big spender

Yesterday, I wrote my rent check and said, "This is the biggest check I have ever written." That check was trumped a few minutes later when I wrote another check for my new washer and dryer.

Holy shit, people, that is a lot of money to just HAND AWAY. I mean, I paid for the washer and dryer and left with NOTHING.

They're being delivered on Friday. Which means I have three days to clean out all of the crap I've shoved into the utility closet. Off the top of my head, this is what is in there:

a TV
four shelves
a small table
two giant balls of plastic (don't ask)
a slipcover
a box full of various computer cords, multiple routers, etc. (again, don't ask)
a box full of EVERY PHOTO I'VE EVER TAKEN
a fan
spiders
a guitar that I cannot play but can't bring myself to get rid of

I wonder if I can store some of this stuff IN the washer and dryer. Hmm.

I have some advice for all you guys out there . . .

The world is full of guys. BE A MAN. Don't be a guy.

If any of you guys (excuse me, MEN) can tell me what movie that's from, you can be my boyfriend and buy me things*.

*You don't really have to buy me things. Just come to family events so my relatives don't think I'm pathetic/unloveable/a lesbian.

quitting, I mean, "taking a break"

For the past couple hours, I have been rearranging some stuff in my apartment in the interest of FINALLY getting everything organized. It's been a month since I moved in, so I figured it's time.

Every now and then I get the urge to rearrange. I get bored with the way things are so I decide to change it up. And EVERY TIME, I get bored/tired/ADD in the middle of it and have to force myself to finish. I start out all inspired and then, at the worst possible moment, like when I have the recliner in two separate pieces and one of them is stuck in the doorway, I want to quit.
Right now, I've got all the furniture where I want it, I just have to finish the part I hate. There are piles of my crap (not LITERALLY my crap because . . . ew) all over the place and I have to find somewhere to put it all. And I don't wanna. I have the sneaking suspicion that I'm not going to be able to find a place for all of it, which means I'll have to throw things away and I hate doing that. Because, you know, I might need all those old birthday cards and what if I have a dry skin emergency and this final squirt of lotion is ALL I HAVE LEFT.

WANTED (apparently): One Boyfriend, please contact Jennie's Mom

Scene: The Flower Factory, which does not sell real flowers and is NOT a factory. Discuss.

Me: Mom, you almost ran the cart into those guys!

Mom: Well, I figured if you weren't going to try I was going to find a guy for you.

Me: They were 16!

Mom: That's OK, it just means they're trainable.

Me: Yeah, it's also illegal.

Mom, if you're trying to encourage me to do something illegal, you really don't need to cause I break the law all the time!*

*rumors of my illegal activities have been greatly exaggerated

more proof of my dorkitude, part 2

YES, I just drove through my apartment complex with the car windows down and the radio blasting Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone" (you have no idea how much it pains me to type "U" rather than "you") and NO I am NOT ashamed.

just more proof of my dorkitude

Last night I had a dream that I went back to high school for some reason. It wasn't really a reunion, it was like a class we all had to take to keep our diploma. I don't know, just go with it.

When I got to the class, who did I see but one Sean Hagerty*. I haven't thought about him in YEARS, I tell you, YEARS, but I had the biggest crush on him when we were seniors. I never told him, of course, because I am a chickenshit. I didn't tell anyone, really, until I told one friend (Stephanie? Remember I Like Flan?) and then another and finally I think everyone BUT him knew because if there's ANYTHING I am other than a chickenshit, it is a loudmouth.

Sean was in my creative writing class, aka The Best Class I Ever Took at Fairmont (not because Sean was in it, but because that class just plain rocked). He played the violin and seemed to me to be the typical sensitive writer/musician, completely fulfilling all my romantic delusions, like shame on me for being so stereotypical and also a tool.

I have no idea what happened to Sean. I know he was going to Bowling Green after high school, but that was almost five years ago. A lot can happen in five years. He could be married. He could have kids. Hell, he could be GAY.

I wonder what happened to all those people from high school. I haven't kept in touch with many of them and the ones I have kept in touch with, well, let's just say I'm not very good with the letter/e-mail writing and follow-up calls. Every now and then I'll hear some news that someone I didn't really care for has gotten married, or I'll see someone on the street that I think I recognize, but all the drinking in college has made the high school faces hazy so I never say anything.

So, if Sean, or anyone from high school ever gets here by googling "Fairmont" or, more likely, googling themselves (come on, we've all done it) I'd just like to say, "Hey. How've you been? I guess I'll see you in five years at the reunion**. Please be fat and bald by then."

*I wasn't going to use his real name, because I am STILL a chickenshit and cannot admit when I like someone, but this crush is five years old so I think I'm OK.

**assuming I go to my 10 year reunion which, let's face it, is not bloody likely.

My name isn't Michael Vaugnn SLAM

Oh, ouch. How good was TV last night? TV, I commend you. I almost peed myself several times while watching Lost and Alias. I didn't, though. In case you were worried.

The first almost-accident occurred before Lost even started. When I got home from work around 7:30 last night I went, like always, to check my mail. The mailboxes for my building are in the apartment building next door. I got my mail, everything was fine, but when I tried to open the door it wouldn't open. Thinking I was tired and had just forgotten to turn the handle (what, like you've never done that), I tried again. And again. I pulled more vigorously. Nothing.

Ok, so the door wasn't moving. The handle was loose, so it wasn't turning the lock thingie. Whatever. At this point Nice Lady Neighbor and her daughter, ADD Girl were walking by. Nice Lady Neighbor tried to pull from the outside but it STILL WOULDN'T BUDGE. At this point I started to freak out a little because there was no way I could get out of the building. I'd already tried knocking on all the doors, thinking someone could just let me out through their patio door, but either all those people were jerks and didn't feel like opening their doors or no one was home.

Nice Lady Neighbor asked me if I had a knife to pry open the door. WTF? Who carries a knife around in their purse? Did she want me to change her name from Nice Lady Neighbor to Stupid Ass Lady Neighbor, because I could have.

A couple minutes later, Nice Old Man Neighbor (formerly Creepy McStaresalot) came by with a screwdriver and then wandered away because he couldn't figure out what to do with it or something. I don't know. Nice Lady Neighbor left to go call emergency maintenance, while I stood there like a moron. Finally, I used my old student ID and shoved it through the door jam to push the door thingie (I don't know what it's called, ok?) in enough to allow me to open the door. After dropping the card several times and almost breaking it in half THE DOOR OPENED AND I WAS FREE HURRAH!

The whole time I was stuck in there (all 15 minutes, what a trying experience) I wasn't worried about what I'd do if I had to pee, or that I was really, really hungry, or that there'd be a fire and I'd burn and die while ADD Girl watched, traumatizing her for life. No. I was worried that I might miss Lost. And I really, REALLY didn't want to have to call someone and ask them to tape it, because they might have asked why and I would have had to tell them it's because I got trapped in the mailroom. Honestly. Am I in some kind of psychological experiment, because who does that happen to?

late spring cleaning

I have no plans this weekend, and I'm so excited about it. It seems like I've had stuff to do every weekend since I moved into my apartment. I'm not complaining, it was all fun stuff, but I'm looking forward to just hanging out at home and having NOTHING to do.

Also, I really need to clean my apartment. I don't think I can keep using the "I just moved in" excuse to explain the mess for much longer. After all, I've been there more than a month. I think there's a statute of limitations on playing the Just Moved In card. And I don't think that excuse ever works for the pile of dirty dishes in the sink or the stack of clean laundry that I didn't put away because I figured I'd be wearing most of it soon anyway.

PS: Who is as excited as I am for the Lost finale tonight? NO ONE, I tell you, and that's probably very sad.

I'm no superman

I got my copy of the first season of Scrubs last Wednesday. I finished watching it all yesterday.

When does Season 2 come out?

the one where I mess up coffee, I mean WHO DOES THAT

I'm having a bad week with kitchen appliances. First, the dishwasher turns on me. Now I'm having issues with the coffee maker. Ok, issue. And it was totally my fault.

When I got up this morning, I went to turn on the coffee maker before I got in the shower, just like I do EVERY OTHER DAY. Because I am so anal retentive, not only do I put out my clothes the night before, but I also set up the coffee maker AND I make sure a coffee mug and spoon are sitting there. I also get out a bowl, spoon, and box of Cheerios so my breakfast is almost ready. If I could, I'd go ahead and put the milk on but that's crazy because I hate soggy cereal. I do all this because I have no brain power when I get up in the morning. Especially on Thursday mornings when I have to be at work before 7, and I've inevitably stayed up way too late on Wednesday watching crap TV (crap TV does not include Lost because HELLO it was awesome last night) or reading or PROBABLY JUST LYING IN BED THINKING ABOUT HOW TIRED I'M GOING TO BE WHEN I WAKE UP BECAUSE I JUST. CAN'T. GET TO SLEEP! Ahem. I am like a zombie in the morning. Or a robot. Or, WORSE, a robot zombie who feeds on, I don't know, robot brains? (It's still morning, technically, that's why I make no sense)

ANYWAY. After my shower, I went to the kitchen to get some brain juice (coffee) and noticed that it looked a little odd. Kind of like sludge. And I was pretty sure I wanted to make half a pot, not a quarter. Then I noticed that I'd forgotten to put the lid on the coffee pot, which meant the little, pushy-in-thingie (that's the scientific name) didn't get pushed in and the water had trouble draining or something and the filter holder thing (again, so scientific) was full of brown water and I'm STILL not really sure why it failed SO extravagantly but there you go.

Then I was faced with a dilemma. I was running out of time to get ready, I hadn't eaten, and I had no coffee. I could skip the coffee and try to make it until I got to work so I could get some caffeine there, but the chances of me remembering how to drive/speak/not walk out of the house pantsless WITHOUT having had my precious (coffee) were very slim. I could get ready as quickly as I could and try and stop at the gas station to buy the biggest cup of coffee possible, but I knew I'd probably get stuck behind some jackass buying coffee for everyone in his office, blah, blah, I'm late.

OR, I could just clean up the mess from the botched batch of coffee and try again, remembering this time to add all components of said coffee maker.

I think I stood there, staring at the brown sludge in the coffee pot, for a good five minutes while my sleep-addled, decaf brain tried to make a decision. I finally decided to just make another pot, burn my tongue and esophagus when I tried to chug it, and take some in a travel mug EVEN THOUGH I was risking the sanctity of my pure, white pants by trying to drive with something that would stain.

All of which explains why my tongue feels like I licked sandpaper, my stomach hurts, and I have a small brown stain on my otherwise white pants. Every time I catch someone looking at it, I want to say, "that's not poo, it's THE SIGN OF AN ADDICT OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T BE LIKE ME," but I don't think I'm allowed to say poo at work.

by the power of greyskull

Sweet heavenly lord, I have reclaimed the POWERS OF THE INTERNET(s).

sometimes I think I live in a cartoon

This past Saturday, I decided to perform the relatively simple act of running the dishwasher. I don't do this often, because I'm only one person and it takes me about a week and a half to fill up the dishwasher to the point where I don't feel it's wasteful to run it. Also, I don't think it works very well. It had been leaving a soapy film on some of the dishes, so I bought some Jet Dry.

Maybe I should preface the rest of this story by admitting that I don't really know anything about dishwasher maintenance. I opened up the compartment you're supposed to fill with liquid Jet Dry and there was a stern, little message that said not to fill past the fill line on the stopper. "Whatever," I thought. "I'm not putting oil in, this isn't a car, it's not going to blow up, right?" And so I proceeded to dump in a little over half of the bottle of Jet Dry. And IN MY DEFENSE it didn't go THAT much higher than the fill line.

So. I close the dishwasher, start it, and wander out to the living room to enjoy some fuzzy, cable-free, Saturday afternoon TV. About 20 minutes later, I went back to the kitchen to get some water and noticed that the floor looked a bit odd. I turned on the light and OH MY GOD BUBBLES EVERYWHERE. There were ACTUAL BUBBLES slipping furiously out of the bottom of the dishwasher. It looked like those washing machines in cartoons that the characters fill with too much detergent. I stood there for a moment, unable to do anything but say, "well . . . huh," until my brain kicked me in the ass and shouted, "Hey, Lucy! Go get some goddamn towels!"

Luckily I had some old towels in the apartment and I just threw those on the floor, trying to mop up the Stream of Bubbles. I briefly wondered if I should turn off the dishwasher, but ended up letting it go so at least at the end of this ordeal I'd have clean dishes.

Right now, the towels are still hanging in my bathroom, slightly damp. The dishes were unloaded, and I'll admit I cursed A LOT when I noticed that the Jet Dry hadn't even done a damn bit of good and some of the dishes still had a soapy film. Of course, that could be excess Jet Dry that just couldn't be rinsed away. Whatever.

On the up side, my floor is sparkly clean.

fright of the bumblebee

Yesterday, I got off work early so I came home around 3 o'clock in the afternoon. The weather was fantastic. Sunny and warm, but not super humid like it is most of the time here, making it feel like you're breathing water or at least mist.

Anyway. I couldn't wait to get home, shower (that's right, I didn't shower before work yesterday but there was NO ONE ELSE there so please bite me), and sit on the patio with some water (ok a beer) and a book. Slight problem. I got home, opened the sliding glass door, and was greeted by several huge, black, buzzing monstrosities. Where Sunday there had been only one bumblebee now there were three. And a wasp for good measure. Ok. This was not good. One bumblebee I could handle (mostly). One bumblebee I can run away from. But three. They could easily attack me from three sides, or while two have me occupied the other could sneak into the apartment and wait. Wait for what, I don't know, but I know they're plotting something because on Sunday I opened the blinds in my bedroom to find a yellow jacket crawling around on the window screen.

So yesterday. I knew I had to do something. I mean, they were multiplying. Soon they would be too many for me to take on just by myself. What should I do, though? All I had was a can of Raid and CRIPPLING FEAR. I briefly considered running onto the porch with one arm covering my face while I sprayed wildly with the Raid, but all I could picture was me running head first into one of the poles, falling back, and inhaling a deadly amount of the Raid while the bumblebees buzzed around my body, pondering which part to sting first.

Maybe I'm giving the bees too much credit. After all, I watched them for a LONG TIME yesterday and all they really seemed to do was fly around the same knotholes, crawl inside, crawl back out, and then buzz around each other in some sort of Unholy Bee Dance.

I don't care if they're plotting something or not at this point. I just want them gone. So, I called maintenance and they said they'd come out and spray something. After I made the call, I felt a little relieved but I couldn't relax because of the constant bzzzz-bzzzz sounds coming from outside the patio screen. Those suckers are SO LOUD. Obviously, I had to leave the apartment and go somewhere quiet, so I went to the library. Not the pubic library, just the regular public library. Ahh, the library. So silent and calming.

I walked out thirty minutes later with some new books and was IMMEDIATELY accosted by a freaking huge bumblebee.

Yeah. They're definitely planning something.

Pase a niños, por favor

I don't think much about high school. I'm not sure why. I didn't have a particularly trying time in high school, it was just kind of there. Something to be accomplished on the way to the real world.

That's why it always surprises me when I have high school flashbacks. For some reason this morning I started thinking about my Spanish class senior year. We had to make a commercial video, while speaking Spanish of course, so my friend and I chose a laser pointer as our product. If I remember correctly, I think the sole reason for choosing this product was so we could tape my 85 pound lab chasing a tiny dot of light. As we watched the video, a girl in the class snotted that making a dog chase a laser was cruel. Now, I don't remember much about this girl. I don't remember her name, I don't remember if she was in my grade, and I can pretty much guarantee that if I saw her on the street today I wouldn't recognize her.

All I remember is that she vaguely resembled a velociraptor. And I wasn't about to be lectured on cruelty by a creature that tries to devour small children.

bumblebee tuna

Right now I am relishing the internet connection as I visit my parents and I thought I'd take the opportunity to post something inane. I miss doing that.

There's a bumblebee that flies around my porch all the time. It's ginormous. And, since I am deathly afraid of Things that Sting (as well as zombies, but there haven't been any walking undead hanging around my patio), I usually end up running inside and cowering by the screen with a can of Raid. I really hope no zombies creep onto my porch, because I don't think Raid would quite do the trick. Maybe I should buy a flame thrower.

Normally I wouldn't let Things that Sting chase me away from my own patio, but this bumblebee is unnaturally huge. Seriously. I think I saw it eat a bird yesterday.