Aside from the shit of strangers that might show up on my bathroom floor from time to time, there’s only one thing I hate about my apartment. I can’t ever get the temperature just right.
My thermometer says it’s 8° outside and 63° inside right now. One would think that means it’s time to turn on the heat, but that’s really a bad idea. If I do turn it on, chances are everyone else in my building will get the same idea and we’ll eventually all be roasting in a 93° sauna. Plus, I get the added warmth of a Fancy Pants puppy whose body temperature is 101.4° as of yesterday evening’s visit to the vet.
But if I don’t turn it on, my two comforters and one hot dog are not enough to keep me warm all night long.
It’s a travesty really.
You know the shit that’s been caked on my bathroom floor since I got home Monday night? Still there. I’ve tried to clean it up with a Swiffer (because that’s all I had) and I even bought a real mop. See my dedication here? No dice on either one, though, because apparently when shit’s been caked on a tile floor, it tends to stay that way for a while.
I’m not above cleaning shit up. I have a dog. I do it outside four or five times a day. But I’m just not really jumping at the chance to scrape this stuff off with a chisel, because that may just be the only option.
I just went down to the rental office at 9:06 (they open at 9). They called the maintenance guy, who tried to say he cleaned it. Right. So I just shit (and perhaps vomited from the looks of it) all over my own bathroom floor that much in the past 36 hours?
Now, I have to wait until the property manager comes in around 10, to see what they’re going to do. I could have just told her what she was going to do, but I was afraid to get to hostile, because I haven’t had a shower since Monday and I didn’t want to go to jail and be known as The Stinky One.
In the meantime, I’ll sit in my own filth and wait, I guess. It’s not like I have a job or anything. At least I have the type of managers that are understanding and will allow me to work from home… but the apartment complex doesn’t know that, ya know?
It’s that time. My Christmas tree is up, half of my Christmas shopping is done, so that can only mean one thing – it’s time to start fundraising for the 2007 Susan G Komen Breast Cancer 3 Day. Surely you were expecting it.
Just as we did last year, we’re selling
Christmas holiday cookies to get our fundraising off to a big start.
Orders for chocolate chip, shortbread or peanut butter blossom cookies can be placed at teamboobylicious.com. This year, we’re charging $6/dozen or $25 for 5 dozen.
Local people: we’ll deliver cookies to you at no additional charge, beginning 12/18. You can pay with cash or check at the time of delivery.
Non-local people: heck yes, we’ll ship them to you. Just add $6 to your total and we can figure out the easiest payment option for you.
Wendy’s hometown people: Riley Pants and I can personally and gladly hand-deliver your cookies the weekend before Christmas!
If you’d like to pass along this information to your friends and/or family, feel free to download either the JPG version of our flyer of the PDF version if you’d like to print it out and hang it on every telephone pole you can possibly find.
Questions? Comments? Concerns? Just visit teamboobylicious.com or email me, because seriously? I could talk about The 3 Day for 2098 hours straight. Really.
My plan was to come home today and write about my lovely Thanksgiving weekend, but the idea was thwarted pretty hardcore when I walked into the normally somewhat pleasant apartment I live in and realized it smelled of human waste. Perhaps that’s because the shower drain had backed up, soaking my entire bathroom floor (along with the pile of dirty clothes I had left in it to wash when I got home). It really looks like dried up shit caked in my shower floor, too. That’s the neat thing about it.
But the super neat thing about it? It’s gotta be the smell. Other peoples shit? SO PLEASANT.
I have to pee really bad right now, but there’s no chance in hell I’m going into that bathroom anytime soon. I’m not too proud to either hang my ass over the balcony or go to the gas station until the smell of ass leaves my apartment. Unfortunately, I don’t think the caked-on crap is going to clear itself up anytime soon.
I’ll accept all offers to clean it, though. Really.
I take that back. The maintenance man is now in my bathroom cleaning out my shower. How generous.
I’d totally be first in line.
I ended up taking a nap from about 9 pm until midnight, and now I’m can’t go back to sleep. I took a nap last night from about 4:30 p.m. until 6 p.m. Clearly I’m still recovering from my five day
bender business trip to Phoenix.
I blame the fact that I, along with my brother, The Cuz, and her husband Beyonce,Â was forced to clean the kitchen after Thanksgiving dinner today, and we can’t do anything like grown ups. All the extra effort of taking the pots outside to the garden hose and throwing leftover rolls at my little bro must have really wiped me out.
I kind of want to join the bevy of wackos that are going to start lining up at Wal-Mart’s front door anytime now, but I know I don’t really need that 42″ TV, because how would I get it home, right?
Plus, tomorrow is FAMILY PICTURE DAY.
Less than 12 hours ago, I was poolside half asleep in a lounge chair, covering my face from the intense sunshine with a cowboy hat I’d gotten earlier in the day from a high-level executive at my company.
Now, I’m getting ready to go to my own bed for the first time since last Wednesday morning, crawl under my own down comforter, and watch TV using the channels I know.
Phoenix was fun. SO fun. I feel weird posting most of the pictures I took, because they’re of or with co-workers, and that’s probably not cool. But really? Ton of fun. And it was really the perfectly timed sales conference for me – motivational and exciting enough for me to want to stick around the company for a while longer.
- rode in a hot air balloon
- got my Tarot cards read
- found another work bff. nicknames to distinguish between the two coming soon.
- danced for three hours.
- laughed until my head, stomach, and side hurt
- laughed so hard I farted really loud and it was kind of embarrassing, but I don’t think my work buddies heard it because we were running out of a bar with a basket of mints.
Now I just have to determine how much coffee is necessary tomorrow in order to keep me awake through 8-9 hours of meetings.
This work trip that I bitched a lot about? It’s not turning out to be so bad.
Upon arriving in Phoenix today, I learned that Mary Lou Retton is our keynote speaker at this lovely sales conference. I’m not 100% sure how her career relates to mine at all, but I guess it doesn’t have to as long as she’s motivating!
Now, I’m dressed like a girl, complete with cleavage, and get to spend the evening at an awards gala. I can hardly wait!
When I used to work at Taco Bell over ten years ago, making something like $5.75 an hour, I used to get absolutely livid that I’d have to work for three whole hours just to fill up the gas tank on my 1991 Honda Civic CRX. But that’s how I got myself through the dreaded 11a.m – 2p.m. shift on Sundays when families just leaving church would stop by for “a six pack of hard tacos with no lettuce and four waters, please”.
It’s not so easy when you get older. Granted you might not get paid on an hourly basis, and you have things like car payments and rent to pay instead of a new pair of pleated Z Cavaricci pants. My point is, though, that the amount I spent at Wal-Mart tonight equals five hours of my pay. And I get paid quite well!
I’m going to start allowing myself one shopping trip a week and it’s going to be timed to under 30 minutes. This constant shopping is going to break the Bank of Wendy, and then I won’t be able to afford to smuggle back gallons of the finest Puerto Rican rum this coming March on The Best Cruise in the World™.
My attempts at obtaining a doctor’s note forbidding me to go to my company’s annual sales conference has been thwarted. I’ll make another meager attempt with the chiropractor tonight, but I have a feeling he may just laugh at me. And he can laugh at me, just as long as he does his regularly amazing work on my back.
I returned to my doctor today with concerns about my shoulder not improving, like I mentioned last week. She tried the same strength tests she tried on me three weeks ago, and I just as I did then, I made her wince in pain with the Herculean strength in my left arm. We did a shoulder x-ray, which will show nothing if my experience in the radiology department counts for anything, and then we’ll be back where we started three weeks ago.
But in my visit to the chiropractor last week, he let me know it would be his pleasure to refer me to an orthopedic surgeon if my other doctor hesitated at all. Another month of physical therapy sounds like hesitation to me, so I’ll gladly take him up on his offer tonight.
And then I’ll go home and pack for Phoenix, where it’s currently a beautiful 73 degrees. Considering it’s a sweltering 34 degrees here right now, I’m looking forward to the change in climate, even if it means I’ll be sitting inside for meetings for 3.5 full days.