doahleigh - Holy Waste of Teabags!

I can’t believe I’m about to complain about this in the middle of an extreme heat wave. But seriously, what is up with the ice cold air conditioning everywhere?

I don’t like extreme heat, and I definitely don’t like sweaty boobs from the humidity, but that doesn’t mean I want to be cold either. In the winter, everyone hates the cold and they bundle up to the point of sweating. But for some reason, if it’s hot outside, people love to be cold inside.

Personally, I hate being frigidly cold as much as I hate being sticky and hot. However, if I had to choose, I guess I’d pick the goose bumps over the back sweat. But can’t there be a happy medium? What’s wrong with just being cool? How come people crank the heat up to 75 when it’s snowing, but turn the AC down to 62 when it’s 75 outside?

I hate having to bring a sweater everywhere I go in the summer. Recently I went to a movie, and I brought not only a sweater, but socks as well. Movie theaters are one of the worst places. The air conditioning is refreshing when you’ve been sweating all day, I agree, but when I have to bring fuzzy socks to replace my flip flops for a couple hours, it might be a little much.

Usually Brad loves it. Loves the chill from the AC, even loves the goose bumps. He refuses to be cold in the winter, adjusting the thermostat upward with abandon. But give him a chill in the summer and he’ll bask in it.

But even he thought it was a little much when we had lunch together last week. We walked into the little restaurant, and found a private table in the corner. After a couple minutes, we were both covered in goose bumps, and I was making a cocoon of myself to keep warm. We moved to a table we thought was further from a vent, but after another minute our hands were frozen to the table. We pried them off and moved once again, finally finding a spot that was tolerable. Still, I nearly sent my ice water back and asked for a nice cup of steeping hot tea.

Why? Why the drastic temperature changes? Why do I have to wear layers even in the peak of summer? Wouldn’t it save everybody money and valuable energy if we just warmed it up a bit? I’m not asking to lose air conditioning altogether. Dear god no. I just want it a little more comfortable. Just a few degrees less frosty, that’s all I ask. Just enough so I can enjoy my meals and my movies without lugging around a wool jacket and gloves.

Last night Brad and I walked out to the living room to turn off the lights and shut the windows before going to sleep. We both, coincidentally, were unclothed. While I switched off the lamps, Brad lifted the blinds to close and lock the windows. We weren’t too worried about anyone seeing us because we practically live in a retirement community (70% retired tenants). Who was going to be up and about at midnight?

I had my back turned when he lifted the blinds, but as soon as I heard them open, I also heard him yell “Shit, get down!” I thought he was joking, but before I could laugh, he had tackled me to the ground.

I glanced out the window through the crook of his elbow and saw a young woman stroll past our first floor apartment, a few feet from where we were crouched on the floor. Naked.

I’m pretty sure she heard the “Shit, get down” because Brad was right next to the open window when he yelled it, but she didn’t even glance our way. She was probably afraid of what she might see.

If you’re only a chapter or two into Wicked, don’t give up. This book makes a comeback if you can hold out just a little longer. When I first began reading, I had to wonder what all the hype was about. Why was everyone salivating over this book? I didn’t understand it. It just didn’t grab me the way I thought it would, and in retrospect, I think that’s because it took a few chapters for me to really be invested in the characters. It starts out with an obscure story about the parents of Elphaba, the eventual Wicked Witch of the West, before she is even born. Even when she was a child, I didn’t care much about her or her family. But just as I was wondering if this thing would ever get rolling, Elphaba suddenly grew up in a matter of pages. Elphaba as a young adult is much more interesting!

It wasn’t long before I was introduced to Galinda (later known as Glinda) and Nessarose (the future Wicked Witch of the East). What surprised me most about this story were the personalities and relationships that these three had. I expected both “witches” to be naturally evil and twisted, but Maguire caught me off guard when he gave them each a heart and a multitude of thoughts and feelings. Most of what we were previously lead to believe as intentionally evil was actually, according to Maguire, purely circumstantial. The story is so well developed, that it’s hard to doubt that Maguire’s isn’t the true story.

As I followed Elphaba through college, a career in the militia, a stay at an Oz-like convent, and her journey west, I came to appreciate her as more than a green-skinned evil creature. In the end, I was even rooting for her, hoping that the tornado would never bring Dorothy to Oz, or that somehow the fateful bucket of water might never be lifted.

Even though it took more pages than I would have liked, Maguire eventually won me over with this delightful tale that treats Dorothy as a secondary character, and finally gives the Wicked Witch a story of her own. If you don’t wish to have your ideas of Oz questioned, maybe skip this book and rewatch the film. But if you crave a new perspective, Maguire does this story justice.

Almost everything I write goes under the “Brad” category because almost every story I have to tell includes him in some way. But just so nobody assumes I have nothing to talk about but Brad, let me clear that up. I also have tons to say about myself.

Truth is, I spend 9 hours everday at work, which is pretty much taboo as a blog topic. And the rest of the day is spent by myself or with Brad. I have no family in this town and very few friends. So forgive if I’m the obnoxious girlfriend who won’t shut up about her man, but really, all you’d read about otherwise is what I had for lunch and how long it took me to clip my toenails last night.

To avoid that, here’s another story about the boy and why I love him so:

Brad is so good at handling situations. Whereas I become a crazed woman incapable of functioning when things get even a little off track, he almost always remains calm and steadfast. Case in point. This morning he discovered that his Jeep had been broken into and his wallet and subwoofer were stolen. And the Jeep’s soft top window is destroyed.

Now if this had happened to me, I would have first gotten really pissed and used a few select profanities to express it. Then I would have called Brad, yelled, cried and exclaimed that I just cannot deal with this right now! I would have shut down, unable to figure out what to do and who to call to make it better. I would have insisted that Brad come home right away and help me deal with this please. Then I would have crumbled into a heap and stared at the wall until someone, namely Brad, told me exactly what to do and maybe even did it for me.

That, approximately, is my method for coping with situations that revolve around me.* But Brad is obviously much more capable at being a functioning human being than I am. His reaction to this situation was to calmly call me to let me know what happened, calmly call the landlord and the police, and calmly cancel all of his credit cards. Not once did he yell, cry, pout or stare at the wall. I never even heard him get mad or saw him shake his fist at the injustice of it all.

He handled it. He just handled it. And to me, that is an amazing and enviable talent!

*I’m surprisingly much more calm when I’m not at the center of the situation. I’m pretty good at handling other people’s crises, just not my own.

Three things in reverse chronological order:

1. Guess who I saw today. Crown Royal Guy! He was in the same stretch of road as usual, but this time he wasn’t running. Just sort of briskly walking. Still in a hurry obviously, and carrying the same telling purple bag as last time. It was a nice reunion with my old friend as I zoomed by him. I thought about waving, but worried he might get mad and throw the bag at my car. Crown Royal on the windshield is a bitch to clean up.

2. We’re all moved in. Well almost. Close enough to report that we’re officially in the place and loving it. Saturday was a long day of moving things. God there are so many things that had to be moved! Where do we get all these things? Then Sunday we unpacked and moved some more, but mostly we spent way too much money on even more things for the apartment. It’s still a disaster area right now, but unpacking and organizing is kind of fun. It’s the cleaning of the old house this week that I really dread.

Some pictures are up at flickr (with more to come), but in order to keep weirdos from seeing that much of where we live, we’ve made them friends/family only. If you’re a friend or family, let me know and I’ll add you. If you’re someone else but want to see pictures, don’t hesitate to ask and I’ll either invite you in or slam the door in your face. Nicely. You’ll have to get a flickr account in order to see them though, which means some of you will have to step further into the age of technology (mom…dad…entire family), but it’s good for you. I promise.

3. Here’s that video I promised. I have a fear of heights, which is usually easily controlled if I don’t linger near cliffs or 30-story window ledges for too long. But put me on a set of see-through stairs and my stomach drops down to have a little visit with my feet, which in turn have a hard time functioning. These stairs were the kind with the mesh-like metal, making the 5-foot drop below (it really is even though the video doesn’t show that very well) far too difficult to ignore. Walking down 50 stairs with my eyes on the sky wasn’t gonna work, so instead I gripped the railing and took it one step at a time. Looking much like a 90-year woman with two hip replacements. Brad, while sympathetic, did not miss the entertainment value of the situation, and managed to film a few seconds. Enjoy!

I’d love to be able write more about our recent trip, but it’s just that nothing really blogworthy happened. It was just a genuinely good time with no real mishaps, which is never very fun when you’re trying to write about something.

Oh wait. How about the fact that a four hour trip took more like five because the last hour was spent driving up and down the same stretch of road looking for the house? Alright fine, I guess I’ll tell that story.

It started out bad because we left town about an hour later than we should have and we were already going to get to our final destination well after dark. The majority of the trip went smoothly, Brad drove and I talked his ear off about nothing important. Then suddenly, mid-pointless-sentence, we hit a pothole and my right leg lifted into the air and slammed back into the floorboards, splashing water all over. Water. Water that had leaked from the air conditioner and flooded my side of the Jeep. Water I hadn’t noticed until it was running down my legs.

Now my shoes were soaked and the cold air from the vents was doing nothing to dry them quickly. I tucked my feet up under myself and patiently waited to just get there already. We found the right road no problem, but weren’t sure about the address. It was getting dark fast, but no need to worry because Brad had been there before. Ten years ago.

We drove for what seemed like an eternity, what with my legs falling asleep underneath me and my arms tired from holding my shoes in front of the cold air. Brad scanned every house we drove by, hoping to find this place on nothing but a whim and a 10-year old memory. In the dark.

It probably would have been a good idea, at this point, to look up the address in Brad’s email. That’s what the ever-present Blackberry is for right? Constant connection to the world. Or maybe we could just call his aunt and uncle and ask for more specific directions. We would definitely have done that, I’m sure, if only we had even the faintest hint of wireless service. No bars my friends. We were on our own.

And then? Just then, when we were lost miles away from a cell phone tower and even further from a gas station and even further than that from an open gas station? Yes that is when the gas light came on and glared at us in the darkness.

We drove on though, not knowing how far we might have to go or how long the gas would last. We kept thinking maybe it’s the next one or the next one. Let’s just go a little bit further. Finally, after nearly hitting our ninth deer, we aborted the mission and turned around towards town.

That’s essentially where the story ends because we didn’t run out of gas before finding an open gas station, and by then we had a few bars and made our phone call. We turned around again and found the house in the dark. We didn’t hit any deer. And my shoes dried in the sun the next day. In the end, all was well, which makes for a very anticlimatic tale. If it makes you happier though, we did have to live with the stench of rotting water in the floor mats for a couple days. Mmm, moldy carpet, how your smell will always remind me of a trip to Manistee.

Help me, I’m sick. From internet withdrawals. Five long days I’ve been coming down, and it hurts. I didn’t even have a working cell phone on our trip up north, let alone any access to my precious emails and blogs. And when we got home Saturday, we found our internet had been disconnected already, meaning we’ll be without any home connection for at least a week.

I wasn’t too worried over the weekend though because with Monday came the promise of a long day at my desk and many hours to catch up on the world. Yeah. Instead, I found myself helping with student registration. Which roughly translated to ten hours on my feet without a phone or computer in sight. No email, no blogs, no flickr. all. day. long.

And no relief at home because remember? NO INTERNET there either. Plus we dismantled our home desk on Sunday to move it to the apartment, which included dismantling the computer, which means I can’t even upload vacation pictures. Of course, what good would it do anyway since there’s NO INTERNET at home and I can’t upload them to flickr and share them with my people. And really, what good are pictures if they aren’t shared with one’s people?

Fortunately I had a little time today to snort a line of the World Wide Web, and I’m feeling much better. I’m not as addicted as some people who truly consider it their life line and keep it attached at their hip (ahem), but five days is a long time to go without a hit.

I’ll try to get some pictures up soon, and maybe even a funny video of me conquering my fear of heights. Or something.

Update: Brad’s uncle sent us a couple pictures he took on our visit last week. See! We went kayaking!

I’m leaving for a few days, using up the last of my vacation days to go up north with my boy.

Instead of writing, I’ll be swimming and eating and kayaking and sleeping and getting lots of sun. Don’t expect to hear much from me until about Monday when I’m settling into months and months of work with no vacation time!

I’ll bring you all a souvenir, I promise.

I should probably start an “Apartment” category because I can’t seem to stop talking about all things apartment-related. Of course once I’ve lived there a month, it’ll be old news and I’ll never write in that category again. So yeah, I’ll not do that.

We went again last night to show it off to his parents. It’s still empty, but they were interested in where we’d be living.

Remember how the landlord was supposed to have a little talking-to with our friend, Mr. Trooper about parking in our carport? Well either the landlord forgot or Mr. Trooper is an ass because his big black gas-guzzler was in our spot again last night. And what really boils my blood (ew) is that his carport spot was wide open! We had to park where his monstrosity belonged because he was parked on our slab of cement. If this continues when we move in next week, oh there will be words Mr. T! There. Will. Be. Words!

In other apartment-related blather, we’re leaning toward not painting at all. I kind of felt all along that it wasn’t worth the work since we’ll have to paint it all white again in a year, but we were drawn to the “homey” feel of colored walls. However, I think in the end our lethargy will win out over our Martha Stewart tendencies. White walls it is. I think.

Before we gave his parents the tour, we were at Target to buy a gift for someone. While there, we thought we’d scope out things for the apartment. We need a few things still. Everything actually. Essentially we have nothing but a bed and two tvs right now. So we strolled around looking at rugs, shower curtains, clocks, toasters, stools, dishes, and everything else in the home decor department. But everytime we admired something, we interupted our own daydreaming with reminders that “we don’t know what the furniture looks like*” or “we could probably find that cheaper” or “maybe we should just wait and keep looking.”

We weren’t accomplishing much, but at one point we actually had a small bathroom wastebasket and a no-slip bath mat in our cart. Before reaching the register though, Brad said “Do we really want to get those things right now?” And I, of course, replied “No, we should probably wait until we pick out a showercurtain.”

*We’re getting some secondhand furniture from my family next weekend, but we’re not sure what any of it looks like yet.

My outfit today at work, where business casual is the norm, consisted of a pair of black capris I picked up in the “yoga” section of Target, a tank top handed down from Mom, a cardigan that I got for free and which hangs off me like a sack, and a pair of black sandals that were given to me five years ago by my sister after she had worn them for about three.

A few hours into the afternoon, someone stopped by my office, someone who sees me nearly everyday, and said “Wow, you’re awfully dressed up today.”

If that ramshackle outfit is considered “awfully dressed up” I obviously don’t have a very good reputation for fashion at work. Perhaps once I start earning an actual salary I should visit a mall once in awhile. Maybe put an outfit or two together?

I may need help.

I have too many thoughts cluttering my brain to have any hope of writing a coherent, let alone interesting, post. I’m hoping a numbering system will assist in sharing a few highlights from the last few days in an organized and comprehensible manner. Also, this may prevent me from lighting my keyboard on fire.

1. In case you can’t read the small print over there on the Currently Reading book cover, Robin is lending me The Dive from Clausen’s Pier.

2. Speaking of Robin, she visited me this weekend while Brad was bachelor-partying it up on a white water rafting trip in West Virginia. Who goes to WV for a weekend to white water raft as a bachelor party? Brad’s friends, of course (no, it wasn’t a party for Brad, so don’t go searching for a wedding announcement in number 3). I think they’re crazy, but it gave Robin a chance to come spend time with me. I showed her where I work, brought her to my favorite used book store, introduced her to the local dive we call a movie theatre to see The Devil Wears Prada, and showed her the new apartment!

3. Yes the new apartment. The little hen who fends off dirty men made a stroke of the pen and the search did end. Uh huh. We signed the lease on Thursday, and later that night we brought dinner to the new place, ate standing up at our new kitchen counter, and discussed furniture arrangements. We visited again last night to hold paint sample cards up to the walls in the living room. We’re thinking about painting at least that room so we don’t die from White Wall Overdose in the next year. Because WWOD is a serious condition of which we are very frightened, we’re leaning toward a nice Dried Grass color at the moment.

Also, the last two times we visited the apartment (we like to go there regularly now that we have the keys, even though we don’t move for two weeks), the door has been wide open and our upstairs neighbor’s Isuzu Trooper has been parked in our carport. Do you think these two things are connected in anyway?

Update: Brad just talked to the landlord who explained the open door phenomenon as just maintenance (but at 10:00 at night?), and he said he’d have a little talk to Mr. Trooper for us.

4. With only two weeks left as a full-time volunteer, I celebrated with my fellow VISTAs on Friday. Instead of going to work, we all met for a day of canoeing, eating and hayriding. Two important things to mention from this day:
a) Ten minutes into canoeing, I found myself entangled in a petrified tree that was crawling with spiders (I tried to find a picture of the exact spiders that attacked me, and not only did I fail, but I think I might die now). I quickly learned that screaming and flailing your paddle around aimlessly do not accomplish anything in this situation. It took much longer than I ever would have liked to get out of the tree, and I cannot speak of how many spiders touched me without breaking down, so I can’t say anymore about how traumatized I am. It’s very though, trust me.
b) We did VISTA mock elections, and there were plenty of categories for everyone to win something. So guess how many I won? None. Apparently I left no impression whatsoever on these people. The person who tallied the votes tried to convince everyone that I won Best Hair, but with one look at my head, they knew it wasn’t true. She was just being nice. So instead, she was forced to make up an award for me, and I was presented with the VISTA Royalty award because I’m one of the nuts who served two whole years.

I feel like the numbering system only created a mess and possibly more confusion. Yes?

We’re going over to sign the lease tonight. Are you nervous for me? Go ahead, be nervous for me. Because I’m a little nervous myself.

Mostly I haven’t thought about it since we put the deposit down last week. Mostly I haven’t been nervous or worried or skeptical. But last night we wrote out a list of questions we want to ask before we scribble our names anywhere. And there’s a lot of questions.

Suddenly I realized that we’re actually going to sign a lease on an apartment before I even start my job! An apartment that we really don’t even know that much about. I mean what if something happens? What if the job falls through at the last minute? What if we can’t get out of the lease? What if we find rodents in our closet after we’ve moved in? What if the apartment is haunted? What if we can’t afford it? What if…

You know what? Fuck it. Hand me the pen.

I wrote a guest post at Brad’s website this afternoon, so my my* writing skills are spent for the day. Feel free to check our** my appearance as a guest author though.

*See? They really are spent. Brad had to point that typo out to me after I had published. I decided to leave it because it’s so telling.

**Now it’s just getting ridiculous. I didn’t notice that one until today (the next day), when Brad had to point it out to me again! Do I not proof read anymore or what?

We have ants. Little baby ones that are perfectly camouflaged in our carpet. Our bedroom carpet. Yes we have ants crawling around in our bedroom. Where we sleep and get dressed. Where we store our shoes, the ones we blindly step into each day without first checking for baby ants.

Brad discovered this problem yesterday and immediately cleared the floor of all clothes and shoes. I’m worthless in these situations, never knowing exactly what to do to solve such a problem. So I sat on the bed and plucked my eyebrows. Oh, and took pictures…

…while Brad vacuumed up the poor suckers. Part 2 of his plan is to get ant traps, so we can lure them in with sweet succulent honey (or whatever is in those deceitful traps), then throw them away with the rest of the garbage. We’re so murderous! They’re just innocent little ants afterall.

But they’re crawling on my shoes and could find their way into my clothes any day now. I’m sorry, but they must go.

Oh, and yes, that door in the picture is in our bedroom. It leads to a roof above the breakfast nook and entryway. We thought it would be cool to go hang out on the roof on nice days. You know, lawn chairs and lemonade? We’ve never done it. But we think that’s where the ants are coming from. Brad all but vacuumed the roof yesterday trying to get rid of them. Which might not have been a bad idea actually.