Saturday, June 27, 2009

...They shoot cuz they wanna.*

Things that have happened within the last 72 hours:

  • WE GOT THE HOUSE. The roofers came back with an estimate that was half what we expected it to be, as the damage was not as bad as we originally feared, and the home owners decided to pay for the repairs. (As opposed to fighting us on it, refusing our offer, and attempting to screw less savy home buyers.) Our move-in date is the 24th of next month. Um. Does anyone want to help me pack? Otherwise, I might just count it as a loss and burn all of my crap in the alley out back, because that sounds very celebratory and festive for the 4th. Independance from my stinky, over-priced apartment, huzzah!
  • My dog sucked $130 dollars out of my wallet. Actually, more accurately, her bottom parts turned into a pale brown fire hose of terror and distruction, prompting me to take her to the vet and pay them $130 to tell me she has Irritable Bowel Syndrome. She went over night from being healthy and happy to needing special food and gut-bacteria powder sprinked on said special food to stay alive. Which I'm going for because, gah, I love her. If she suffers or the medication doesn't take, however, we'll be writing a different story.
  • I ordered a bunch of maternity stuff online, then promptly forgot about it because ME + SHOPPING = FAIL. I don't like to do it, and I don't care about it, so I space it out as soon as it's done. Today, I found a package outside my door full of what I'd ordered, one item being a green and white baby blanket. And lo, it is soft and was like a surprise present because I'd forgotten all about it. Sometimes I love being absent minded.
  • I locked myself out of my apartment this morning, leaving my car/house keys on the couch. My spare house key was in my (locked) car, and my spare car key was in my (locked) house. Is there anything else in the world that can make a person feel so incredibly stupid? If so, I haven't found it. I HATE being absent minded.
  • I got a phone call from a girl I was friends with at the beginning of High School. (I may be young, but trust: That was many, many, many moons ago.) By graduation we had grown apart (...because she fucked my best friend and then complained to me that he was awkward and ignored her afterward, which... Uh... Sorry, maybe don't fuck ambivilant stoners because you're trying to test how attractive the 'No really, I'm bisexual, don't you think that's hot, doesn't it make you like me?' line actually is? My less than sympathetic reaction disappointed her, which made me care less, which further inflamed the situation,) and I've only spoken to her while drunk on whiskey maybe 8 times since then. Anyway, she called and I didn't answer because, as you might have gathered, we have very little to talk about. She left no voicemail, but instead sent me a text message berating me for not answering the phone, when if I didn't want to talk to her the least I could do was tell her to fuck off.
  • I told her to fuck off. I told her that the least I could do if I didn't want to talk to her was NOT TALK TO HER, and that one of us needed to chill right the hell out, put the phone down, take a deep breath, and realize that high school was a LONG time ago so we should all have our big girl panties on by this point. It was satisfying in the way the defiant, pubescent slam of a door can be. I have no patience for passive aggressive strangeness, and who calls someone that's basically a complete stranger and then gets indignant when they don't answer? People that deserve to be told to fuck off, that's who. I do feel a little bad about it now, though, which I kind of hate.
  • I'm about 99% sure this baby is a girl. So much so that if at our next appointment it's found that there is a penis somewhere in my abdomen, I just may faint from the shock. To avoid any injury from my passing out during a very Southern and lady like case of the vapors, I think I might wear one of those inflatable floaty duck rings that you see in cartoons when characters go to the beach, so as to be cushioned from all sides when I hit the deck. They make those things, right? Because if not, I'm boned.
  • Told my land lord about Creepy McGangster and his Roving Pack of Pervert Homies next door, and he said he'd get on that shit like a fat kid on a cupcake. He said they've been told once to congregate somewhere else, and he'd make sure I wasn't bothered by them anymore, which is awesome except that now I feel like a jerk for moving out. He's never been a particularly kind man up until now, and he doesn't know I'm moving yet. I might want to mention that um.. tomorrow... or soon-ish. Maybe Monday? Definitely. Definitely Monday. ("82, 82, 82 toothpicks. 246 total, 4 left in the box." I hear that in my head every time I hear/say/see the word 'definitely.' Anyone else? No? Just me then? Eh.)

(*A line from the song Bullets, I think. Get it. Because there I used bull-oh never mind.)


  1. Congrats on getting the house.

    Give your dog a big dolop of yogert...just get the cheap big containers and give him some everyday.

  2. Congrats on the house! That is huge. I LOVED the few times I ordered something, forgot, and it came to the door. Like Christmas. Thank you for sharing about your losses on my blog. It is good to know someone understands.