Me: Can I speak to the manager?
Her: Management is not in the office today. I am the lease agent, can I help you?
Me: Yes, I would like to discuss the gaping maw that is in my bathroom ceiling.
Her: Okay
Me: I'm concerned about what's growing in it.
Her: What's growing in it?
Me: Mold. Lots and lots of mold.
Her: Okay...it's still growing?
Me: Uhhh...yes (Like I keep a growth chart on the spores in my bathroom.)
Her: Okay...
Me: It's been a leaking for over a year now. It looks like black mold. (I googled it.)
Her: Okay...
Me: It's the culprit for my sinus issues, not to mention it's lethal to the infant upstairs.
Her: Okay...
Me: (pregnant pause)
Her: (heavy sigh) I'll have the maintenance guys come over today and fix it.
Me: Not fix...spray something to KILL IT.
If the maintenance guys plan on spending all weekend pounding in my bathroom while I sleep, I'm going to be pissed.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Thursday Blather: Redux
So, I still have the big, gaping hole in my bathroom ceiling. No one came over nor called me to explain why it wasn't repaired today. My only guess is that they are still waiting for whatever part.Bloated Single Mother came to my door this morning to ask about the gaping hole, namely, because the maintenance men were in her apartment. While this is not alarming, the fact that they were wearing masks was.
Now, I'm not a complete and total asshole. I know what black mold is, and I know what black mold can do...especially if you happen to have a 7 month old baby. If I am harvesting it in my bathroom ceiling...that I don't know. But it certainly explains why I have chronic sinusitis. I took pictures of it. What do you guys think??
I keep the bathroom door closed, and just use the other bathroom instead. Even so, I'm still worried. I should call management first thing in the morning and talk to them about this. Not only should they fix the hole, but they need to kill whatever is growing there. It's not safe. This is a big problem.
Meanwhile, I'm looking for a house to rent. Preferably with a yard. I'd even settle for a duplex, or even a townhouse...as long as it had a yard...and no mold.
Any ideas would be greatly appreciated.
Thursday Blather
This morning, I Have a 3 foot gaping hole in my bathroom ceiling. Fortunately, I have another bathroom still intact, so I am able to go about my regular grooming rituals.
Months ago, I reported a leak in the bathroom ceiling, and it would occur about the same time Bloated Single Mother takes a bath. It doesn't happen everyday, which is disconcerting because doesn't that mean she's a sporadic bather? Eewwwww.
Today, the maintenance guys are going to come over, cram into my little bathroom, and finish the job. They got halfway through when they realized they didn't have part the needed. How typical. What do you need to get a job working apartment maintenance because I might want a second part-time job during the week. Apparently, you don't need to know much.
Actually, I shouldn't lay the smack down on them. They have been pretty nice...even though I reported the leak FOUR MONTHS AGO.
I bought some crafty-things at the store yesterday. I may take a stab at them today...along with getting my hair done. Yeah, I also have a mountain of laundry to do. And fitting a nap in there somewhere is also important...
Months ago, I reported a leak in the bathroom ceiling, and it would occur about the same time Bloated Single Mother takes a bath. It doesn't happen everyday, which is disconcerting because doesn't that mean she's a sporadic bather? Eewwwww.
Today, the maintenance guys are going to come over, cram into my little bathroom, and finish the job. They got halfway through when they realized they didn't have part the needed. How typical. What do you need to get a job working apartment maintenance because I might want a second part-time job during the week. Apparently, you don't need to know much.
Actually, I shouldn't lay the smack down on them. They have been pretty nice...even though I reported the leak FOUR MONTHS AGO.
I bought some crafty-things at the store yesterday. I may take a stab at them today...along with getting my hair done. Yeah, I also have a mountain of laundry to do. And fitting a nap in there somewhere is also important...
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Adventures in Homebuying: The Setback
I spoke with my lender today, who ran my credit report, and she announced that I needed more credit cards.
What?!? I need to create more debt for myself, so someone will give me a 6-figure home loan??? What's wrong with this picture???
And here I thought I was doing good...not entrenching myself in mountains and mountains of debt like every other American. I have one credit card, that I pay every month. I have a student loan, a car loan, and I pay all my other bills online...on time. I guess I come from the mindset of older folks: "If you don't have the money for it, then don't buy it." Which is why I have one credit card...by my choice. If I had more than that, I could get into a lot of trouble, pretty quick.
What does this mean for Heather? It means I am putting off homebuying for the time being. I hate this apartment, so I will look into probably renting something bigger. Besides, I've been wondering if this is an indicator that I probably should be moving somewhere else outside the Midwest.
It feels that nothing is going right for me, the house and all other things in my life. I've been bummed out all day. I went to the craft store, and it didn't even lift my spirits.
Time to hit the chocolate.
What?!? I need to create more debt for myself, so someone will give me a 6-figure home loan??? What's wrong with this picture???
And here I thought I was doing good...not entrenching myself in mountains and mountains of debt like every other American. I have one credit card, that I pay every month. I have a student loan, a car loan, and I pay all my other bills online...on time. I guess I come from the mindset of older folks: "If you don't have the money for it, then don't buy it." Which is why I have one credit card...by my choice. If I had more than that, I could get into a lot of trouble, pretty quick.
What does this mean for Heather? It means I am putting off homebuying for the time being. I hate this apartment, so I will look into probably renting something bigger. Besides, I've been wondering if this is an indicator that I probably should be moving somewhere else outside the Midwest.
It feels that nothing is going right for me, the house and all other things in my life. I've been bummed out all day. I went to the craft store, and it didn't even lift my spirits.
Time to hit the chocolate.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
My Milk Love
I love milk, but sometimes, it's unrequited love. Those live milk critters and my stomach have a shaky abusive relationship. When it's the honeymoon phase, everything is roses and butterscotch pudding (or chocolate). When you get into the ugly side of the relationship, there is much heartache and tears. Someone always gets hurt (me) and I have to run to the arms of my concubines for comfort: Rolaids and Nexium.Kant can drink milk like it's water. I believe it's 3 gallons she drinks a week. She's a machine. Someday when she goes to lab to have her bloodwork done, her blood is going to come out white.
I've seen the glass jars of milk in the dairy case, but I hadn't given it much thought. After all, it would just break my heart, not to mention you had to pay a deposit on the glass bottle.
I was at the store the other morning when I got off from work, when I decided to buy a small jar of Shatto Milk in a moment of sleep-induced insanity. I took it home, poured a glass, and suddenly, I remembered the days of my youth when my parents bought farm fresh milk from another family from church.
Ahhh...Heaven. Pretty tasty milk!
Aside from the fact that their website moos when I open the page, causing Sam to go bananas, thereby angering the Bloated Single Mother upstairs who subsequently starts the sequence of the Sumo Stomp....it's a pretty fun site. I'm always whining that I should travel more, and take more road trips. So, I think I shall go and visit the Shatto Dairy Farm soon. It's not too far away from Cameron.
I'm sorry, Kant, that you can't have Shatto Milk in the Land of Crappy BBQ. However, if you visit, I will be more than happy to buy you a gallon. I'll even pay the deposit on the jar!
Meanwhile, I'm going to go stock up on Rolaids.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Where They Are Very Happy to Have You
Only a little over 4 months to go before I set sail to the Caribbean while everyone in KC freezes their collective asses off. But don't be a hater...I'll think of you fondly as I slather SPF 100 on myself and search for the perfect mojito.Airfare booked...check. Cruise paid for...check. Pre-cruise stay reserved...check. Rental car booked...check. Passport found...well, still have to look for it. The only thing left to do is secure a room in Fort Lauderdale for my one-night post-cruise stay.
I usually book through Orbitz, or some other discount travel search engine. I plugged in the numbers tonight to see roughly what I will spend on a decent room.
I consider myself fairly hip on knowing the things that go on in the world, but I must say, I've never given much thought to gay resorts. So, imagine my surprise when Orbitz popped up this hotel. I've always known such resorts existed, but having seen how these rooms are decorated...why would any person want to stay there? Imagine trying to sleep in a room that had walls the color of Big Bird. What logic says gay people like big, flashy, tacky colors and prints?? (Probably the same logic that says fat women like wearing loud, ugly sequined shirts.) Look at the rooms. There's paintings of naked men on the walls!
What if I booked? What would they say if I went to check in?? Would they turn me away? I could tell them I am a "hag" or a "beard". I could tell them I am in "transition". I could tell them my cousin is gay, and therefor am related by association. Why should I be denied a room just because I have a vagina??
Nah...I'll just get a room at the very boring, very predictable Marriott.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Darkest Before the Dawn
Is this really true? I've looked outside in the past, but it never looks any different.
I've been awake. All. Night. Long.
I just spent the night, thinking about life and other things. Paul says I think about things too much. I'm still trying to figure out why this is such a bad thing.
I've been giving a lot of consideration to travel nursing. I could buy a house and use it as my "home base" while I went out and did assignments. My brother could stay in my house while I was away and tend to the dog. Contracts can be from 6 weeks to 6 months. I can go out, work, make ungodly amounts of money, then come home for a few weeks before going out to do it again. Alaska, Hawaii, the Virgin Islands, Australia. I could go anywhere.
So, what is keeping me here?
I've been awake. All. Night. Long.
I just spent the night, thinking about life and other things. Paul says I think about things too much. I'm still trying to figure out why this is such a bad thing.
I've been giving a lot of consideration to travel nursing. I could buy a house and use it as my "home base" while I went out and did assignments. My brother could stay in my house while I was away and tend to the dog. Contracts can be from 6 weeks to 6 months. I can go out, work, make ungodly amounts of money, then come home for a few weeks before going out to do it again. Alaska, Hawaii, the Virgin Islands, Australia. I could go anywhere.
So, what is keeping me here?
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
What's a Girl to Do?
Despite my repeated attempts to keep the dog quiet, Bloated Single Mother upstairs continues to complain. Now, she has told the management that I let Sam run free in the hallway (which is complete lie...he never leaves the apartment unless he is on a leash). Management posted little notices on everyone's door about the "wild, rampant dog that runs the halls and disturbs the residents and goes to the bathroom on the floor". Whatever. I talked to the neighbor girl who lives next door about it, and she says she has never seen such a dog, and the only ones she does see, are mine and that of my other neighbors...all of which who have dogs on leashes.
When I move, I fully plan on marching to Bloated Single Mother's door and telling her what I hefer I think she is. If I tell her now, she'd probably key my car. Her car has a smashed front end that is held together by duct tape. I suspect she doesn't have much to lose. I don't know what she does with a living, but it has something to do with brown aprons because I see her go to work in the mornings. I think her name is Becky because it is stitched on the front of the brown apron. She's always scowling. Being a Bloated Single Mother must be hard.
At any rate, she is the only one who keeps complaining about the dog, my other neighbors don't have a problem with Sam. I bought a bark collar for him, and for some reason, has a reaction to the nylon. Now, he has big, open bleeding sores on the underside of his neck. I hate to leave the collar on him because of it, and I have already taken him to a vet about the sores. His answer, "Don't put the collar on him."
So, I'm in a catch-22. If I leave the collar on, Sam won't bark, but he bleeds and is obviously in pain. If I take it off, he barks and BSM complains and fabricates stories to get me in trouble with the management. They recently implemented a "curfew" for the apartment complex. No loitering outside after 10pm. I'm still figuring this one out.
I'm still in the infancy of the whole home-buying process...so me moving out it contingent on how fast that process moves. I'll be calling the Remax people again tomorrow.
I'm sad...and I want to go punch BSM in the face. Apartment life still sucks.
When I move, I fully plan on marching to Bloated Single Mother's door and telling her what I hefer I think she is. If I tell her now, she'd probably key my car. Her car has a smashed front end that is held together by duct tape. I suspect she doesn't have much to lose. I don't know what she does with a living, but it has something to do with brown aprons because I see her go to work in the mornings. I think her name is Becky because it is stitched on the front of the brown apron. She's always scowling. Being a Bloated Single Mother must be hard.
At any rate, she is the only one who keeps complaining about the dog, my other neighbors don't have a problem with Sam. I bought a bark collar for him, and for some reason, has a reaction to the nylon. Now, he has big, open bleeding sores on the underside of his neck. I hate to leave the collar on him because of it, and I have already taken him to a vet about the sores. His answer, "Don't put the collar on him."
So, I'm in a catch-22. If I leave the collar on, Sam won't bark, but he bleeds and is obviously in pain. If I take it off, he barks and BSM complains and fabricates stories to get me in trouble with the management. They recently implemented a "curfew" for the apartment complex. No loitering outside after 10pm. I'm still figuring this one out.
I'm still in the infancy of the whole home-buying process...so me moving out it contingent on how fast that process moves. I'll be calling the Remax people again tomorrow.
I'm sad...and I want to go punch BSM in the face. Apartment life still sucks.
Monday, September 18, 2006
New Coffee Love
I stopped by McDonald's today for a biscuit. Apparently, they are giving out their premium roast coffee every Monday for the month of September.In a word...YUM! For fast food, I was pleasantly surprised. I could bypass a couple visits to Starbucks in favor for a trip to the Golden Arches Country Club.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Sunday Blather
I don't know if I ever mentioned this, but I have worked nights since I graduated high school...so it's been some time now. You'd think my family would have realized it by now...even after my repeated announcements.
I go home this morning, go to bed, fall asleep. At 11am, my mother comes over to see if there are any dresses I am willing to part with. I hide under the covers while she roots around in my closet, then snuggles the dog and gets him all excited.
I fall asleep shortly after she leaves.
At 2:30, my brother Mike comes over to use my computer. I let him in, then go back to bed. Officially, I don't have to be awake until 4pm. This is prime sleep time, people!!!
I vow to visit each of these family members at some point, during the week, at 1am. I think I will ask Mike if he will put new wipers blades on the car. For my mom, I think I am going to ask to borrow a pair of socks.
You know it's not a normal day when you see an Elvis impersonator walk into Hen House. At least, I hope he was an Elvis impersonator, and not his everyday look. Even so, I was smitten. I love Elvis!
I also discovered that I am in charge of the Pub Crawl for my cruise group for the upcoming cruise (which is four and a half months away). I can plan any party, but I don't know a great deal about pub crawls and how you plan one. Don't people just show up and drink themselves until they glow in the dark?
The cruise group theme is a murder mystery, but we are also having a deck party that will be Mardi Gras themed. So, if anyone in Blogdom have any stellar ideas, shoot them my way, because I have no clue as to what I am doing.
I go home this morning, go to bed, fall asleep. At 11am, my mother comes over to see if there are any dresses I am willing to part with. I hide under the covers while she roots around in my closet, then snuggles the dog and gets him all excited.
I fall asleep shortly after she leaves.
At 2:30, my brother Mike comes over to use my computer. I let him in, then go back to bed. Officially, I don't have to be awake until 4pm. This is prime sleep time, people!!!
I vow to visit each of these family members at some point, during the week, at 1am. I think I will ask Mike if he will put new wipers blades on the car. For my mom, I think I am going to ask to borrow a pair of socks.
You know it's not a normal day when you see an Elvis impersonator walk into Hen House. At least, I hope he was an Elvis impersonator, and not his everyday look. Even so, I was smitten. I love Elvis!
I also discovered that I am in charge of the Pub Crawl for my cruise group for the upcoming cruise (which is four and a half months away). I can plan any party, but I don't know a great deal about pub crawls and how you plan one. Don't people just show up and drink themselves until they glow in the dark?
The cruise group theme is a murder mystery, but we are also having a deck party that will be Mardi Gras themed. So, if anyone in Blogdom have any stellar ideas, shoot them my way, because I have no clue as to what I am doing.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Dating Alarms
Dooce recently blogged about her past experiences with dating red flags. I don't know that I have ever thought about them as red flags, but I have always felt that if there was a loser within a 20 mile radius of me, I will instantly be attracted to him and fall hopelessly in love with him, only to have him tear my heart out of my chest, stomp on it, grill it, and laugh in my face. If I am lucky, they won't tell me that they have also decided they are gay and am running off to be with some guy named Juan.
Yup. I've got fine taste in men.
Even so, there are some things, red flags, that give me a moment's pause as to whether I will continue seeing the boy in question.
1. He has fasted and prayed about me before the subject of a first date has been broached. This really happened. The guy fasted and prayed over every single female in the singles branch. Apparently, he didn't get the answer he was seeking (as far as I was concerned), and he never asked me out. He was also a big dork, and I would have turned him down anyway.
2. Compares women to value meals at McDonalds. I think I fare better than chicken McNuggets and a chocolate shake.
3. Is in his late 30's, and still lives with his mom. Do I really need to elaborate on this one?
4. Plays for both teams. I can compete with other women, but I cannot compete with another penis.
5. Completely covered with body hair. Urp. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. If I wanted to curl up to something furry, I have my cat.
6. Chronic cheaters. I've dated these guys before. Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.
7. Chronic liars. See number 6.
8. They do things that make you question their sexuality...even if they claim they are straight. I've "outed" enough ex-boyfriends after the fact, I don't feel like outing anymore. If you can't be honest with me, at least be honest with yourself. Besides, it's starting to give me a complex.
9. He answers the door naked, and you haven't even kissed him yet. This really happened to me, and I don't want to discuss it further for fear of undoing all the progress my therapist has made with me.
10. He's a bad kisser. While this is not a big deal to some women, it's a big deal to me. Of all the things I like to do to pass time, I love kissing. I think it's probably the best way to gauge, ahem, other talents. That, and I just like kissing. Did I mention how much I like kissing?? Lips too tense = bad. Slobbers all over you and your shirt = bad. Bad breath and teeth = very bad. I once went out with a guy who seemed out of sorts when I kissed him. I finally asked him why:
Him: I don't really like kissing.
Me: Why not?
Him: There's all kinds of germs in your mouth, it's so dirty. It's gross.
Me: Gross...
Him: But you can give me a blowjob if you want.
Me: Uhhh...I have to go home and tend to the cat.
11. General things that should be red flags. This includes multiple children with different women (no baby-mama-drama here), on parole, a meth problem, still married, and/or just a general dumbass. Nothing gets on my nerves faster than someone who drives the short-bus.
Some guys are sneaky...you don't find the red flags until after you have developed feelings, and they have shed the sheep's clothing. Then, the break is that much harder. They do it on purpose, thinking we are already hooked, and then figure we'll just keep them around. Bastards.
You married folks don't know how easy you have it. Being single...it sucks.
Yup. I've got fine taste in men.
Even so, there are some things, red flags, that give me a moment's pause as to whether I will continue seeing the boy in question.
1. He has fasted and prayed about me before the subject of a first date has been broached. This really happened. The guy fasted and prayed over every single female in the singles branch. Apparently, he didn't get the answer he was seeking (as far as I was concerned), and he never asked me out. He was also a big dork, and I would have turned him down anyway.
2. Compares women to value meals at McDonalds. I think I fare better than chicken McNuggets and a chocolate shake.
3. Is in his late 30's, and still lives with his mom. Do I really need to elaborate on this one?
4. Plays for both teams. I can compete with other women, but I cannot compete with another penis.
5. Completely covered with body hair. Urp. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. If I wanted to curl up to something furry, I have my cat.
6. Chronic cheaters. I've dated these guys before. Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.
7. Chronic liars. See number 6.
8. They do things that make you question their sexuality...even if they claim they are straight. I've "outed" enough ex-boyfriends after the fact, I don't feel like outing anymore. If you can't be honest with me, at least be honest with yourself. Besides, it's starting to give me a complex.
9. He answers the door naked, and you haven't even kissed him yet. This really happened to me, and I don't want to discuss it further for fear of undoing all the progress my therapist has made with me.
10. He's a bad kisser. While this is not a big deal to some women, it's a big deal to me. Of all the things I like to do to pass time, I love kissing. I think it's probably the best way to gauge, ahem, other talents. That, and I just like kissing. Did I mention how much I like kissing?? Lips too tense = bad. Slobbers all over you and your shirt = bad. Bad breath and teeth = very bad. I once went out with a guy who seemed out of sorts when I kissed him. I finally asked him why:
Him: I don't really like kissing.
Me: Why not?
Him: There's all kinds of germs in your mouth, it's so dirty. It's gross.
Me: Gross...
Him: But you can give me a blowjob if you want.
Me: Uhhh...I have to go home and tend to the cat.
11. General things that should be red flags. This includes multiple children with different women (no baby-mama-drama here), on parole, a meth problem, still married, and/or just a general dumbass. Nothing gets on my nerves faster than someone who drives the short-bus.
Some guys are sneaky...you don't find the red flags until after you have developed feelings, and they have shed the sheep's clothing. Then, the break is that much harder. They do it on purpose, thinking we are already hooked, and then figure we'll just keep them around. Bastards.
You married folks don't know how easy you have it. Being single...it sucks.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Dinner is Served
In an effort to redeem my horrible day yesterday, Paul made me dinner. Okay, so this was a premeditated event...and I was somewhat hesitant to even drive to his house for fear that a 25 car pile up would cap off the day.
We agreed to grill out steaks, so when I got there, the grill was ablazing with a thousand pieces of charcoal burning so hot that you couldn't get within 10 feet of the grill without having your eyebrows singed off. I'm fairly certain that the Weber glowed bright until 4am. That's how many pieces of charcoal were in the grill.
Because I am the ultimate steak-grilling guru...master of spice rubs and marinade, I sort of took over the grilling task while Paul stood on the other side of the patio (his eyebrows had more to lose than mine) doing platter patrol, and plotting the quickest route to the garden hose.
I must confess, that in all the times I have ever cooked over an open fire, I've never had a complete dinner cooked in just under 5 minutes. This included the shrimp kabobs, grilled squash and two decent-sized sirloins.
Dinner was great. Followed by three funny movies, warm peach pie (not a metaphor...it was an actual peach pie), and coffee.
For those who have following my saga: no, we are still not dating. I still don't know what we are doing, aside from, uhh, outing-ing. Whenever I ask, I never get a direct answer to my direct question. Kant says it's good because at least I know he's not after my body. I tell her there was never any fear of that because he appears to be afraid to even hold my hand.
I should move to Houston. I hear the singles scene holds much more promise.
On a side note...Orbitz credited my account today. Sam is home with his new hairdo. The car started each time I had to start it.
Things are returning back to normal...normal for me anyway.
We agreed to grill out steaks, so when I got there, the grill was ablazing with a thousand pieces of charcoal burning so hot that you couldn't get within 10 feet of the grill without having your eyebrows singed off. I'm fairly certain that the Weber glowed bright until 4am. That's how many pieces of charcoal were in the grill.
Because I am the ultimate steak-grilling guru...master of spice rubs and marinade, I sort of took over the grilling task while Paul stood on the other side of the patio (his eyebrows had more to lose than mine) doing platter patrol, and plotting the quickest route to the garden hose.
I must confess, that in all the times I have ever cooked over an open fire, I've never had a complete dinner cooked in just under 5 minutes. This included the shrimp kabobs, grilled squash and two decent-sized sirloins.
Dinner was great. Followed by three funny movies, warm peach pie (not a metaphor...it was an actual peach pie), and coffee.
For those who have following my saga: no, we are still not dating. I still don't know what we are doing, aside from, uhh, outing-ing. Whenever I ask, I never get a direct answer to my direct question. Kant says it's good because at least I know he's not after my body. I tell her there was never any fear of that because he appears to be afraid to even hold my hand.
I should move to Houston. I hear the singles scene holds much more promise.
On a side note...Orbitz credited my account today. Sam is home with his new hairdo. The car started each time I had to start it.
Things are returning back to normal...normal for me anyway.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Heather Has a Bad Day
Sometimes, it just doesn't pay to get out of bed in the morning.
Tuesday morning...I get up early to drop Sam off at the vet for his grooming appointment. From there, I have to go to Riverside to the Park Bank because their ATM ate my card the previous night because I was having a short-bus moment and didn't remove the card right away. Apparently, all ATMs do that.
Unfortunately, the bank isn't open, but the Quik Trip around the corner is, so I drive over for a morning beverage...a nice, icy Dr. Pepper. I go back to my car, but it won't start. It turns over once, then nothing. I sit there for a good 10 minutes offering short prayers so my car will start, only God wasn't listening to me. A passer-by stops and offers to give the car a jump start. He tries, but no dice. Personally, I think he doesn't leave the cables on long enough to build a charge, but it was nice that he tried. After many unsuccessful attempts, he wishes me luck, and drives away.
I call my brother, Mike, who is auto-repair savvy, but he tells me he is very far away working with 'bert. So, Mike can't help. I then call Trish, who comes to my aid, if not for just moral support in the matter. While I wait for Trish, I decide to walk down to the bank to see if they will give me my ATM card back.
The teller was very nice, and very apologetic to my misfortune. She directs me to Surly Old Hag, who is not very nice. She tells me that it is their policy to destroy any card swallowed by their ATM that isn't theirs. Even if I offer 50 pieces of identification? Even if.
"There's no way of knowing if the card is stolen or if you just don't have any money in your account" she sniffed, looking me up and down. Considering that my morning is heading to Land of Suckville, this lady is not doing herself any favors. Too tired to argue, I just raise an eyebrow and cast that look I reserve for those patients who come in strung out on crack looking for the narcotic hookup.
The very least she could have done was be nice. I'm having a bad day...and it's not even 9:30am. Is being nice simply too much to ask??
She begins to blather on about something else, but I just turn on my heel and walk out while she is in mid-sentence. I hope she caught the words Registered Nurse on the back of my t-shirt. I hope she gets her comeuppance, and she has to be my patient someday. I might get to tell her that it is my policy to be an asshole...and I'm putting her on a low calorie, high residue diet.
Dejected, and mildly annoyed, I walk back to my car, where I try to start it again, thinking maybe God felt sorry for me and through divine intervention, put a spark in my battery. He didn't. I call my most favorite garage ever and tell them about my problem. While they don't have a tow service, they do contract out to one. I'm given the phone number to said tow service, and I call for a truck. It's going to cost me $60 to tow the car to the garage for a new battery. At that point, it could have been $200, and I still wouldn't have cared.
Trish pulls up next to me and I try to start the car to demonstrate it is dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.
Two men happen by and stop. Being all manly and stuff, they surmise that the battery is indeed, dead...but wait...they happen to be car battery salesmen!! While they can't sell me a battery directly, they are on their way to deliver some to one of their distributors right there in town, and they would send those people over to start my car (Yay!!). I call the tow service to cancel the truck. No one answers, and the two truck shows up anyway. I explain that someone is coming to help, he drives away. I hope and pray I don't have to call him back.
So, I'm standing outside of Trish's SUV and gabbing with her about how crappy my morning is. Her son is sitting in the back watching Scooby Doo on their little built-in dvd player. I call my bank and tell them about my ATM card. They are very nice, and they order me another card. I love my bank.
In a short while, a guy comes along with a big blue box and jump starts my car with relative ease. I ask Trish to follow me to the garage to get another battery installed, but when she went to start her car, her battery had died as well. I laugh like I'm having a nervous breakdown. Jump-Start Boy happily gives her a charge with his blue box, and within minutes we have a small caravan to the garage. Car batteries for everyone!!
My car is 4 years old. Turns out, it still has the original battery. It was all crusty and nasty, and didn't even have enough power to run a vibrator.
Not that I have one of those or anything...
I get a new battery, Trish gets a new battery. It was like a bonding moment between friends. It is now 10:30. Exhausted, I go home. I'm going to take a nap, but first I need to pay some bills online. First item up for bid: the credit card.
While perusing my info online, I notice a sizeable amount gone from my available credit. I call my credit card company and it takes me forever to finally speak to a living, breathing person. Ever try to have an arguement with an automated voice sytem?? I wouldn't recommend it. You just keep getting returned to the main menu.
The credit card company does some sniffing, and they informed me that Orbitz charged me twice for my plane tickets to Ft. Lauderdale, and I need to call Orbitz and have them take care of that. I call Orbitz, have another shouting match with the automated voice system. You'd think I would have learned my lesson by now.
I get a woman, with a very thick Indian accent. Her name is...Jane. Whatever. I give her my info, and she plays Captain of the Obvious.
Jane: You purchased two plane tickets.
Me: I know.
Jane: You are flying out on such and such date with AirTran.
Me: I know.
Jane: You are flying home on such and such date with AirTran.
Me: I know.
Jane: The other passenger is Joe Schmo (name changed to protect the innocent).
Me: I already know all that. What I don't know, is why you charged me twice.
Jane goes on to tell me how much my tickets cost, breaking it down per passenger, plus taxes and other fees. After 10 minutes of me trying to get her to understand the simple fact that they charged me twice, she tells me she can't help me, but that I have to prove to them that they charged me twice before anything will be done. I suppose I could have told her off, but I was too tired, and she wouldn't have understood me anyway. So, I hung up.
In an effort to redeem my day, I went and took a nap. The alarm rang a few hours later, and I got back out of bed, against my better judgement.
The day was somewhat salvaged by a very tasty meal at a friend's house. Now, I am going to go to bed and try to forget that this day happened. Tomorrow is a brand new day.
Tuesday morning...I get up early to drop Sam off at the vet for his grooming appointment. From there, I have to go to Riverside to the Park Bank because their ATM ate my card the previous night because I was having a short-bus moment and didn't remove the card right away. Apparently, all ATMs do that.
Unfortunately, the bank isn't open, but the Quik Trip around the corner is, so I drive over for a morning beverage...a nice, icy Dr. Pepper. I go back to my car, but it won't start. It turns over once, then nothing. I sit there for a good 10 minutes offering short prayers so my car will start, only God wasn't listening to me. A passer-by stops and offers to give the car a jump start. He tries, but no dice. Personally, I think he doesn't leave the cables on long enough to build a charge, but it was nice that he tried. After many unsuccessful attempts, he wishes me luck, and drives away.
I call my brother, Mike, who is auto-repair savvy, but he tells me he is very far away working with 'bert. So, Mike can't help. I then call Trish, who comes to my aid, if not for just moral support in the matter. While I wait for Trish, I decide to walk down to the bank to see if they will give me my ATM card back.
The teller was very nice, and very apologetic to my misfortune. She directs me to Surly Old Hag, who is not very nice. She tells me that it is their policy to destroy any card swallowed by their ATM that isn't theirs. Even if I offer 50 pieces of identification? Even if.
"There's no way of knowing if the card is stolen or if you just don't have any money in your account" she sniffed, looking me up and down. Considering that my morning is heading to Land of Suckville, this lady is not doing herself any favors. Too tired to argue, I just raise an eyebrow and cast that look I reserve for those patients who come in strung out on crack looking for the narcotic hookup.
The very least she could have done was be nice. I'm having a bad day...and it's not even 9:30am. Is being nice simply too much to ask??
She begins to blather on about something else, but I just turn on my heel and walk out while she is in mid-sentence. I hope she caught the words Registered Nurse on the back of my t-shirt. I hope she gets her comeuppance, and she has to be my patient someday. I might get to tell her that it is my policy to be an asshole...and I'm putting her on a low calorie, high residue diet.
Dejected, and mildly annoyed, I walk back to my car, where I try to start it again, thinking maybe God felt sorry for me and through divine intervention, put a spark in my battery. He didn't. I call my most favorite garage ever and tell them about my problem. While they don't have a tow service, they do contract out to one. I'm given the phone number to said tow service, and I call for a truck. It's going to cost me $60 to tow the car to the garage for a new battery. At that point, it could have been $200, and I still wouldn't have cared.
Trish pulls up next to me and I try to start the car to demonstrate it is dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.
Two men happen by and stop. Being all manly and stuff, they surmise that the battery is indeed, dead...but wait...they happen to be car battery salesmen!! While they can't sell me a battery directly, they are on their way to deliver some to one of their distributors right there in town, and they would send those people over to start my car (Yay!!). I call the tow service to cancel the truck. No one answers, and the two truck shows up anyway. I explain that someone is coming to help, he drives away. I hope and pray I don't have to call him back.
So, I'm standing outside of Trish's SUV and gabbing with her about how crappy my morning is. Her son is sitting in the back watching Scooby Doo on their little built-in dvd player. I call my bank and tell them about my ATM card. They are very nice, and they order me another card. I love my bank.
In a short while, a guy comes along with a big blue box and jump starts my car with relative ease. I ask Trish to follow me to the garage to get another battery installed, but when she went to start her car, her battery had died as well. I laugh like I'm having a nervous breakdown. Jump-Start Boy happily gives her a charge with his blue box, and within minutes we have a small caravan to the garage. Car batteries for everyone!!
My car is 4 years old. Turns out, it still has the original battery. It was all crusty and nasty, and didn't even have enough power to run a vibrator.
Not that I have one of those or anything...
I get a new battery, Trish gets a new battery. It was like a bonding moment between friends. It is now 10:30. Exhausted, I go home. I'm going to take a nap, but first I need to pay some bills online. First item up for bid: the credit card.
While perusing my info online, I notice a sizeable amount gone from my available credit. I call my credit card company and it takes me forever to finally speak to a living, breathing person. Ever try to have an arguement with an automated voice sytem?? I wouldn't recommend it. You just keep getting returned to the main menu.
The credit card company does some sniffing, and they informed me that Orbitz charged me twice for my plane tickets to Ft. Lauderdale, and I need to call Orbitz and have them take care of that. I call Orbitz, have another shouting match with the automated voice system. You'd think I would have learned my lesson by now.
I get a woman, with a very thick Indian accent. Her name is...Jane. Whatever. I give her my info, and she plays Captain of the Obvious.
Jane: You purchased two plane tickets.
Me: I know.
Jane: You are flying out on such and such date with AirTran.
Me: I know.
Jane: You are flying home on such and such date with AirTran.
Me: I know.
Jane: The other passenger is Joe Schmo (name changed to protect the innocent).
Me: I already know all that. What I don't know, is why you charged me twice.
Jane goes on to tell me how much my tickets cost, breaking it down per passenger, plus taxes and other fees. After 10 minutes of me trying to get her to understand the simple fact that they charged me twice, she tells me she can't help me, but that I have to prove to them that they charged me twice before anything will be done. I suppose I could have told her off, but I was too tired, and she wouldn't have understood me anyway. So, I hung up.
In an effort to redeem my day, I went and took a nap. The alarm rang a few hours later, and I got back out of bed, against my better judgement.
The day was somewhat salvaged by a very tasty meal at a friend's house. Now, I am going to go to bed and try to forget that this day happened. Tomorrow is a brand new day.
Monday, September 11, 2006
A Day Like (and Unlike) Any Other
It goes without saying that most everyone will give pause as to the significance of September 11, whether it be some formal moment of silence in a crowd. Or it be alone and you just stop and think, "Yeah...I remember."
I was going to blog about my day, that day. Once written, I re-read it and thought it sounded trivial and mundane, because aside from the bombings, my day was trivial and mundane. Home from work, arguement with cheating slimeball ex-boyfriend, lots and lots of television. My experience, like everyone else who wasn't directly involved in some manner, is important to me because it validates my connection to that day. When the next generations ask me what I remember, I can tell them about maniacal lines of people at the gas station, the psych class I played hooky from, and the fear I felt that day. I can relay the sadness I felt whenever I thought about those people on that airplane, calling loved ones from their cell phones, knowing they would never speak to them again. If you were in their shoes, what would you tell your family?
We will all remember, just as our grandparents remember what they were doing when Pearl Harbor was hit. Just as our parents remember what they were doing when Kennedy was assassinated. What will be the horrific event that our children will recall?
Yes, I will remember September 11, it's images burned into my mind. A day where the worst of the human condition was exposed, but also the very best.
I was going to blog about my day, that day. Once written, I re-read it and thought it sounded trivial and mundane, because aside from the bombings, my day was trivial and mundane. Home from work, arguement with cheating slimeball ex-boyfriend, lots and lots of television. My experience, like everyone else who wasn't directly involved in some manner, is important to me because it validates my connection to that day. When the next generations ask me what I remember, I can tell them about maniacal lines of people at the gas station, the psych class I played hooky from, and the fear I felt that day. I can relay the sadness I felt whenever I thought about those people on that airplane, calling loved ones from their cell phones, knowing they would never speak to them again. If you were in their shoes, what would you tell your family?
We will all remember, just as our grandparents remember what they were doing when Pearl Harbor was hit. Just as our parents remember what they were doing when Kennedy was assassinated. What will be the horrific event that our children will recall?
Yes, I will remember September 11, it's images burned into my mind. A day where the worst of the human condition was exposed, but also the very best.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Adventures in Homebuying: The Loan Application
A lender I am working with emailed me an application. "Just fill it out and fax it back to me?" he said ever-so-simply.
That bitch is SEVEN PAGES LONG!!! Plus, it reads like stereo instructions. There HAS to be an easier way to do this. Lots of people buy houses. Lots of STUPID people buy houses. How in the hell did they manage to complete the loan application??? I speak Japanese and some Russian. I have an IQ of 132. I make calculations that can be the deciding factor whether someone lives or dies. I'm not stupid.
But I do know my limits.
Everytime I even glance in the general direction of the loan application, I smell oranges and I feel a seizure coming on.
Surely, I can pay someone to do this. Somewhere out there, is the idiot savant of loan applications...salivating over the next opportunity to fill in all the blanks and boxes. It's their porn.
I just need to find them.
That bitch is SEVEN PAGES LONG!!! Plus, it reads like stereo instructions. There HAS to be an easier way to do this. Lots of people buy houses. Lots of STUPID people buy houses. How in the hell did they manage to complete the loan application??? I speak Japanese and some Russian. I have an IQ of 132. I make calculations that can be the deciding factor whether someone lives or dies. I'm not stupid.
But I do know my limits.
Everytime I even glance in the general direction of the loan application, I smell oranges and I feel a seizure coming on.
Surely, I can pay someone to do this. Somewhere out there, is the idiot savant of loan applications...salivating over the next opportunity to fill in all the blanks and boxes. It's their porn.
I just need to find them.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Vacation Planning
Today, I finally booked airfare for the trip. I should have purchased a few months ago when the prices were lower. So, I have learned my lesson. Bad Heather.I booked through AirTran because it was the cheapest flight I could find. I don't know a lot about AirTran, I don't even know if they are a good airline. But they have not had a plane crash...yet. However, I know that I didn't get a seat assigned, which is never good. I hate being herded onto the plane like cattle. Like the way Southwest does it.
I also discovered someone posted the ship's menu online, so I cut and pasted it, and sent it to my fellow cruisemates...virgins to the cruising side of life. It is entirely possible to eat for 24 hours straight on a cruise ship...but why would you
want to? Oh, I see it every time I go. Some people try to literally eat the cost of the cruise. I guess they figure that if they eat their money's worth, the cruise will have paid for itself. Those are the peopel who pack on 10 pounds by week's end. Not me, I usually end up losing at least 5 because I eat like I'm supposed to: 3 balanced meals (instead of 1), and I am usually running all over the ship. A ship longer than 3 football fields, you're bound to do some endless walking. Last cruise, our cabin was on the opposite end of the ship from everything we wanted to go to...so it worked out.I have about 148 days until cruise time. I find myself getting more and more excited about going. I'll be even more stoked when I have the whole thing paid for. However, I'm having a difficult time trying to figure out what I am going to be doing in port. It seems for this itinerary, the only thing to do on the islands is to take an island tour. Maybe I can find a nice book and park my ass on a beach for the day.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Adventures in Homebuying: On the Lookout
So begins my foray into homeownership. Thus far, I have been just looking online at houses for sale via Remax or Reece & Nichols. I've been to a couple new subdivisions and toured the model homes, but it seems I tend to gravitate towards the older homes that have already been remodeled. Yeah, I could probably afford a brand new house, but I don't want to be "all about the house". I want to still be able to travel and stuff. I don't want to be one of those people who really can't do anything because their entire budget is wrapped up in mortgage payments. I want a house that can serve as my home base as I am contemplating travel nursing next year.Considering my lease is up in a few months, I figured now is a good time to get cracking. If I have to spend another year in this apartment, I will go postal and park a Ryder truck in the front of the building loaded with all the fireworks in Riverside...which makes for a VERY large truck.
I found a house online that I liked, so I saved it in my Favorites Folder. It was what I was looking for, plus it had French Doors! I was seduced by the French doors. Two days after I saved it, I went to the site to get the number of the realtor so I could go look at the house, my heart sunk as I saw the house was no longer listed. I dropped an email to my agent and asked why the house went ~poof~. Two days later, he sends me an email stating the home owner was also an agent...and decided to rent the house out because he couldn't sell it. Because the lease signed was for one year, it couldn't be broken...meaning, no French doors for Heather.
Somewhere out there, is a realtor who is crying.
Back to the drawing board.
Sad...and Alarming
I was working when I heard Steve Irwin died. One of the tech's came ripping around the corner and said, "The Crocodile Hunter died." I turned to one of the computers and looked it up.How sad. I never really watched his show, but there was something about him that made me feel like he was a standup guy. It's always the good ones who die young, which means I will live to be about 114.
I was alarmed at how he died, though. A sting ray. The first cruise I went on, we stopped in Grand Cayman, and I did what every tourist does when they go to Grand Cayman...you go to Stingray City.
Stingray City is a large sandbar out away from the island that hundreds of stingrays hang out. Fishermen used to clean their catch and toss it into the water, and soon word spread to the rays of the free buffet, and more rays came. One day, a guy jumped out of the boat and swam with them. Stingray City was born. Before too long, boat operators started offering tours to passengers out to the sandbar where they could swim and interact with the rays, who by that time, became so used to the presence of people, remained docile, and just swam around...which was pretty much my experience.
Kant and I boarded a boat, we took a short trip, and we were there...with about 500 other people. You could see the rays floating around, like large portabella mushrooms, looking for a free handout. Tour operators gave everyone pieces of squid to feed the rays, and they would also catch them so you could "pet" them (they
feel like rubber), and hold them. We were told that as long as you didn't pull the barb, the ray would not sting you. And try not to step on them.Would I go back and swim with the rays again? Yes, but Irwin would always be on the back of my mind. His getting stabbed was one of those fluke things that rarely happen, and thing that the world will always wonder...would he have lived had he not pulled it out and just waited until medical professionals could extract it? If someone ever gets impaled with something, they are not to pull it out. You never know what it's embedded ito, and if it's holding anything together.
Sad that Irwin died, but not all that shocking. I guess when you live certain lifestyles, you have to accept the certain risks that go with it....whether it be wrestling alligators, racing cars, selling drugs, or being a Registered Nurse.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Temporary Insanity
It's Monday night. I should be chillin' out in my pj's....but noooooooo. I said I would go in to work for another nurse who needed the night off.
Four nights in a row?Four consecutive 12-hour shifts? What in the hell was I thinking????
Oh yeah...$80 an hour for 8 hours of the shift, plus overtime on Saturday. I'm such a greedy little hefer.
But there is light on the horizon...at least we get to have little smokies in bbq sauce.
Four nights in a row?Four consecutive 12-hour shifts? What in the hell was I thinking????
Oh yeah...$80 an hour for 8 hours of the shift, plus overtime on Saturday. I'm such a greedy little hefer.
But there is light on the horizon...at least we get to have little smokies in bbq sauce.
Friday, September 01, 2006
My Arrowhead Cherry...Popped At Last
So I finally got to go to a Chiefs game tonight. Finally. Sure, it was preseason...but in the grand scheme of things, who cares? It was a Chiefs game, and I had never been. A friend I work with scored some tickets and asked me if I would like to go with her. Instead of dragging a grill and tailgating proper, we just bought a dinner thing from Price Chopper consisting of fried chicken and fixings. We sat in lawn chairs by the PT, ate chicken, people-watched, and talked shop.
The seats were pretty good...row 24 on lower level, just off the 30 yard line. The Chiefs played okay against the Saints. I really couldn't tell you if they played really well, or the Saints just sucked that bad.
Oh lookie...here come the Chiefs cheerleaders...yawn. I don't really understand the function of an NFL cheerleader. At least in college and high school, the cheerleaders do chants and cheers, and audience plays along, and spirit is renewed. From what I could see, they just do the same routine over and over, shake their asses AND their pom-pons simultaneously. I also observed that no one was really paying attention to them.
I once had the misfortune of knowing a girl who was a Chiefs cheerleader. Whenever the team lost, she truly believed it was because the cheerleaders performed poorly. Now, I don't know if this is the mantra of the squad, because if it is...that's just sad.
At one point, half the squad left, returned in some horrible metallic red outfits, brandishing sticks, and did some routine in the end zone. It was bad. It was Chippendale Dancer bad. My friend and I concluded that these girls, at some point, may have tried out for a more elite squad, such as the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, didn't quite cut the mustard, came home and now dance for the Chiefs.
Thankfully, a group of Pee-Wee football players came out at halftime and played. It was much more entertaining.
In front of us, sat a little old lady, all dressed in red, a temp tattoo on her cheek, and she didn't have not one tooth in her entire head. Behind us sat another woman who just yelled and yelled. "Throw the damn football!" "Get a touchdown!" and "Quarterback!" We are not certain what that last one was about, but it was pretty damn funny anyway.
$7 for a bottle of beer? $5 for a glass of lemon-flavored water? And they can't come up with the money to pay for their own damn rolling roof??? What's the deal with that??
So, the Chiefs won. Yay. Everyone walks out to the parking lot en masse. KCPD is out in full force on golf carts. I almost got ran over twice. They were speeding (well, as fast as you can go on a golf cart), would plow into a large group of people, and then yell at everyone because they couldn't get out of the way fast enough. It was almost like they were bowling for Chiefs Fans. Bastards. Is is any wonder that no one likes them?
My first Arrowhead experience? Pretty fun. I would consider getting season tickets, but because I work weekends, that might be a conflict. However, for a Monday night, or even Thanksgiving, I would seriously consider getting tickets. The least I would do is tailgate.
Anyone care to join me for some tailgating festivities?? When we are done, we can toss out road spikes for any oncoming po-po terrorizing pedestrians.
The seats were pretty good...row 24 on lower level, just off the 30 yard line. The Chiefs played okay against the Saints. I really couldn't tell you if they played really well, or the Saints just sucked that bad.
Oh lookie...here come the Chiefs cheerleaders...yawn. I don't really understand the function of an NFL cheerleader. At least in college and high school, the cheerleaders do chants and cheers, and audience plays along, and spirit is renewed. From what I could see, they just do the same routine over and over, shake their asses AND their pom-pons simultaneously. I also observed that no one was really paying attention to them.
I once had the misfortune of knowing a girl who was a Chiefs cheerleader. Whenever the team lost, she truly believed it was because the cheerleaders performed poorly. Now, I don't know if this is the mantra of the squad, because if it is...that's just sad.
At one point, half the squad left, returned in some horrible metallic red outfits, brandishing sticks, and did some routine in the end zone. It was bad. It was Chippendale Dancer bad. My friend and I concluded that these girls, at some point, may have tried out for a more elite squad, such as the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, didn't quite cut the mustard, came home and now dance for the Chiefs.
Thankfully, a group of Pee-Wee football players came out at halftime and played. It was much more entertaining.
In front of us, sat a little old lady, all dressed in red, a temp tattoo on her cheek, and she didn't have not one tooth in her entire head. Behind us sat another woman who just yelled and yelled. "Throw the damn football!" "Get a touchdown!" and "Quarterback!" We are not certain what that last one was about, but it was pretty damn funny anyway.
$7 for a bottle of beer? $5 for a glass of lemon-flavored water? And they can't come up with the money to pay for their own damn rolling roof??? What's the deal with that??
So, the Chiefs won. Yay. Everyone walks out to the parking lot en masse. KCPD is out in full force on golf carts. I almost got ran over twice. They were speeding (well, as fast as you can go on a golf cart), would plow into a large group of people, and then yell at everyone because they couldn't get out of the way fast enough. It was almost like they were bowling for Chiefs Fans. Bastards. Is is any wonder that no one likes them?
My first Arrowhead experience? Pretty fun. I would consider getting season tickets, but because I work weekends, that might be a conflict. However, for a Monday night, or even Thanksgiving, I would seriously consider getting tickets. The least I would do is tailgate.
Anyone care to join me for some tailgating festivities?? When we are done, we can toss out road spikes for any oncoming po-po terrorizing pedestrians.
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