All weekend, all I could think about was making a pot of potato soup. I don't mean to brag, but I make awesome potato soup. This was going to be a special event!
I bought all the things I would need for my special potato soup, get everything home, begin to assemble my preparation tools. I reach for my trusty, lifetime guaranteed Pampered Chef stockpot, and come face to face with the horrible realization that I accidentally left the stockpot back at the apartment...along with two saucepans of the same maker, and a Fiestaware dutch oven.
I made a point to remember the stupid breadmaker, but forgot the very things that make my life worth living.
After my global anxiety attack, I calmed myself down by telling myself I would call the apartment complex in the morning and inquire about my cookware. I know for a fact that they don't even begin to turn over vacated apartments until months after the tenant has left. The River Oaks apartment complex is that crappy (don't ever move there). Not to mention they are going to have to completely gut the place oweing to all the water damage their neglected leaks had caused.
So, I called the management office first thing in the morning. The lady who answered the phone got all hateful with me because I moved out in the first place...even though I went through the appropriate channels to do so: gave them the required noticed, cleaned the apartment, and was an overall model tenant (the police were never called to my place...NOT ONCE!). How dare I buy a house and not want to live in a crappy apartment complex that has seemingly turned Section 8!
In a nutshell, I don't get my cookware back. After getting different stories about it, she finally settled on the "we already cleaned out your apartment" excuse. Bullshit. My butt-ass expensive cookware is now in the hands of some peon who has NO IDEA what they have in their possession. Do they know how I had to practically whore myself out to people to buy kitchen gadgets so I could get those pots and pans for HALF their purchase price?!?
It has made me sick. SICK. SICK. SICK!! I will replace them, there is no question, but the thought of how much money I am going to have to shell out for them...again. I'm going to have to host a Pampered Chef party so I can get them at a discount. That's also the part that makes me sick.
It doesn't help matters that Paul likes to remind me about my loss whenever he wants to see me have a nervous breakdown about it...which is almost daily.
Not a red-letter week for Heather...and it's only mid-week.
I'm still waiting for my new modem, which should arrive either Wednesday or Thursday. Being without the internet has been terrible. Especially since now I am getting down to final planning of vacation details, and I still have a ton of crap to do before I go. Even the idea of getting ready for vacation is stressing me out, and I am blaming the move for it.
I just want to curl up in the fetal position somewhere and nurse a really big Dr. Pepper in crushed ice.