I love the drive from North Carolina to Virginia. Love it, love it, love it. Love the fact that the interstate is flanked by trees, love that there are wildflowers in the median, love how the mountains go from blue to green the closer you get to them. And at some point during this drive, I invariably start thinking about the blueness of the sky! And the greenness of the grass! AND THE SHININESS OF THE TRUCKS! And I grin, and I sing, and I feel very much like Tigger on Prozac. Which is a nice change because generally speaking, I'm more like Eeyore on downers. At a funeral.
But this drive is mind-blowingly excellent. And I think part of the reason I love it so much is that I spent my adolescence in the Midwest, and at some point, when you're driving through Indiana and you've got three hours behind you and three left to go and there are dried up corn fields as far as the eye can see and even the talk radio stations have faded into static, the term "dying of boredom" takes on a whole new meaning. One time, I actually considered putting the car on cruise control, popping my eyeballs out of my head, and juggling them, just so I'd have something to do.
I wish I could bottle the optimism I felt during my drive this morning so I could sip at it for the next two days.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
My Bad
I went to talk to the apartment people YET AGAIN, in the vain hope that maybe today might be the day that they will finally fix that leak in the shower.
Me: Hi, I called about a leaky shower a week ago. Do you think maintenance will be able to get out there today?
Apartment person: Uh...you're from Apt 7306, right? They came out yesterday.
Me: 7306? No...I'm from 7207.
AP: Huh. Well, it says here that it was 7306. Our guy was kind of confused because there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the shower.
Me: Oh. Yeah. Um. 7306 was our old apartment. I...must've given you the wrong number. Sorry.
And now, I feel (a) stupid because I can't ever remember our actual address, and (b) guilty for all the mean thoughts I've been thinking about the managers of our apartment complex. Oops.
Me: Hi, I called about a leaky shower a week ago. Do you think maintenance will be able to get out there today?
Apartment person: Uh...you're from Apt 7306, right? They came out yesterday.
Me: 7306? No...I'm from 7207.
AP: Huh. Well, it says here that it was 7306. Our guy was kind of confused because there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the shower.
Me: Oh. Yeah. Um. 7306 was our old apartment. I...must've given you the wrong number. Sorry.
And now, I feel (a) stupid because I can't ever remember our actual address, and (b) guilty for all the mean thoughts I've been thinking about the managers of our apartment complex. Oops.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Neuroses of a Dog
My dog will be turning 10 later this summer. And you'd think that after a decade of existing on this planet, he would understand the basics of life. And it's not like we ask that much of him, really. We don't expect him to learn how to put on a suit and deliver a power point presentation. We don't expect him to understand the intricacies of the uncertainty principle. In fact, we don't even fully expect him to obey us when we tell him to sit or stay or lie down.
We do expect him to go outside to pee. And after 10 years of trying every house training method known to man, he still doesn't always get the hang of this. He seems to think that being alone in a room is the same as being outside. So ok, we compensate for this personality flaw by making sure that for the most part, he's never alone in a room.
We also expect him not to go crazy when he hears loud noises. Thunder. The FedEx truck. Birds in the chimney. That kind of thing. And he definitely doesn't get this. He's still convinced that regardless of how scary the Loud Things are, he is ten times scarier. So he does his best impression of Cujo every time we get a package delivered. But we can anticipate this behavior, and we can pet him and tell him that the world is not coming to a fiery end every time it rains. And it's annoying, but we can live with it.
But a couple of years ago, he convinced himself that he had fleas. In his defense, he did have fleas, but he was promptly treated and they haven't come back since. Except he doesn't believe us when we tell him that. So he spent a year and a half pulling out clumps of hair and looking very bedraggled and odd. After many, many months of us telling him to STOP IT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JUST STOP IT, he decided to listen. Instead, he now licks the carpet. Incessantly. Loudly. All day long. And what's worse, all NIGHT long.
Maybe if I convince him he has fleas again, he'll go back to pulling out his own hair and I can get some sleep.
We do expect him to go outside to pee. And after 10 years of trying every house training method known to man, he still doesn't always get the hang of this. He seems to think that being alone in a room is the same as being outside. So ok, we compensate for this personality flaw by making sure that for the most part, he's never alone in a room.
We also expect him not to go crazy when he hears loud noises. Thunder. The FedEx truck. Birds in the chimney. That kind of thing. And he definitely doesn't get this. He's still convinced that regardless of how scary the Loud Things are, he is ten times scarier. So he does his best impression of Cujo every time we get a package delivered. But we can anticipate this behavior, and we can pet him and tell him that the world is not coming to a fiery end every time it rains. And it's annoying, but we can live with it.
But a couple of years ago, he convinced himself that he had fleas. In his defense, he did have fleas, but he was promptly treated and they haven't come back since. Except he doesn't believe us when we tell him that. So he spent a year and a half pulling out clumps of hair and looking very bedraggled and odd. After many, many months of us telling him to STOP IT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JUST STOP IT, he decided to listen. Instead, he now licks the carpet. Incessantly. Loudly. All day long. And what's worse, all NIGHT long.
Maybe if I convince him he has fleas again, he'll go back to pulling out his own hair and I can get some sleep.
Monday, May 26, 2008
The Olympic Shopping Event 2008
It's Memorial Day. And for me (and, I'm sure, millions of other Americans), that means it's time for Memorial Day sales. And I would like to spend the day pretending that my bank account will allow me to buy fun things--clothes, shoes, the newest battery powered cat toys. That last one is especially tempting. Instead, we will spend today looking at furniture.
In theory, this is a good thing. It's time to get rid of the card table that we use as a dining table, and that the cats use as a place to sleep. It's time to get rid of the end table from the 70's that we use as a coffee table, and that the cats use as a place to sleep. And it is definitely, without a question, time to get rid of the end table that I use as a nightstand and (can you predict the end of this sentence???) that the cats use as a place to sleep.
The reality of the matter? McMoose and I are polar opposites on most things in life, and furniture preference is no different. He likes dark woods. I like light. He likes outdoorsy looking things. I say that if I wanted to feel like I was outside, I would GO OUTSIDE. He thinks about what would be best for our bank account NOW. I think about the fact that if we buy the cheap furniture, we'll regret it in a year.
And to make it even more interesting, my dad is going to go with us. *Muahaha* I hope he's prepared because furniture shopping with me and McMoose? It could probably be considered an extreme sport.
In theory, this is a good thing. It's time to get rid of the card table that we use as a dining table, and that the cats use as a place to sleep. It's time to get rid of the end table from the 70's that we use as a coffee table, and that the cats use as a place to sleep. And it is definitely, without a question, time to get rid of the end table that I use as a nightstand and (can you predict the end of this sentence???) that the cats use as a place to sleep.
The reality of the matter? McMoose and I are polar opposites on most things in life, and furniture preference is no different. He likes dark woods. I like light. He likes outdoorsy looking things. I say that if I wanted to feel like I was outside, I would GO OUTSIDE. He thinks about what would be best for our bank account NOW. I think about the fact that if we buy the cheap furniture, we'll regret it in a year.
And to make it even more interesting, my dad is going to go with us. *Muahaha* I hope he's prepared because furniture shopping with me and McMoose? It could probably be considered an extreme sport.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Skin Things
My arms are red. And spotty. And they itch. Which is just FAN-tastic because I have an oh-so-slight phobia of skin things. By which I mean that if I have so much as a mosquito bite, I promptly hyperventilate and try to drown myself in my sink. Except that as much as I hate having skin things, I'm also fascinated by them. So I watch my arm warily. I poke at the spots with my nails. I scratch and glare and basically bother it continuously, and in the end, I make it twenty times worse than it would have been if I had just LEFT IT THE HELL ALONE.
The last time I spontaneously got a skin thing, it was because I had managed to freak myself out so much over the mere POSSIBILITY that I might get a rash that I gave myself a stress rash. Lovely. And this time? I think I'm allergic to the wedding. Because we spent all morning surrounded by lace and tulle, looking for ring bearer pillows and cake serving sets and the redness and spottiness and itchiness grew steadily worse. I told McMoose about my suspicions and he very unsympathetically informed me that if that were the case, I'd really be hating life in a week, when the wedding will actually be taking place. Thank you, McMoose. Your gift for stating the obvious remains as strong as always.
The last time I spontaneously got a skin thing, it was because I had managed to freak myself out so much over the mere POSSIBILITY that I might get a rash that I gave myself a stress rash. Lovely. And this time? I think I'm allergic to the wedding. Because we spent all morning surrounded by lace and tulle, looking for ring bearer pillows and cake serving sets and the redness and spottiness and itchiness grew steadily worse. I told McMoose about my suspicions and he very unsympathetically informed me that if that were the case, I'd really be hating life in a week, when the wedding will actually be taking place. Thank you, McMoose. Your gift for stating the obvious remains as strong as always.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Feeling Bugged
A while ago, we had a very large spider that refused to die. We washed it down the sink. It crawled back up. We tried smushing it with a paper towel. It was miraculously unharmed. We told it in no uncertain terms that its presence was not appreciated. It was unfazed. Finally, McMoose smushed it AND flushed it down the toilet. We hadn't seen it in about a week, and we spent the entire week rejoicing. It is now sitting on the wall and staring at me. Damn.
On any other day, I'd concede defeat and let the spider have this room. Today, however, I inadvertently let a bee (wasp, maybe?) into the living room. And in order to get to any of the other rooms in the apartment, I have to go through the living room. And although the spider is spooky and seemingly immortal, the bee? It can sting. So the spider, the dog and I have called a truce and have decided to share this room. Meanwhile, the cats are turning the rest of my apartment upside down in a futile attempt to catch the bee because apparently, they haven't been informed that bees can FLY and they cannot. This is not how I imagined spending my day today.
On any other day, I'd concede defeat and let the spider have this room. Today, however, I inadvertently let a bee (wasp, maybe?) into the living room. And in order to get to any of the other rooms in the apartment, I have to go through the living room. And although the spider is spooky and seemingly immortal, the bee? It can sting. So the spider, the dog and I have called a truce and have decided to share this room. Meanwhile, the cats are turning the rest of my apartment upside down in a futile attempt to catch the bee because apparently, they haven't been informed that bees can FLY and they cannot. This is not how I imagined spending my day today.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
If Only I Had a Tiger
I keep getting emails from PayPal telling me that there has been a security breach on my account and that I need to verify my information as soon as possible, the implication being that if I don't email them back that very instant, ALIENS WILL TAKE OVER THE WORLD. And they're dead serious about this too, because they send me multiple emails each day. In fact, when I logged on this morning, my email account took me aside and explained to me that I was THIS close to exceeding my storage limit and if I didn't rectify the situation immediately, it would no longer be able to be my friend.
In theory, this rash of emails sounds fantastic. It sounds like PayPal is on top of their game. It sounds like they're being cautious and conscientious and keeping their clients' best interests in mind. The only problem? I don't HAVE a PayPal account. And I'm really, really tempted to reply to one of these emails, just so I can say:
"Dear Person Who Wants to Steal My Identity,
Please take me off your mailing list, as I do not have a PayPal account. And also, the fact that you send out twenty-nine emails per day? That makes you seem slightly overzealous. It might be a tip-off to your potential victims that you are, in fact, a fake. Kindly do your research the next time you try to scam people."
The other alternative, of course, is to move to Burma and raise tigers. I'd like to see someone try and steal my identity then.
In theory, this rash of emails sounds fantastic. It sounds like PayPal is on top of their game. It sounds like they're being cautious and conscientious and keeping their clients' best interests in mind. The only problem? I don't HAVE a PayPal account. And I'm really, really tempted to reply to one of these emails, just so I can say:
"Dear Person Who Wants to Steal My Identity,
Please take me off your mailing list, as I do not have a PayPal account. And also, the fact that you send out twenty-nine emails per day? That makes you seem slightly overzealous. It might be a tip-off to your potential victims that you are, in fact, a fake. Kindly do your research the next time you try to scam people."
The other alternative, of course, is to move to Burma and raise tigers. I'd like to see someone try and steal my identity then.
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