Big spiders. Antsy fucking dogs. No hot water. Permanently wet clothes.
14 DAYS
Monday, May 30, 2005
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Spring has sprung, a.k.a. Welcome to the Jungle
Well, spring/summer has sprung here at House. This means all varietals of flowers are in bloom, jasmine and roses and the really high weeds that have taken over the yard. As if it were easy trying to get myself to walk the dogs before, now I find myself traipsing all over high grasses and thinking that now, not having health insurance, is no time to get Lyme's disease.
Along with the "splendor" of summer at House comes critters. Birds are tweet-tweeting everywhere (until Fred gets hold of them) and deer are frolicking in the yard. Unfortunately, bees the size of a small fawn are standing guard at the door, so I've been going in through the garage to avoid them instead of running screaming, knowing these bees can catch me if they want to. Even as I type, there is a hornet with a long stinger trapped between my skylight and my screen, fighting to get inside and eat me.
Today, while walking the dogs through the woods/my yard, I had just dodged a couple bees. Ducked down from some low-flying bird in Alfred Hitchcock movie style. Navigated my way through the less-tall grass.
Have I mentioned there is no hot water because I've apparently run out of propane ("300 bloody dollars to fill that tank," I've been told), and my third floor room with all skylights is currently 85 degrees?
I believe today is the appropriate time to start the countdown till Miss M gets home, meaning the countdown till I move out an hour before her plane arrives.
15 days.
Along with the "splendor" of summer at House comes critters. Birds are tweet-tweeting everywhere (until Fred gets hold of them) and deer are frolicking in the yard. Unfortunately, bees the size of a small fawn are standing guard at the door, so I've been going in through the garage to avoid them instead of running screaming, knowing these bees can catch me if they want to. Even as I type, there is a hornet with a long stinger trapped between my skylight and my screen, fighting to get inside and eat me.
Today, while walking the dogs through the woods/my yard, I had just dodged a couple bees. Ducked down from some low-flying bird in Alfred Hitchcock movie style. Navigated my way through the less-tall grass.
Went to step on a garden hose and IT WRIGGLED.This was no garden hose. This was a garden snake, and a pretty long one at that. By now, I'm panting with all this activity and scream like a banshee as the snake slithers under a bush. The dogs, my alarms and my protectors, just sat there and looked at me.
Have I mentioned there is no hot water because I've apparently run out of propane ("300 bloody dollars to fill that tank," I've been told), and my third floor room with all skylights is currently 85 degrees?
I believe today is the appropriate time to start the countdown till Miss M gets home, meaning the countdown till I move out an hour before her plane arrives.
15 days.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
"Hip? Hip Hop? Hip hop anonymous?"
Well, I'm one step closer to the person I should be after an Off the Curb class with Jackie Henderson.
My friend and coworker Anne suggested we take a hip-hop class tonight, only $8. We drove over to the studio, right at the top of the projects and next to a very low-class dive bar. A Jamaican in a caravan drove by and told us we were beautiful and asked if we were already married. Of course, we said yes we were.
Jackie Henderson is the choreographer for the Off the Curb dance troupe, and in case any of you haven't seen them, they are amazing. She's such a freakin natural, too... all she has to do is throw her arm up in the air and I'm like "oooooooh. das niiiice." She's so sweet and casual in her Rocawear sweatshirt and Timbs, I guess the way a hip-hop dance diva should be dressed. I have learned the Crip walk and several other dance moves that you have to see to believe. To give you a mental picture, at one point, she said, "Shake whatever's loosest as fast as you can. But make sure you can stop it!" I thought about how I left my sports bra at home by accident and decided I'd better just shake my ass in that case.
And, then at the end, Jackie Henderson told me I'm really good and I should think about getting involved in the Off the Curb Dance troupe! ... OK, no she didn't. But that would've been cool, huh?
Next time, I'll wear my Rocawear jeans and the yellow Brooklyn sweatshirt Brian gave me. I knew I got them for a reason.
My friend and coworker Anne suggested we take a hip-hop class tonight, only $8. We drove over to the studio, right at the top of the projects and next to a very low-class dive bar. A Jamaican in a caravan drove by and told us we were beautiful and asked if we were already married. Of course, we said yes we were.
Jackie Henderson is the choreographer for the Off the Curb dance troupe, and in case any of you haven't seen them, they are amazing. She's such a freakin natural, too... all she has to do is throw her arm up in the air and I'm like "oooooooh. das niiiice." She's so sweet and casual in her Rocawear sweatshirt and Timbs, I guess the way a hip-hop dance diva should be dressed. I have learned the Crip walk and several other dance moves that you have to see to believe. To give you a mental picture, at one point, she said, "Shake whatever's loosest as fast as you can. But make sure you can stop it!" I thought about how I left my sports bra at home by accident and decided I'd better just shake my ass in that case.
And, then at the end, Jackie Henderson told me I'm really good and I should think about getting involved in the Off the Curb Dance troupe! ... OK, no she didn't. But that would've been cool, huh?
Next time, I'll wear my Rocawear jeans and the yellow Brooklyn sweatshirt Brian gave me. I knew I got them for a reason.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Raise your hand
Who wants to go see the Roots with me Wednesday in Boston? Ian is SO dumped.
Now recruiting anyone with a love for hip hop and who also thinks they are black. I think me and Ian might have been the only ones that fit that though.
Act now or forever hold your peas.
Now recruiting anyone with a love for hip hop and who also thinks they are black. I think me and Ian might have been the only ones that fit that though.
Act now or forever hold your peas.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Ronald Must Die
I really needed a caramel sundae.
I was home alone the other night, and it was only like, 8 p.m. I thought I would pick up a caramel sundae from McDonalds, the only proper place, and try like hell to avoid eating it until i was home, warm in my bed. In one hand would be my caramel sundae. In the other would be the remote, clicking through the second season of Sex & The City before I have to return it to Netflix. Yes, I actually HAVE to return it, because I can't afford Netflix anymore.
Anyway, I got to McDonalds and entered the drive thru, since I always drive thru and since I was wearing pajama bottoms and no bra. I pulled up to the speaker and scanned the menu absent-mindedly, wondering if I wanted nuts. I noticed that the dessert section now had McFlurry's and hot fudge sundaes. No caramel. Hm.
"Welcome to McDonalds, may I take your order please?"
"Oh, hi, can I get a caramel sundae please..."
I trailed off, trying to decide if i should ask for the extra caramel on the bottom, when to my surprise, she interjected.
"We don't have caramel."
"Um, excuse me?"
"We don't have caramel."
"Oh, crap. OK I'll have an oreo McFlurry."
I drove around in a panic. Maybe they just ran out. Maybe it's just this McDonalds. On the way over, I had been contemplating whether I should go to the McDonalds on West Main or East Main; maybe I had just made the wrong choice and I was being punished.
I pulled up to the disinterested looking Hispanic girl at the window and handed her my $2 and change, far more than I should be paying if I were getting my $1 caramel sundae.
"So," I said, trying to act composed. "Are you just out of caramel or do you not carry it anymore?"
"We don't have it anymore."
My face dropped. I looked at her sadly, and I told her quite honestly that this was the saddest thing I have ever heard in my life. She smiled politely.
I went home with my McFlurry and made a couple frantic phone calls, trying to find out if this was a McDonalds-wide phenomenon. Jamie confirmed that she in fact also had tried to get a caramel sundae a few weeks ago, to no avail. Oh my god.
So, yesterday afternoon I went to my Memere's house to bring her some oatmeal in the hospital. I went instinctively to the fridge for a Diet Pepsi, and there in a blaze of glory was a bottle of caramel on the door. I reached and swiftly pulled off the cap and squirted it right into my mouth-- about a full mouthful if truth be told. God, it's good. McDonalds be damned.
I was home alone the other night, and it was only like, 8 p.m. I thought I would pick up a caramel sundae from McDonalds, the only proper place, and try like hell to avoid eating it until i was home, warm in my bed. In one hand would be my caramel sundae. In the other would be the remote, clicking through the second season of Sex & The City before I have to return it to Netflix. Yes, I actually HAVE to return it, because I can't afford Netflix anymore.
Anyway, I got to McDonalds and entered the drive thru, since I always drive thru and since I was wearing pajama bottoms and no bra. I pulled up to the speaker and scanned the menu absent-mindedly, wondering if I wanted nuts. I noticed that the dessert section now had McFlurry's and hot fudge sundaes. No caramel. Hm.
"Welcome to McDonalds, may I take your order please?"
"Oh, hi, can I get a caramel sundae please..."
I trailed off, trying to decide if i should ask for the extra caramel on the bottom, when to my surprise, she interjected.
"We don't have caramel."
"Um, excuse me?"
"We don't have caramel."
"Oh, crap. OK I'll have an oreo McFlurry."
I drove around in a panic. Maybe they just ran out. Maybe it's just this McDonalds. On the way over, I had been contemplating whether I should go to the McDonalds on West Main or East Main; maybe I had just made the wrong choice and I was being punished.
I pulled up to the disinterested looking Hispanic girl at the window and handed her my $2 and change, far more than I should be paying if I were getting my $1 caramel sundae.
"So," I said, trying to act composed. "Are you just out of caramel or do you not carry it anymore?"
"We don't have it anymore."
My face dropped. I looked at her sadly, and I told her quite honestly that this was the saddest thing I have ever heard in my life. She smiled politely.
I went home with my McFlurry and made a couple frantic phone calls, trying to find out if this was a McDonalds-wide phenomenon. Jamie confirmed that she in fact also had tried to get a caramel sundae a few weeks ago, to no avail. Oh my god.
So, yesterday afternoon I went to my Memere's house to bring her some oatmeal in the hospital. I went instinctively to the fridge for a Diet Pepsi, and there in a blaze of glory was a bottle of caramel on the door. I reached and swiftly pulled off the cap and squirted it right into my mouth-- about a full mouthful if truth be told. God, it's good. McDonalds be damned.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
To any of you who were faithful readers of the Mosaic in the good old days, i suggest today you check out the features section at www.newportmercury.com. A scintillating story about thefacebook.com, which unfortunately has my picture but i suggest if you're nearby, you pick up the print edition. THAT one has cute pics of Angie, Abby, Brian, Dave, etc. all over the page which makes sense. that picture of me... does not. But I love you guys and I wanted to share.
A blog about my traumatic Tuesday evening will follow later tonight! Nothing serious, except it is serious.
A blog about my traumatic Tuesday evening will follow later tonight! Nothing serious, except it is serious.
Sunday, May 08, 2005
For Miss M, whenever I decide to leave
Dear Miss M,
I will soon be leaving House for the following reasons.
There is no way I can feed two dogs and a cat, keep them fresh-smelling and happy for two and a half months with $40 and I need more money. Your cat kills something nearly every day—a couple weeks ago, it was the lower half of a dead grey thing and today I was greeted with blue jay leftovers—and your dogs think they’re supposed to shit in the house. At least they stopped humping each other now that they’re out of heat, but nonetheless, it must say somewhere in the health books scattered around the house that breathing in urine and feces every morning is not good for the lungs. I thought maybe if I gave them more freedom they’d stop shitting, but they tore up your couch cushions instead. Sorry. Luckily, you probably bought the couch for $30 at Building 19 anyway.
"House" is disgustingly messy, cluttered with items still wrapped that you bought from Job Lot, and infested with a wide variety of spiders. The fact that I notice another strange object taped to the wall each day, like tea bags or the plastic thing you pull off a half gallon of milk to open it, is disconcerting. I had to clear 35 bottles of vitamins from my foot-high fridge to make room which, by the way, freezes everything no matter which way I turn the dial. The fridge in “your” kitchen is full of really old eggs, vitamins and dead lobsters, and the lack of a dining room table anywhere in this two-kitchen house is confusing. Your clothes dryer doesn’t actually get a bra dry in less than two hours and I believe it’s wasting more energy than my refusal to “switch to solar power on sunny days.” You’ll find that out when the electric bill comes, though, and you can add that to the list of complaints including “ploughing the drive, bloody expensive, and $300 to fill the propane.” Again, I apologize for my excessive needs to be warm and actually leave the house this past winter. Too bad you couldn’t get your tractor out and plough the drive yourself; I would’ve paid you the $80 to see that.
Most importantly, your water turned my hair green, and I know you stole my quarters. Fucking Cheap Brit.
Most of your plants are dead, and I've taken the liberty to have your still-wrapped Patsy Cline CD that you bought from Wal-Mart many years ago. Jenn and I ate your frozen pizzas, the only bloody edible thing in your whole fridge, so you can take that off the $30 you owe me for baths and doggie perfume. Pay no attention to those photos snapped on your disposable camera, and if it smells like weed in here, it should.
I know Zup is supposed to be my emergency contact, but honestly, I think we called him enough that time after the bar when John Fing Bozzuto asked his answering machine if he had gotten his rabies shot. I’d call you myself, but I can’t find you since you faxed me your travel itinerary in French.
The dogs are taking a holiday up the street at K-9 Instincts. Cheers!
Lots of love,
Kennel Girl
I will soon be leaving House for the following reasons.
There is no way I can feed two dogs and a cat, keep them fresh-smelling and happy for two and a half months with $40 and I need more money. Your cat kills something nearly every day—a couple weeks ago, it was the lower half of a dead grey thing and today I was greeted with blue jay leftovers—and your dogs think they’re supposed to shit in the house. At least they stopped humping each other now that they’re out of heat, but nonetheless, it must say somewhere in the health books scattered around the house that breathing in urine and feces every morning is not good for the lungs. I thought maybe if I gave them more freedom they’d stop shitting, but they tore up your couch cushions instead. Sorry. Luckily, you probably bought the couch for $30 at Building 19 anyway.
"House" is disgustingly messy, cluttered with items still wrapped that you bought from Job Lot, and infested with a wide variety of spiders. The fact that I notice another strange object taped to the wall each day, like tea bags or the plastic thing you pull off a half gallon of milk to open it, is disconcerting. I had to clear 35 bottles of vitamins from my foot-high fridge to make room which, by the way, freezes everything no matter which way I turn the dial. The fridge in “your” kitchen is full of really old eggs, vitamins and dead lobsters, and the lack of a dining room table anywhere in this two-kitchen house is confusing. Your clothes dryer doesn’t actually get a bra dry in less than two hours and I believe it’s wasting more energy than my refusal to “switch to solar power on sunny days.” You’ll find that out when the electric bill comes, though, and you can add that to the list of complaints including “ploughing the drive, bloody expensive, and $300 to fill the propane.” Again, I apologize for my excessive needs to be warm and actually leave the house this past winter. Too bad you couldn’t get your tractor out and plough the drive yourself; I would’ve paid you the $80 to see that.
Most importantly, your water turned my hair green, and I know you stole my quarters. Fucking Cheap Brit.
Most of your plants are dead, and I've taken the liberty to have your still-wrapped Patsy Cline CD that you bought from Wal-Mart many years ago. Jenn and I ate your frozen pizzas, the only bloody edible thing in your whole fridge, so you can take that off the $30 you owe me for baths and doggie perfume. Pay no attention to those photos snapped on your disposable camera, and if it smells like weed in here, it should.
I know Zup is supposed to be my emergency contact, but honestly, I think we called him enough that time after the bar when John Fing Bozzuto asked his answering machine if he had gotten his rabies shot. I’d call you myself, but I can’t find you since you faxed me your travel itinerary in French.
The dogs are taking a holiday up the street at K-9 Instincts. Cheers!
Lots of love,
Kennel Girl
Saturday, May 07, 2005
Monday, May 02, 2005
You can quote me
I think we should devote an entire post to the theme "Best Quote of the Weekend." So if you remember any gems let them be known!
To start us off I'll submit this one (which I think I have verbatim) -
Kim: "Jenn, I'll make out with you even if I'm not drunk"
To start us off I'll submit this one (which I think I have verbatim) -
Kim: "Jenn, I'll make out with you even if I'm not drunk"
Thoughts on my way home
Yes, I made it home from Newport, safe and sound, should anyone be wondering. I actually drove home after getting into Minneapolis because I missed my bed. I also learned that my brother's roommate happened to steal all the blankets from their apartment so he could go sleep out, in the snow, for tickets to the System of a Down concert, and I would have nothing to sleep with there anyways.
So 12 hours after leaving the island I made it to my house, thanks to 3 coffee beverages, singing loudly to my RENT cd, and bopping to a radio station playing 80's music.
I thought I had met my quota for crazy encounters back in Newport, but I found out I was mistaken during my trip home. So in addition to our new friend Kim, "Lou," "Motel 6 worker who hates his life," "Guy who told Dani what Skeet means" and "Guy who asked Dani if she had a bisexual friend" I would like to include the following 2 characters.
1 - Cesear from N'Awlins. He was very chatty and informed that even though he is 28 and has a little boy he knows how to party. In fact he had been partying since Thursday while he visited friends in Providence and NYC this weekend. Apparently the party had not stopped as halfway through the flight he leaned over to tell me that his buddy convinced him to mix vodka with his Snapple. Then he shared his Ipod list, assuring me that I could listen to anything I wanted.
2 - Mustafa and the Starbucks workers in the Minneapolis Airport. It seemed English was not their first language when they asked if I wanted my Caramel Macchiato made upside down. All I got from their explanation is that they consider their beverages to be great pieces of artwork or that they are like that Dr. Pepper commercial with the guy with the long tongue. I have no idea what commercial they were describing but I was assured I would be "hooked up."
"You want delicious drink, yes? Den, we hook you up. No worry."
So 12 hours after leaving the island I made it to my house, thanks to 3 coffee beverages, singing loudly to my RENT cd, and bopping to a radio station playing 80's music.
I thought I had met my quota for crazy encounters back in Newport, but I found out I was mistaken during my trip home. So in addition to our new friend Kim, "Lou," "Motel 6 worker who hates his life," "Guy who told Dani what Skeet means" and "Guy who asked Dani if she had a bisexual friend" I would like to include the following 2 characters.
1 - Cesear from N'Awlins. He was very chatty and informed that even though he is 28 and has a little boy he knows how to party. In fact he had been partying since Thursday while he visited friends in Providence and NYC this weekend. Apparently the party had not stopped as halfway through the flight he leaned over to tell me that his buddy convinced him to mix vodka with his Snapple. Then he shared his Ipod list, assuring me that I could listen to anything I wanted.
2 - Mustafa and the Starbucks workers in the Minneapolis Airport. It seemed English was not their first language when they asked if I wanted my Caramel Macchiato made upside down. All I got from their explanation is that they consider their beverages to be great pieces of artwork or that they are like that Dr. Pepper commercial with the guy with the long tongue. I have no idea what commercial they were describing but I was assured I would be "hooked up."
"You want delicious drink, yes? Den, we hook you up. No worry."
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