let's see...

Obviously to Candice, because we've already decided that if I took over the world she'd be my right hand woman. So I'd like to see how she would handle being Overlord(ess).

Then to Jewels. Frankly, I think she could do a good job dominating the world.

Then to Doug. He's going to be President anyway, so why not just take it a step further?

Jenna. Have you guys heard about Ms. Jenna? She jumps right into the middle of a fight to break it up. She fears nothing and no one. You need to be like that to be an Overlord(ess).

Nicki, because she has a very interesting list of movie characters she'd like to go on a date with, and I'd love to know how she'd handle taking over the world.

Bet you thought that was it, didn't you?

Of course not. Rules are made to be broken when you're the Overlord(ess). I can do whatever I want, and that includes breaking my own rules. 

Darev. I really don't think I need to explain this one.

Charlie because he likes to scare people. He really enjoys terrifying people. He's got the making of and Overlord.

Asha because....muahahahahaha!

I'm done with that now. I'll notify these people later.

But I ALSO received...

From the lovely Jewels. (Yes, that would be High Overlord(ess) Jewels.)

She didn't give me any rules, though. I love that.

I share this award with (in no particular order):

George (even though he's been hiding)

And Doug.

I was going to give this award to Scott and Bryan, too, but I didn't think they'd like it. So you guys can have it if you want it, but you don't HAVE to take it. My feelings won't be hurt or anything. (Or will they? You never know...)

Also, if you didn't get the Lovely Blog Award from me this time it's because I've already given it to you and didn't want to make you go through the whole thing again. But if you want it again, you can have it. You know who you are. And you know your blog is lovely. 

And P.S.  I found a killer sale on boots and bought two pairs. It is a very good day. :)

PPS. I finally got an About Me page! It's at the top! It's a work in progress.

    Wednesday, April 20, 2011

    I spy with my eyes...Avatar?

    At first I was just going to take a picture of my eyes and post it because that would have been the logical thing to do. (By the way, Darev asked about my eyes, which is why I made this post.)

    But then I sat down and thought, "Why take a picture of my eyes and then just post it when I already have plenty of pictures of myself with my eyes showing?"

    And then, "The pictures I have all show the different shades of my eyes. Why not just make a collage of my eyes?"

    And so that's what I did. I went through all of the pictures on my computer and cut out the eyes in the ones where you could clearly see the eyes. Plus I had this one shot of an eye that I took to see how the Falsies Mascara compared to the Glam Eyes Mascara and so I put that one up, too.

    Because one picture would have been so boring.

    And then I thought...why add this as a footnote to my post from Monday when I could just make it it's own post on Wednesday? See, I'm writing this on Monday, but it won't be posted until today. (Which is Wednesday.) That way it will keep you guys entertained with my shenanigans until I have time to write again on Friday. (Because I can't blog anymore on Tuesdays and Thursdays because I'm not playing Receptionist on those days.)

    And, because I got bored...

    Bonus picture!

    I was playing on paint and decided to Avatar myself.

    So what if it doesn't look as good as the places online that charge you to have your picture Avatared? I did this all by myself and it didn't cost me a thing!

    Monday, April 18, 2011

    What is his obsession with my dryer?

    Explain something to me.

    Explain how on earth my pink headphones managed to appear in the dryer, after four other loads of laundry had been done, with the white towels without having gone through the washer because they still work?

    How does this happen??????

    You guessed it. 

    My headphones have been returned. In my dryer.

    They were all twisted from being in the dryer.

    And as much as it didn't make sense when Padawan's headphones appeared in there last time, it makes less sense this time. My headphones are pink. My bedroom floor was cleaned. I separated the whites on the floor. White towels in one pile, socks and underwear in another pile, and everything else in a third pile. I washed the lights first, then the darks, then the whites.

    And somehow, in the first load of whites, the headphones appeared. But they still work, which clearly means they did not go into the washer first. 

    I wish I could tell you how it happened.

    But I haven't got the faintest idea. Not even the smallest fraction of a reasonable explanation except to say that I believe Kane really exists and he is trying to drive me absolutely insane.

    It's especially suspicious that my headphones appeared after I told Kane (while Padawan wasn't home, obviously, because I don't want him to think I'm nuts) that he could stay with me if he wanted and I didn't particularly care what he did to Padawan's things, but I would totally perform a cleansing and kick his ass out if he didn't return my things and leave them alone from now on.

    But that's not even the weird part.

    One of my two missing shirts has made a miraculous reappearance.

    Hanging up in my closet. 

    Inside out.

    With deodorant marks on it. 

    My dirty shirt was hanging up in my closet. I do not hang up clothes after I've worn them. It doesn't matter if I only wore something for an hour. Or just five minutes. Once it's been on my body and pulled off again, it's dirty. I do not hang them back up until they come out of the dryer.

    Padawan hangs things even though they've been worn.

    So I asked him. "Padawan, did you take my shirt out of the dirty clothes hamper and hang it up in my closet because I only wore it long enough to see a movie?"

    "No. You hate it when I hang up my own shirts after I've worn them. Why would I hang up YOUR shirts? Do you think I'm trying to make you kill me?"

    "Well how else could it have gotten up there? It wasn't even hung up properly! It was inside out!"

    "All I can tell you is I didn't do it."

    And I found them within minutes of each other. How ridiculous is that?

    Aside from that bit of insanity, Saturday was Padawan's first day of his new schedule. He is now off on Saturdays and Sundays, and he works nine to six Monday through Friday. This new schedule has some advantages. He no longer has to get up at four in the morning, we can stay out later than ten o'clock on Friday and Saturday nights, and even on weeknights because he doesn't have to worry about not getting enough sleep, and we can finally enjoy having one day off a week together.

    The down side is that he no longer gets off at three in the afternoon so he feels like his days are shorter and he has less time to accomplish daily things, like being there when packages are delivered or when maintenance comes by to change the AC filter. He also won't be able to pick Master Plo Koon up on Mondays and Fridays anymore because he can't get from his office building in Austin all the way to Leander in rush hour traffic in half an hour. (Master Plo Koon has to be picked up by 6:30 Monday through Friday.)

    This means, of course, that Clueless will have to take on the responsibility of picking Master Plo Koon up and dropping him off at our apartment. She could, of course, just watch him for a couple of hours until Mother comes home because she lives with them and it's a much shorter drive from their house to the school. But when she was asked to watch him...

    Well, the short of it is she would rather spend the gas to pick him up and bring him all the way to Northwest Austin in rush hour traffic to leave with us than stay there and watch him for an hour to two hours at most twice a week.  Actually, Mother had to work on Saturday (she does it once a month) and she asked Clueless to watch him and she said, "Oh, no. I can't. I have to go to work at noon."

    She's a waitress, and the restaurant she works at doesn't even open until four in the afternoon. Why would she possibly need to be there four hours before opening? The short version is that she just didn't want to watch him. She also insisted that since Mother was driving by our apartment on her way to work anyway, she might as well just drop Master Plo Koon off on her way to work Saturday morning. 

    Bam. She didn't even have to watch him for a couple of hours, and no one was around to prove that she didn't have to be at work until four. 

    And it's not that I don't like having Master Plo Koon around. It's just...his sister should take some of the responsibility of looking after him, too. She lives with them, rent and bill free, and she literally does nothing for anybody else, but expects to be bailed out of whatever mess she gets herself into while she screams and blames everyone else for her problems. 

    Also, it drives me absolutely nuts that Master Plo Koon plays with my things when I'm not there, leaves Legos under the blankets on my side of the bed, stuffs his socks in between the cushions of the furniture and leaves it there, helps himself to whatever he wants without asking and then acts like I'm a monster for telling him he should ask first because it's not his stuff, and he leaves food laying around on the floor and furniture where Choo Choo generally finds it. These things irritate me, and no matter how many times I tell him not to do theses things, no matter how often I tell him don't play on the exercise bike, he does it anyway. And when I get onto him for the millionth time he says, "I forgot! I have more important things to think about than what I'm not allowed to do."

    It's moments like those that drive home the fact I'm not cut out for parenthood. I want nothing more than to say, "Well, then, you just sit in that chair and stare at the wall until your mother gets here so you don't have to worry about misbehaving."

    And as bad as he is with us sometimes...he completely walks over his mother. She'll come pick him up and tell him, "Put on your socks and shoes. I have cold groceries in the car. We need to leave now," and he'll keep playing his game for five more minutes until I snap at him to listen to his mother. Then he puts his shoes on, sits down, and starts playing the video game again. And she'll say, "Come on, we need to leave," he'll say, "Wait! I'm not done!"

    And that's when I generally get fed up and I say, "Your mother just told you to do something. Turn off the game now or I'll turn it off for you. She has groceries sitting in the car." And most of the time that works. But sometimes it doesn't and I go and shut off the TV just like I threatened. 

    It's not that I don't adore Master Plo Koon. I do. I just think he's entirely too spoiled for his own good, and I think Clueless should have to deal with his behavior a couple of hours a week. Of course, knowing her she'd ignore him and let him do whatever he wanted and he'd probably end up electrocuting himself or something.


    I really can't wait to see how all of this unfolds after Clueless's court date. Last time she got two months, but got out on good behavior after a month. What do you think they'll give her this time? A year? Two years?

    Saturday, April 16, 2011

    Cherry on top goes to....



    I received an award the other day from the wonderful Hannah, and I have heartily accepted the award's cute and I like the way it looks.

    Without further ado...

    And you guessed it. There are always rules.


    They are:

    • link back to the person who gave you the award (check)
    • list three things you like about yourself (yikes)
    • pass the award on to five other bloggers (that's not so hard)
    So...three things I like about myself...

    1. I like that I'm happy every day. Not all day every day, but every single day, even the really rotten ones, at some point I feel happy. I'm happy most of the days now that Jerkface is gone. Just goes to show you that roommates really suck.
    2. I am an insanely fast typist. My coworkers tell me that if I played piano like I type, I could be a world famous concert pianist. It already helps with my flute playing. Maybe one day I really will learn how to play the piano properly. (I can tinker around and play parts of songs that I see other people play. I can play the entire right hand side of Fur Elise. But I really can't play.)
    3. Well, let's see. I've listed a personality trait and a skill. So I guess now I should list something physical...I like my eyes. Nope. I take it back. I love my eyes. They are big and green/blue/grey and pretty and I just like them. A compliment about my eyes is the only compliment I can take easily without feeling awkward or shy or just uncomfortable. 
    And that's three things I like about myself. Yay! So...check to that one.

    Now to pass it on to five different bloggers.

    Alright, I'm going to be honest. I'm lazy. Really, really lazy. And I don't want to take the time to pick out any blogs personally. Also, I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings by not giving a blog award. I always worry about that, you know. I don't like the idea of hurting anyone's feelings.

    So, I'm going to feed everybody's name into a randomizer I found online and then the first five names it comes up with are getting the award. Because all of the blogs I read are awesome and make my day, and I can't choose myself. Also, I'm lazy.


    And it was completely the luck of the draw. How about that? It's the perfect way to choose awards! I mean, it's not like I follow any blogs I don't love. So why agonize about who to choose when a program can do it for you?


    And it's not like I'm breaking any rules. It said "pass it on to five other bloggers". It did not say "choose" or even how to choose. It didn't even say "your absolute favorite blogs." I'd call that a loophole.

    Congratulations, you guys. Give yourselves a pat on the back and share the love.

    Friday, April 15, 2011

    The Return of the Kane

    Kane has returned.

    He moved my pink sapphire necklace that Padawan bought for me for Christmas in '09.

    He was doing something in the corner behind my desk the other morning because Choo Choo was standing there watching the corner, growling at nothing, and barked a couple of times. I can only assume that she was barking at his invisible, obnoxious self.

    Our forks are disappearing. I can't for the life of me fathom any other explanation for the fact that we had twelve dinner forks and four salad forks when we first moved into the apartment, and now we have four forks total. Where did they go? And while we're talking about silverware...we had twelve teaspoons and four tablespoons. Now we have six teaspoons and three tablespoons. How did that happen?

    I've searched the car and the entire apartment to no avail. They are just GONE. How does that happen? 

    I have no idea. But I'm also missing a blue shirt and a black shirt that I wear frequently but can't find anywhere, and the only place they can be is our apartment because it's not like I take my clothes off anywhere else. But I can't find them. 

    Then there was this morning in which Padawan INSISTED his phone was NOT on the nightstand (this was at six o'clock, when he was supposed to be arriving at work, not just waking up) and I needed to call it. Well, I called it and it was on the nightstand. So either he was too lazy to feel around for it, or it just magically appeared. But why didn't the alarms go off? We checked. They were set. They just didn't activate for some reason. 






    I'm on the brink of a nervous breakdown. I can feel it. Things moving to places I can't possibly reach. Phone alarms not going off. Strange noises in the night that make no sense. Wednesday I was in the living room watching a movie and I heard a loud crash from the kitchen. Choo Choo was on my lap. When I examined the kitchen there was nothing out of place. No mess on the floors, the cabinets were all neatly organized. What had been the noise?

    I didn't IMAGINE it.

    Choo Choo jumped, too.


    This is the most important evidence in the entire chain of events. I use my headphones EVERY SINGLE DAY. I NEVER disconnect them from my iPod. And somehow, my iPod is in my bag, but my headphones are missing. The only time this has ever happened before was when Padawan borrowed them because he couldn't find his. But Padawan swears up and down he didn't borrow my headphones this time. He swears this time it wasn't him.

    But where did they go? I used them when I walked to work Tuesday. They were in there on Wednesday night because I wrapped them neatly around my iPod and put them in their designated pocket in my bag. But when I went to put my headphones on yesterday morning to walk to work my iPod was there, but the headphones were not.

    There are two explanations: Padawan borrowed them and lost them and doesn't want to fess up, or Kane hid them from me.

    I checked the dryer. Not there.

    I checked the couch cushions. Not there.

    I checked the round chair. Not a sign of them.

    I checked work.

    Every single purse I've used in the last month.

    My jeans pockets, even though I don't USE the pockets on my jeans because they're USELESS and can't hold anything.





    Whatever you want to call it, they aren't anywhere I can find them. I can't even say that they're on the same planet as I am. For all I know Kane took them to Outer Space and left them floating by the moon, or planted them on Mars for the Rover to find someday. 

    And where are my Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon earrings? And my Apple Record's Beatles earrings? And my John Lennon/George Harrison earrings? WHERE ARE ALL OF MY AWESOME EARRINGS???? How did they disappear from my jewelry box? I haven't worn them. But they are not there.

    I suspect that either Clueless has borrowed my jewelry without asking when she's come around, or Kane is actually a woman and is taking my things because SHE wants to feel pretty.

    This is why I can't have nice things. 

    Tuesday, April 12, 2011

    The really cruel.

    Dear Universe, 

    Great balls of fire! Have you no compassion on my frazzled nerves? Is it not enough that you sent Chris on Friday after the cricket and the shower and the make up and the coffee?

    Did you really have to send Dog Kicking Bitch into the store Monday?

    Think about that for a second. Did you really, really need to send them? 

    Was it abso-fucking-lutely necessary? 

    Did I pulverize a pack of puppies in a past life? Murder a litter of kittens? Did I personally crucify Jesus Christ? Am I responsible for the Holocaust or something? Just tell me, please. How have I offended you? 

    Because whatever it was, no matter how fun it was at the time I was doing it (because being bad can sometimes be very fun), I am very, very sorry, and I will never do it again. I swear on Stone Henge and the Louvre and Florence and the Beatles and my iPod and Choo Choo and my own personal life. What I did that was so offensive to you then, I will not repeat again.

    Just stop torturing me. 

    That's all I want. Just to be safe and comfortable in my own little space of life. I don't ask for overlap. I don't like the idea of my personal life connecting with my professional life. Damn it, it's just not good! Especially when I don't like the people coming!

    Alright, so I'm pretty OK with the children as far as kids go. They like my dog and my dog adores them, so brownie points to them. But the mother? 

    The MOTHER.

    You are a cruel, cruel Universe.

    I hate you very much right now.



    Monday, April 11, 2011


    The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

    I am beating my brains out attempting to keep my dog from barking. And I finally have a method that has a fairly decent amount of success. I read about it online as a method for keeping cats from doing things you don't want them to do, like climbing on the table. Well, my dog is, I'm fairly certain, convinced she's a cat, so why not give it a try? It's not like anything else has worked recently.

    The way it's supposed to work is when the cat (or in this case, Choo Choo) exhibits bad behavior, you squirt the nose with a mixture of three parts water to one part lemon juice. It's not painful, so the article claims, but I only went half way on this one. I bought a blue spray bottle for Padawan to use and a pink one for me, and I filled them with H2O, straight up.

    It only took three days to break Choo Choo of the habit of barking the second she got out the door to announce her presence. She stopped barking at things she thought she saw in the distance. She stopped barking when she heard doors opening in other apartments, cars starting, and horns beeping. She stopped barking at people driving by. One day we walked right behind a young man and she didn't bark once to get his attention. Padawan reported having a much less stressful time walking her.

    Now my only problem is keeping her from going barking mad when she sees a dog while on her walks. When she's on the balcony now, she's quiet. But on walks with another dog, she goes right back to her old behavior and no amount of spraying the nose or the face or scolding or bribing with treats will make her stop. It's like a halfway there kind of thing. Or maybe seventy five percent there.

    And I'm thinking...maybe if I added the lemon juice, the problem would be fixed.

    Or citronella. They sell dog collars online that spray citronella into the dog's face every time he/she barks, so I imagine putting it into a spray bottle would be just as effective, and easier since the smallest dog collars like that would be too bulky for Choo Choo to wear effectively. 

    Either way, shock collars are definitely out. 

    I know this is negative reinforcement and it's what you're not supposed to do, but since positive reinforcement training only worked for a week with each method or less, I had no alternative. (Aside from paying two hundred dollars for a personal trainer, and I didn't want to spend that much for a habit she only recently picked up.)

    I'm still pretty convinced that if we could just take Clueless's dog for a while to get Choo Choo used to being around other dogs, she might relearn the correct social behavior that she used to know but seems to have forgotten. (Or it could go the other way and Sausage could pick up Choo Choo's recently picked up bad habit, but Corgis are notoriously smart dogs, so I think it would be the other way around. (Then again, Chihuahuas are usually smart dogs, according to my vet, and yet Choo Choo does some pretty dumb things.)

    But even with this not quite there success, the amount of success we have had makes Padawan much less cranky about having to take Choo Choo out for walks when he gets home. It's no longer a battle between us where I finally win when I say, "If you don't take her out she'll either have an accident you'll have to clean up, or she'll hold it and wind up with a urinary tract infection. If the first, you deserve it, if the're taking her to the vet and paying for the urine test and the antibiotics."

    Hard to argue with that, isn't it? 

    Still, I don't miss the battle.  

    Speaking of battles, the world is such a nice place when I can come home and there isn't a pile of dishes right in front of my face because the dishes were done last night. Yes, even though I hate doing it, that ten minutes every night of dislike is easily outstripped by the hours of happiness in a perfectly clean apartment.

    There is happiness in the small things.

    Saturday, April 9, 2011

    I couldn't have imagined a worse ending to a bad day if I tried.

    I am a magnet for the most improbable, unlikely, impossibly awkward situations. Yesterday's incident was a clear indicator that I am a cursed woman. 

    A little back story first. (I am using his real name because I don't care about ethics in his case.)

    Ten years ago I was twelve years old. I was in the seventh grade. I was at a new school in a new town (outskirts of Austin in the middle of a snobby town full of snobby, better than thou people) with none of my old friends around to comfort me. 

    And my mother made me go to a dance "to help you make friends." 

    To torture me seemed more probable.

    Mom bought me a new dress and shoes, she curled my hair, and she dropped me off with a cheery, "Have fun! I'll pick you up at ten!" 

    I noticed a few things when I walked in the door, the most important one being that my dress was out of place. It wasn't that I was overdressed. I was wearing a simple spring dress that I could have worn to the mall without looking like I was trying too hard. I merely noticed all the other girls were wearing blue jeans or jean skirts with sandals, and my yellow cotton dress didn't fit in. I stuck out like a sore thumb. The group of friends that had adopted me rushed over and told me how pretty I looked, and oh I wish I had thought to wear a real dress instead of a jean skirt. Blah, blah, blah. 

    I also noticed that none of their mother's had taken the time to do their hair. Most of them were sporting a variation of the half up, half down pony tail or simply wore their hair in messy buns. Two strikes to my mother on that count. 

    I was very thankful that the shoes she'd put me in were the right kind at least: kitten heeled sandals.

    All of my friends got asked to dance within the first hour. I was left standing alone and uncomfortable by the stage, all dressed up for absolutely no reason, wishing I could disappear and be anywhere else in the world other than that dance. 

    When a boy finally did approach me to ask for a dance I was angry. The boy in question was one who I had decided to hate within seconds of meeting him on my first day, and he seemed absolutely hell bent on winning me over anyway. I disliked him for several reason. First, Daddy taught me that if a boy ever said something about how pretty he thought I was before asking my name or trying to make conversation, he wasn't worth my time. That boy had done exactly that. Second, I'd seen him picking on younger kids and this one nerd boy who I happened to find charming. Third, he had a bad attitude in class towards the teachers, and that irritated me. Fourth, he never did his homework. Ever. If someone had told me the world was going to end and everyone was going to die unless I danced with that boy, I would have dug my heels in and said too bad. I hated him that much. It was unfortunate that he decided to come over and ask me to dance because I could only say no, and none too politely at that.

    When that boy walked away with the shame of rejection stinging his ego, another boy approached. A boy I didn't know and hadn't met. He introduced himself, asked my name, and asked if I was new. We talked for a while and then he asked me to dance.

    He was nice. He said his name was Chris, he was twelve and in the eighth grade, and his older brother, Jimmy, was in my class. He didn't strike me as a particularly intelligent individual, but I didn't think anything of it. We spent the whole dance together, and by the end of it we decided to be boyfriend and girlfriend. In middle school that just means you get to hold hands and tell people you have a boyfriend/girlfriend. There really isn't much to it at that age.

    A week of phone conversations later I discovered to my horror that the boy in question was twelve years old, but he wasn't in the eighth grade. He was in the fifth. Held back two years. That is the very opposite of being smarter than the average bear. That boy was stupid.

    I was horrified. 



    He'd lied to me. 

    And what the hell had he been doing at a middle school dance? (His mother was chaperoning apparently so he got to tag along to socialize with children his own age. Thank you for that, mother of the moron.)

    That relationship was so over, and I didn't even call him to tell him. He happened to be friends with my neighbor and I told him to tell Liar Boy that we were through, that he could lose my number and burn my picture because I had nothing more to say to him. He sent me a note through the neighbor the next day, but I didn't bother reading it. I didn't see him again after that. Not at dances, not at town events.  Nowhere. And I liked it that way. I forgot his existence, which is the way I prefer it to be with bad relationships.

    Now, you're probably wondering how in the hell this is relevant to yesterday.

    This story is relevant because that boy, now twenty two years old, came into the store yesterday. It's like life was just drop kicking me in the face.

    Of course, I didn't know who he was when he came in. I looked up and greeted him like any other person. 

    "Hi, how are you?"

    "I'm good." He looked at me. "Hey, don't I know you?"

    I studied his face. Absolutely nothing rang a bell in my head. Not even the vaguest sense of familiarity. "No, I don't think so."

    "Seriously! I know you! I'm Smothers!"

    Smothers? I knew a Smothers in middle school and high school. A Jimmy. And this kid was not Jimmy. "You're not Jimmy."

    "No. I'm his brother! Chris!"

    And then I remembered him. He didn't look anything like he had ten years ago, but I knew the name well enough. It just needed to be jolted out of the burial ground of bad memories in my head. 

    My thought process went something like this:
    1. Seriously? Does life just hate me today?
    2. How did he even recognize me! It's been ten years and I hadn't even hit puberty when I knew him!
    3. Seriously. I've got dark brown hair now! I don't look anything like I did then.
    4. Oh, God. He's going to want to chat. 
    5. Seriously, Loki. What the fuck?
    "So, what have you been up to?"

    Jesus Christ. It's been ten years. Do you really want to catch up on ten years?

    "Oh, not much. Just life. You?"

    "Broke my finger!" And he showed me. And I sat there wishing one of my coworkers would come over and save me because as he rambled about his finger and his life since we broke up (ten years ago! When we were children!) I shot looks of horror and discomfort to my coworkers, who were all just so amused by my apparent misery that they couldn't bring themselves to rescue me.

    Finally, FINALLY Henry came over and I made him sit so I could "go to the back" which was code for go hide in the kitchen until I was sure he was gone because it was just awkward.

    I ask you this: what are the odds that on the day that started out so freaking horribly a person I haven't seen or spoken to in ten years would also come by where I work and recognize me despite the fact that puberty, time, and hair dye have completely altered my appearance? 

    More importantly, where is the justice? Did I kill someone in a past life or something? Do I have a sign tattooed to my forehead that I can't see but lights up like a neon beacon inviting people to talk to me when I have no desire to do so? 

    Friday, April 8, 2011

    Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

    Today is one of those days.

    I know it's one of those days because I've been up for all of an hour and forty five minutes and I'm already kicking myself for getting out of bed this morning despite having the knowledge it was going to be a horrible day. And I knew when I first woke up that it was going to be a bad day. 

    I'll spare you the details as to what clearly indicated going to work today would be a bad idea, but let's just say that it was a sign beyond a shadow of a reasonable doubt. 

    After that first sign, I got in the shower. No hot water for some reason. No idea why. Plus thanks to the first sign I had to give Choo Choo a bath. 

    Things went normally until it was time to check my things before putting on my make up. Do not ask me WHY I always check my things before I put on my make up. That's just the order of my routine. I'm sure there was some logical reason I started doing it that way, but that was years ago. I don't remember the thought process. Only that this is the way it's always been since I can remember. And this morning there was a kink in the wheel of my time. My Debit Card was missing.

    What? Call to Padawan. Text. Text. Text. Where is my card???? Not in my wallet. Not in my purse. Not in my computer case. Where? WHERE???????

    In Rosebud's jacket.

    Don't ask how it got there. I can't tell you because I don't know.

    By the time I found my card I had two choices: put on my make up and be late for work (like every other employee), or go to work and just not wear make up. My phone was in my hand and I seriously considered calling Jay Jay to tell him I was going to be late. But then...I didn't want to be like everybody else. At great personal sacrifice, I grabbed my things and came to work with nothing but morning glow moisturizer on my face. Oh, the horror. 

    My eyebrows? They are blond. 

    Blond eyebrows with really dark brown hair. Do you guys have any idea how ridiculous this looks? It's way more ridiculous that dark eyebrows with blond hair. That's how freaking silly this looks. I haven't had a face this bare since I was sixteen years old. That was when I discovered the wonder of mascara and eyeshadow. None of that, now. 

    I'm rocking my beach look, minus the swim suit.

    The whole way to work I was obsessing about the lack of even the bare amount of mascara. I had completely skipped the face routine. This wasn't good. Would the world end? Would everybody hate me? If I died, would the world think I was a horribly lazy girl who didn't even take the bare minimal of time to make herself a little more presentable in the morning?

    When I stopped to pick up my latte this morning I was pretty worked up. I am already a fairly high strung person. Add unnecessary stress about things I don't normally have to stress over and I'm a time bomb waiting to explode. I left Starbucks with my coffee and was immediately assaulted by a cricket.

    A fucking cricket. On top of everything else that had already gone wrong in my morning, after everything I'd already been through, I was attacked by a god damned cricket sent straight from the bowels of hell to ruin my already fucked up day. 

    I screamed and dropped my latte.

    God damn it to hell. That latte was the only part of my morning that was a guaranteed bit of perfection.

    I nearly cried.

    Instead, I got really pissed off. Really angry. I'd already woken up to a nightmare, taken a cold shower, lost my card, and didn't finish my morning routine in the way I generally finish it. That little fucker had the nerve to cost me my one solace in the face of a miserable fucking day, and for the first time in my life I deliberately stepped on a bug and felt a little satisfaction at the crunching sound that normally disgusts me. I killed that cricket. It was awesome. I felt on top of the world. I struck a blow for my freedom.

    One small step for man, one great leap for Chanel-kind and that jazz.

    Then I turned around and went back inside to buy another coffee. The Barista gave me a new one for free, bless her heart. She's so sweet. I'm in almost every morning, so I guess she knew I couldn't possibly make up the whole cricket thing. She might have heard me scream, though. It was a really good scream.

    I got to work.

    And then the first news of reprieve. The phone lines were down. Ah, sweet justice, how you thrill me when you exercise your powers in my favor. It was only for thirty minutes or so, but it kept me from bursting into tears when I got to work.

    Because I should have stayed home, in bed, where it was safe and nothing could upset me.

    Then, because I felt like showing just how good of an employee I am, I told Jay Jay that I totally could have been late and that I nearly called, but decided not to even though it cost a great and very personal sacrifice on my part.

    Then he asked, "What's the great personal sacrifice?"

    Well, I didn't expect him to ask. Who asks?

    Not that my great personal sacrifice wasn't great. It was. In the land of my neurotic self, altering my morning rituals in any way is a monumental occurrence in the world I live in. My rituals generally trump everything else by means of importance.

    But seeing as it was make up and it was only five minutes of sacrifice, and Jay Jay is male, I didn't want to tell him what sacrifice. It's no fun to be mocked, and most people would find that a mocking offense.

    "It was just a great personal sacrifice."

    "Yeah. But what's the sacrifice?"

    *sigh* "I didn't put on my  make up! There!"

    "You're not wearing any make up?"

    "No. And it's bugging me. Look at my eyebrows!"

    "You look gorgeous!"

    That makes it almost worth it.

    And then Raver lent me her mascara and I put some on and I felt a little better. Except my eyebrows are still blond and don't match my hair. But at least I have better eyelashes now. It's the little things that count.

    Monday, April 4, 2011

    Taking One for the Team

    Padawan and I have had to make a major change in our living habits. Well, I say Padawan and I, but I had to change it. I didn't ask him. I told him that this change was happening, and then I told him why. The change may seem insignificant to you guys, but it's major to me.

    From now on, Padawan will be responsible for cooking dinner while I wash the dishes.

    Clearly this is huge. I despise abhor detest hate with the fiery intensity of a thousand suns washing dishes. There are few mundane chores out there that disgust me as easily as doing dishes. Just the idea of putting my hands in a sink full of nasty, used dishes makes me dry heave. I do not like it. 

    However, warring with my repulsion is my obsessive compulsive desire to have the sink empty and the kitchen looking tidy at all times. This OCD has become marginally worse since our move because when we walk into our front door we are standing in the kitchen. It's the first thing I see when I come home.

    And Padawan is lazy about dishes. He has promised and promised so many times that he will do them right after dinner, but he rarely does. He will let the dishes pile up for days, and only after I nag him (or scream) will he finally get up and take care of it. I have always refused to do them on principle. It is not fair if I have to cook and wash dishes. It's only fair that he do  his fair share.

    One day I came home from work and noticed a foul stench in the kitchen and I asked him to take care of it. He said, "In a minute!" and the next morning when I woke up, on my day off, the dishes were still piled up and he had done nothing. The smell was so bad I had to pull on my rubber gloves and take care of it myself.

    Know what the smell was coming from?

    Padawan had scraped large chunks of lettuce off of a plate and put them in the sink. He hadn't bothered rinsing them down the garbage disposal. Just left them on the stainless steel bottom, then piled dishes on top of them. What I had been smelling was the salmonella infected, rotting stench of decomposing romaine. It was fucking disgusting and I threw up.

    For the last week, Padawan has been slacking on the dishes, and yesterday when I woke up and took Choo Choo out for walkies, I came back in to a smell so foul I knew I'd have to take care of it myself. He said, "Don't worry about it, I'll do it when I come home." But he never does anything when he comes home. He likes to go straight to bed for a nap. And I get that. He gets up at four thirty in the morning. He's tired when he gets home. It's understandable.

    While I was doing the dishes, frustration seeped in until I found myself practicing the blistering lecture I planned to give Padawan when he came home regarding his lazy, nasty habit. After all, our agreement was he would wash the dishes and I would do the cooking. But spending my day off plowing through a weeks worth of breakfast, lunch, and dinner dishes was not desirable.

    I knew halfway through that the only solution was to do the dishes myself every day. I'd have to do them every night, I knew, but I also knew that I wouldn't have to worry about dishes piling up for a week so that we ran out of plates and silverware, and I wouldn't have to worry about a bad smell anymore. In exchange, Padawan would have to take over making dinner. He can read and follow directions. 

    For the greater good, and my personal happiness and sanity, I knew I needed to take one for the team.

    I still felt frustrated by the time I finished the dishes, so I cleaned the entire kitchen, the dining room, the living room, the bedroom, the bathroom, and the closet. I also did all of the laundry, and by the time I was finished I was ready to talk to Padawan.

    I signed on Google chat and IMed him, informing him of my decision.

    And before he could argue (I wasn't giving him the chance) I explained that it made more sense for him to cook because I don't get off until seven and he gets off at three, so he could make dinner before I got off so we could eat when I got home. It would save us from having to either eat really late because cooking takes time or having to eat fast food for the convenience. 

    " hate doing dishes."

    "I know. But between eating late and your laziness, it's obviously the only way."

    Then I told him he would make a point of rinsing out his lunch dishes before bringing them home because leaving bits of food in them and then sealing them and leaving them at room temperature for a few hours, or in the car floor for a couple of weeks, was disgusting and unfair to make me clean them in that condition.

    So now I am calm. When I went to bed last night there were absolutely no dishes left in my sink. My kitchen was pristine.

    And I feel relieved. I will never again have to worry about bad smells and dirty dishes and having no clean dishes when I come home, because I can trust myself to keep it in perfect order. All I have to worry about now is whether or not Padawan will burn the apartment down while trying to make Croque Monsieur. 

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