Sunday, September 25, 2016
The Politics of Trash Bins
At my Lakeview place, we had a longstanding battle going on with our neighbors over the trash bins. It was a cold war, of course, given that we never actually met any of those neighbors face to face. But we spent a lot of time moving trash bins to their driveways, which they would then immediately move back. You see, for some reason there were approximately 10,000 trash bins in our driveway, most of which were not ours, and all of which served to make backing the car out impossible and provide homes for horrifying rat colonies that continually proved that Ratatouille lied to us. Once I even spotted a neighbor from across the alley walking over to our driveway to place his trash in the bin clearly marked with his address and then return to his own home. It was infuriating, but also kind of cute.
The new place doesn't seem to have any trash issues, but we do have condo association drama like you wouldn't believe. Within two days of moving in we were regaled with tales of mismanagement and malfeasance that seriously sounded like something out of Tom Clancy novel. Then a couple of days later, the other building contingent approached us, basically shrieking "why can't we all just get along?" like the emotionally unstable mother in the PTA. I have no idea what's true and what isn't, but I do actually love the thought that our building management is potentially taking bribes for landscaping contracts and doing away with people's garden ornaments in the middle of the night. If they come for my trash can, though, I'm drawing the line.
At my Lakeview place, we had a longstanding battle going on with our neighbors over the trash bins. It was a cold war, of course, given that we never actually met any of those neighbors face to face. But we spent a lot of time moving trash bins to their driveways, which they would then immediately move back. You see, for some reason there were approximately 10,000 trash bins in our driveway, most of which were not ours, and all of which served to make backing the car out impossible and provide homes for horrifying rat colonies that continually proved that Ratatouille lied to us. Once I even spotted a neighbor from across the alley walking over to our driveway to place his trash in the bin clearly marked with his address and then return to his own home. It was infuriating, but also kind of cute.
The new place doesn't seem to have any trash issues, but we do have condo association drama like you wouldn't believe. Within two days of moving in we were regaled with tales of mismanagement and malfeasance that seriously sounded like something out of Tom Clancy novel. Then a couple of days later, the other building contingent approached us, basically shrieking "why can't we all just get along?" like the emotionally unstable mother in the PTA. I have no idea what's true and what isn't, but I do actually love the thought that our building management is potentially taking bribes for landscaping contracts and doing away with people's garden ornaments in the middle of the night. If they come for my trash can, though, I'm drawing the line.
Tuesday, September 20, 2016
Home Alone
So Ian was traveling for work last week, which meant that I had the place to myself for the first time in a while. It turns out I have sort of forgotten how to be alone. I lived alone for three years in law school, and I feel like I got pretty good at it. I worked my way through a list of weird and obscure movies I wanted to see and no one else did and ate Arby's pretty much whenever I felt like it. I even learned how to go to a movie theater by myself without freaking out and eating a gallon of popcorn. But now I'm not so great at it. Within twenty-four hours I was talking to the dog, and within forty-eight I was just straight up talking to myself. And I fell asleep on the couch not once but twice. On the plus side, I didn't have to fend off any comical burglars with booby traps made out of paint cans, so I at least have Macaulay Culkin beat.
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Booze Hound
Yesterday while I was cooking dinner, I realized that Aubrey wasn't watching me, which is weird, because dinner is her favorite thing to watch that isn't Blue Bloods. So I called out for her, and I heard a jingle followed by a thump. I called out again and more thumping, followed by her staggering down the stairs, looking a bit like Liza Minnelli.
As a natural google physician, I quickly looked up her symptoms and found all sorts of terrible options: brain tumors, inner ear disorders, strokes. But there was also a chance that she ingested something bad for her. So I quickly checked around. Bathroom doors, closed. No signs of destruction anywhere else. And then, up on the top floor, a crime scene.
It seems someone got a chocolate liqueur out of our bar, chewed off all the gold foil wrapping, managed to get the top opened, and spilled it all over our rug. And then helped herself to enough to get her good and drunk. So off to the emergency vet we went.
They were very good and nice and only laughed at us a little. She had to spend the night there on IV fluids, which also meant they had to shave her legs in a few places, which should be punishment enough for her. She keeps licking at the shaved spots quizzically. I'm with her, actually.
But now we definitely have to reassess our beagleproofing strategies. If she can get into a sealed liquor bottle on a middle shelf on the top floor of the house, there's very little she can't do.
Yesterday while I was cooking dinner, I realized that Aubrey wasn't watching me, which is weird, because dinner is her favorite thing to watch that isn't Blue Bloods. So I called out for her, and I heard a jingle followed by a thump. I called out again and more thumping, followed by her staggering down the stairs, looking a bit like Liza Minnelli.
As a natural google physician, I quickly looked up her symptoms and found all sorts of terrible options: brain tumors, inner ear disorders, strokes. But there was also a chance that she ingested something bad for her. So I quickly checked around. Bathroom doors, closed. No signs of destruction anywhere else. And then, up on the top floor, a crime scene.
It seems someone got a chocolate liqueur out of our bar, chewed off all the gold foil wrapping, managed to get the top opened, and spilled it all over our rug. And then helped herself to enough to get her good and drunk. So off to the emergency vet we went.
They were very good and nice and only laughed at us a little. She had to spend the night there on IV fluids, which also meant they had to shave her legs in a few places, which should be punishment enough for her. She keeps licking at the shaved spots quizzically. I'm with her, actually.
But now we definitely have to reassess our beagleproofing strategies. If she can get into a sealed liquor bottle on a middle shelf on the top floor of the house, there's very little she can't do.
Saturday, September 10, 2016
Code Name: The Cleaner
As usual, there's some drama with our cleaning lady.
We have a new one since the move, and she's great, she really is, but she now comes every other Wednesday, and Wednesdays are my work from home day. So last Wednesday I was literally awakened by her knocking on my bedroom door at 8 in the morning. Don't get me wrong; it was definitely time to get up, but I definitely prefer the alarm clock.
Then, we're somewhat alarmed by the fact that she keeps bringing us gifts. Every week. A jar of preserves, some weird dried fruit that we thought was potpourri at first before we decoded the Polish on the label, a box of chocolates. It's so nice, but at what we're paying her, it's totally not worth it. And she won't take more money, I've tried.
The worst part, though, was when she very emotionally apologized for "breaking" a cheap plastic clock in our bathroom. It was seriously $2 at IKEA and, by the way, it was still working. Apparently it fell off the wall and there was a little crack in the plastic, but I wouldn't even have noticed if she hadn't told me. But she insisted on paying for it. As in, I told her no and refused to take the money, but then found it on the counter after she left. And she left $15.
I think I'm going to buy her a diamond or something to make up for it.
As usual, there's some drama with our cleaning lady.
We have a new one since the move, and she's great, she really is, but she now comes every other Wednesday, and Wednesdays are my work from home day. So last Wednesday I was literally awakened by her knocking on my bedroom door at 8 in the morning. Don't get me wrong; it was definitely time to get up, but I definitely prefer the alarm clock.
Then, we're somewhat alarmed by the fact that she keeps bringing us gifts. Every week. A jar of preserves, some weird dried fruit that we thought was potpourri at first before we decoded the Polish on the label, a box of chocolates. It's so nice, but at what we're paying her, it's totally not worth it. And she won't take more money, I've tried.
The worst part, though, was when she very emotionally apologized for "breaking" a cheap plastic clock in our bathroom. It was seriously $2 at IKEA and, by the way, it was still working. Apparently it fell off the wall and there was a little crack in the plastic, but I wouldn't even have noticed if she hadn't told me. But she insisted on paying for it. As in, I told her no and refused to take the money, but then found it on the counter after she left. And she left $15.
I think I'm going to buy her a diamond or something to make up for it.
Monday, September 05, 2016
Hard Labor
We spent the long weekend in the twin cities with Ian's parents. They're super nice and even tolerate Aubrey slowly destroying their home, but it's like a six and a half hour drive each way, so we're totally exhausted. Ian insisted on doing all the driving, but even just sitting for that long in a row is kind of a nightmare. Not to mention the long absence from internet access.
I enjoy both Minneapolis and St. Paul, though I'm not totally sure I could tell you with any certainty which is which. We didn't do anything particularly cultural this time, but we did eat and drink to excess, which seems to be popular there. We also stopped at the Mall of America and the IKEA, because we are idiots. The thing is, though, there just isn't a GAP anywhere else in the U.S. of A.
The lowlight was probably when I had to take Aubrey out for her pre-bed toilette in the rain and she just completely refused to do anything for like twenty minutes. Obviously I never actually want to shovel up her poop, but good lord was I praying for some action in this case. She just kept looking at me like I was crazy, which I guess I was.
Anyway, we're back. I'm sure I'm going to be just a little dynamo at work tomorrow.
