Our pantry is a mess. I'll admit it. My mom helped me organize it over a year ago when she came to help out when Gulliver was born. And it was wonderful when it was clean and organized. And I've cleaned and organized it myself a few times. But right now it has deteriorated into a giant, unorganized mess, most likely filled with food we will never, ever actually eat.
So tonight, Murray decided he'd like to make us some tea. He admits to being an herbal tea man. He likes chamomile honey tea.
He was searching the pantry for tea. It's been a while since we've had tea. And he couldn't find the tea. So I got up to help.
As I stood in front of the pantry, I decided to explain to him the finding process, hoping that perhaps he could learn something. I said, "Want to know a trick? Sometimes I just look up through the bottoms of the shelves, because if what I'm looking for is on a shelf, I can see it from the bottom!" I said this, and lo and behold, I located the tea in less than 10 seconds. It was not, in fact, on the bottom of a shelf. But in putting myself at that odd angle, I was able to see it at the very back of a shelf, sitting atop a pile of other miscellaneous food boxes.
And then I asked Murray a very important question: Why is it that women are better at finding things than men are? At least this didn't come from an accusatory standpoint, since I was identifying this as a failing of an entire sex and not just him. Here is a not very faithful, but generally true transcript of our conversation:
Me: Why is this a problem for men? And I know it's all of you. Because we women talk about it. And because even when I was a kid, my mom would ask my brothers to find something in the pantry, and they couldn't find it, so she'd send ME, and I'd always find it, no problem. So why is this a problem for you? Because you want to know what we women think? We all think that the problem is laziness, and that we are enabling you because then we step in and find the thing.
Murray: No, that's not it, because I can honestly say that I really didn't want you to have to get up and find it yourself. I feel like I understand men enough to say that it's a situation where women are just naturally better in this area, maybe because of evolution. It's like, in the old hunter-gatherer days, men would go and hunt for the food and bring it back to the cave. And it was up to the women to put it somewhere. So the men's obligation at that point was no longer to think about the food or what they brought back, and they were reliant on the women to remember that stuff.
Okay, I can't remember any of the details of the middle part of the conversation, so I'll skip to the end...
Me: So let me tell you what is going through my mind when I'm looking for something. I have in my mind an image of what the tea box looks like. I think, "Tea box! Tea box!" and I look everywhere for that shape and that box. I know what the tea box looks like, so everything registers "not tea box not tea box not tea box" until I find the tea box!
Murray: Ah ha! That's interesting because that is NOT what goes through my mind. See, when I'm looking for it, I'm thinking, "the 'tea box'!" Not "the tea box!"
Me: [Blank stare.]
Murray: So what I see in my mind is that specific tea box, even down to the fact that it's honey chamomile. So when I'm searching for it, I'm looking for that particular tea box. What it sounds like what you're doing is searching for a broad idea of a tea box, and even getting down to the shape. So that kindof made me think, maybe there's something there!!
I'm still not so sure I get it. The tea box? The "tea box"? Are you kidding me?
What are your thoughts? (And please remember to be kind to the hunters.)
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Return of the Mother-in-Law
I apologize for the lack of posts and pictures lately. I didn't even touch a computer for a few whole days. As hard as it is to be productive with a newborn babe, it's that much harder to be productive with a newborn babe and a gigantic cast. (I was talking to my mom on the phone the other day and said that I only manage to bathe every second day, and she said, "That's funny. I never had trouble showering when I had a newborn." But then she remembered the cast.)
Yesterday Murray's wonderful mother came over to the house to help me again. My dad comes in to town today, so I needed to get the house ready for his visit. Gulliver obliged us and took long naps and even entertained himself at times when he was awake. That meant that both of us were able to work and maximize our time. We got the house vacuumed and dusted, the kitchen cleaned (but thanks to Murray there wasn't much to clean in the kitchen), tidied, changed all the sheets on the beds, and did a ton of laundry. I feel like I'm living in a whole new home! My mother-in-law is the best. And in case there's any doubt about that fact, I'll tell you that when Murray and I went to bed last night, there were chocolates on our pillowcases. Case in point.
Last night, after my mil left and Murray got back home, I was voraciously eating everything in sight. But I was also multitasking and writing an email while explaining to Murray why I was eating everything in sight:
"I'm just so much hungrier because I'm pregnant."
[Murray's head explodes. When he gets it back together he says:]
"You're what??"
[I stop writing my email and think about what I just said.]
"Oh. I mean, I'm breast feeding."
It was a pretty tense three seconds for Murray, though.
(This is one of Gulliver's fat faces. He makes a series of fat faces when he is waking up or when he is done eating and is tired. I like this one particularly because of the clasped hands.)
(Here is a happy Gulliver in our gliding chair. Daltongirl found us this great glider for $5 at a yard sale. I've been meaning to cover it for a very long time. I finally did this week, but I did a quick job of it. The top cushion (which you can't even see in this picture) is covered with the fabric, but it's... well, about as nice looking as the seat, which you can see here. When it got time for me to sew the seat, Gulliver started fussing. So (confession!) I just safety pinned the fabric to the cushion. Job done! The pattern is an orange zig zag, but sometimes it looks decidedly pink. Oh well. Gulliver is not so insecure in his masculinity to not have a sometimes-pink chair in his room.)
Yesterday Murray's wonderful mother came over to the house to help me again. My dad comes in to town today, so I needed to get the house ready for his visit. Gulliver obliged us and took long naps and even entertained himself at times when he was awake. That meant that both of us were able to work and maximize our time. We got the house vacuumed and dusted, the kitchen cleaned (but thanks to Murray there wasn't much to clean in the kitchen), tidied, changed all the sheets on the beds, and did a ton of laundry. I feel like I'm living in a whole new home! My mother-in-law is the best. And in case there's any doubt about that fact, I'll tell you that when Murray and I went to bed last night, there were chocolates on our pillowcases. Case in point.
Last night, after my mil left and Murray got back home, I was voraciously eating everything in sight. But I was also multitasking and writing an email while explaining to Murray why I was eating everything in sight:
"I'm just so much hungrier because I'm pregnant."
[Murray's head explodes. When he gets it back together he says:]
"You're what??"
[I stop writing my email and think about what I just said.]
"Oh. I mean, I'm breast feeding."
It was a pretty tense three seconds for Murray, though.
(This is one of Gulliver's fat faces. He makes a series of fat faces when he is waking up or when he is done eating and is tired. I like this one particularly because of the clasped hands.)
(Here is a happy Gulliver in our gliding chair. Daltongirl found us this great glider for $5 at a yard sale. I've been meaning to cover it for a very long time. I finally did this week, but I did a quick job of it. The top cushion (which you can't even see in this picture) is covered with the fabric, but it's... well, about as nice looking as the seat, which you can see here. When it got time for me to sew the seat, Gulliver started fussing. So (confession!) I just safety pinned the fabric to the cushion. Job done! The pattern is an orange zig zag, but sometimes it looks decidedly pink. Oh well. Gulliver is not so insecure in his masculinity to not have a sometimes-pink chair in his room.)
Call Gordon Jump!
I am really afraid that my oven is broken.
(I'm not speaking metaphorically about my womb, either, and those anonymous people who like to suggest that I'm pregnant in the comments section should know that seriously, I'm not pregnant. My lotion really does smell musty, okay, and it smelled musty before I ever met Murray.)
(Speaking of pregnancy rumors, back when I posted about my first design that has been mass printed, I showed the proof to someone at work who then shouted out, "Cicada had her first baby!!" And I think that just about every person's head popped out of their office or cubicle. Seriously. Not pregnant.)
Today I am at home sick, and because I'm not one who prepares for illness, I don't have a stock of comfort food in my home. So I decided to make muffins, which is strange, because I never, ever make muffins. But I was just craving muffins. (Please refrain from comment about pregnancy cravings.) So I decided to make gingerbread muffins, because does anything sound better?
The problem was that when I set the oven to 375, it clicked a few times, and then all the numbers rapidly rose to 375. I could guarantee you that the oven doesn't get that hot that fast. This happened recently before, and I was able to fix it by setting it to 350, waiting for it to get to 350, and then resetting the temperature to what I really wanted. So I tried that this time. It didn't work. I tried about five different times and finally it worked the last time I tried it.
What does one even do when one's oven is broken? I mean, first of all, I think that Gordon Jump is actually dead. So that doesn't help me at all. Second of all, does the Maytag repairman cost as much as a plumber, because in that case, I'm willing to rip apart the wiring myself and fix it myself.
(I'm not speaking metaphorically about my womb, either, and those anonymous people who like to suggest that I'm pregnant in the comments section should know that seriously, I'm not pregnant. My lotion really does smell musty, okay, and it smelled musty before I ever met Murray.)
(Speaking of pregnancy rumors, back when I posted about my first design that has been mass printed, I showed the proof to someone at work who then shouted out, "Cicada had her first baby!!" And I think that just about every person's head popped out of their office or cubicle. Seriously. Not pregnant.)
Today I am at home sick, and because I'm not one who prepares for illness, I don't have a stock of comfort food in my home. So I decided to make muffins, which is strange, because I never, ever make muffins. But I was just craving muffins. (Please refrain from comment about pregnancy cravings.) So I decided to make gingerbread muffins, because does anything sound better?
The problem was that when I set the oven to 375, it clicked a few times, and then all the numbers rapidly rose to 375. I could guarantee you that the oven doesn't get that hot that fast. This happened recently before, and I was able to fix it by setting it to 350, waiting for it to get to 350, and then resetting the temperature to what I really wanted. So I tried that this time. It didn't work. I tried about five different times and finally it worked the last time I tried it.
What does one even do when one's oven is broken? I mean, first of all, I think that Gordon Jump is actually dead. So that doesn't help me at all. Second of all, does the Maytag repairman cost as much as a plumber, because in that case, I'm willing to rip apart the wiring myself and fix it myself.
Weekend Highlights
Here is a picture of the red-headed beauty that is my new niece.
In other, less important but still exciting news, Murray and I made serious progress on our office yesterday. We still have a few nit picky things that we'd like to do (mount a magnet board, mount a bulletin board, organize the closet and the shelves), but aesthetically, right now it looks pretty much like it should look.
Yesterday we put up pegboard behind Murray's drawing desk. We have it there so that we can hang up works in progress on the walls. I think that the room should be filled with art---why waste cool, unfinished pieces by storing them in the closet? (Note: The grotesque woman in the bikini is not Murray's work; it's from his friend Peter, and I found it in the closet and liked it, so I added it to the wall.) (Note also: We found Murray's "BEST CARTOONIST" plaque from his junior high [91-92] and we added that to the display wall as well.)
On the other side of the room is our computer station. Right now we have both the computers there, but we'll move the small iMac elsewhere once there's room cleared for it in the guest room. We used Ikea shelves around the desk (thanks to the help of my brothers and Dad) and mounted "frame" doors on the tall shelves. Inside the frames are cards from Smack of Jellyfish that illustrate collective nouns from A-Z. Thanks to El Senor for the great birthday gift!
I think that both pictures displayed like that make the office look enormous, but the room is only really about 10x12'. You can see from the picture below that the drawing desk is really only 3 or 4 feet behind the computer desk.
This is a corner of serenity in our bedroom. I've been needing a jewelry box since moving in with Murray because my jewelry just collects in small piles around the room. Murray got me a cool jewelry box from Urban Outfitters, but we realized that it will only fit small necklaces and earrings. I needed something else for my chunky necklaces. Which is why it was great to find this DIY project from Blueprint, via Design Sponge. I just happened to have an empty frame that I've held onto for years because I knew I'd use it someday. So I put together this frame for my chunky necklaces. Next time I go to Ikea, I'll pick out a couple more so that they're not all crammed into the same box.
Other than that, our major weekend developments are that we cleaned our toilets of all the hard water buildup, so they sparkle and are presentable, and we spent an evening with Jenny and Ed, which was the first time that we've hung out with non-family couple friends. I can't wait till we get to have them over to our non-kid-proof house, where their children will incur gouges from our pointy furniture.
In other, less important but still exciting news, Murray and I made serious progress on our office yesterday. We still have a few nit picky things that we'd like to do (mount a magnet board, mount a bulletin board, organize the closet and the shelves), but aesthetically, right now it looks pretty much like it should look.
Yesterday we put up pegboard behind Murray's drawing desk. We have it there so that we can hang up works in progress on the walls. I think that the room should be filled with art---why waste cool, unfinished pieces by storing them in the closet? (Note: The grotesque woman in the bikini is not Murray's work; it's from his friend Peter, and I found it in the closet and liked it, so I added it to the wall.) (Note also: We found Murray's "BEST CARTOONIST" plaque from his junior high [91-92] and we added that to the display wall as well.)
On the other side of the room is our computer station. Right now we have both the computers there, but we'll move the small iMac elsewhere once there's room cleared for it in the guest room. We used Ikea shelves around the desk (thanks to the help of my brothers and Dad) and mounted "frame" doors on the tall shelves. Inside the frames are cards from Smack of Jellyfish that illustrate collective nouns from A-Z. Thanks to El Senor for the great birthday gift!
I think that both pictures displayed like that make the office look enormous, but the room is only really about 10x12'. You can see from the picture below that the drawing desk is really only 3 or 4 feet behind the computer desk.
This is a corner of serenity in our bedroom. I've been needing a jewelry box since moving in with Murray because my jewelry just collects in small piles around the room. Murray got me a cool jewelry box from Urban Outfitters, but we realized that it will only fit small necklaces and earrings. I needed something else for my chunky necklaces. Which is why it was great to find this DIY project from Blueprint, via Design Sponge. I just happened to have an empty frame that I've held onto for years because I knew I'd use it someday. So I put together this frame for my chunky necklaces. Next time I go to Ikea, I'll pick out a couple more so that they're not all crammed into the same box.
Other than that, our major weekend developments are that we cleaned our toilets of all the hard water buildup, so they sparkle and are presentable, and we spent an evening with Jenny and Ed, which was the first time that we've hung out with non-family couple friends. I can't wait till we get to have them over to our non-kid-proof house, where their children will incur gouges from our pointy furniture.
Home Organization
Today, for the first time in as long as Murray and I have been married, I have a whole day to dedicate to cleaning and home organization. And believe me, the house needs it. I have bathrooms left to do, but before doing them, I think I'm going to run out to buy some laundry room organization essentials and take out our dry cleaning. Then I can come back and do laundry.
For my break during the day, I made up a chores chart and a project chart. Here they are.
Now you can see what we'll be doing on any given day of the week.
For my break during the day, I made up a chores chart and a project chart. Here they are.
Now you can see what we'll be doing on any given day of the week.
Stockings were hung by the tv with care...
Last night I finished Murray's and my stockings for this year. I had to make them big because I've found lots of stocking stuffers for Murray, not because I'm greedy.
I also almost finished two floor cushions that look so great I kindof want to make another one... Because three stacked on top of each other make a great ottoman!! I'll post pictures of our home once we finally find a place for all our belongings.
I also almost finished two floor cushions that look so great I kindof want to make another one... Because three stacked on top of each other make a great ottoman!! I'll post pictures of our home once we finally find a place for all our belongings.
Amber Alert
Yesterday Murray and I went to his house with a proud sense of accomplishment. We had just saved a ton of money by spending money. I love spending money to save money. Guess how much we saved. We saved $540. Guess how much we spent. We spent $180. Doesn't it feel good to spend to save?
Here's what we bought at Pier 1:
4 wicker patio chairs, originally $100 each, on sale for $25 each
8 place setting large plates, originally $10 each, on sale for $2.50 each.
8 place setting salad plates, originally $10 each, on sale for $2.50 each.
8 place setting bowls, originally $10 each, on sale for $2.50 each.
8 place setting mugs, originally $9 each, on sale for $2.20 each.
12 napkins, originally who knows, on sale for $0.50 each.
1 boxy thingy that goes in the middle of the table, originally $15, on sale for $3.
And you would think that nothing could kill that high. Nothing except the kidnapping of a child.
Or a door pumpkin.
To make Murray's place a little more homey, I put this fall arrangement outside his door a week and a half ago. It looked lovely and homey and autumny.
Last night, when we got there, we noticed that our orange pumpkin was missing.
Who would do such a thing? Random acts of pumpkin violence are not okay. I noticed that all the neighbors still had their outdoor harvest displays in tact. I also noticed that none of them managed to add a beautiful pumpkin to their displays, which leaves me to believe that it must be inside of one of their homes. Keeping up with the Joneses just got dirtier.
Tonight, I will lead a sting operation to reclaim what is rightfully ours.
Here's what we bought at Pier 1:
4 wicker patio chairs, originally $100 each, on sale for $25 each
8 place setting large plates, originally $10 each, on sale for $2.50 each.
8 place setting salad plates, originally $10 each, on sale for $2.50 each.
8 place setting bowls, originally $10 each, on sale for $2.50 each.
8 place setting mugs, originally $9 each, on sale for $2.20 each.
12 napkins, originally who knows, on sale for $0.50 each.
1 boxy thingy that goes in the middle of the table, originally $15, on sale for $3.
And you would think that nothing could kill that high. Nothing except the kidnapping of a child.
Or a door pumpkin.
To make Murray's place a little more homey, I put this fall arrangement outside his door a week and a half ago. It looked lovely and homey and autumny.
Last night, when we got there, we noticed that our orange pumpkin was missing.
Who would do such a thing? Random acts of pumpkin violence are not okay. I noticed that all the neighbors still had their outdoor harvest displays in tact. I also noticed that none of them managed to add a beautiful pumpkin to their displays, which leaves me to believe that it must be inside of one of their homes. Keeping up with the Joneses just got dirtier.
Tonight, I will lead a sting operation to reclaim what is rightfully ours.
We can do it. They can help.
Switchback is coming to town this weekend. This, of course, makes me very excited. She is, after all, going to be my maid of honor. And it's not like I bestow that title to just anyone.
Since she's around to chaperone, then we'll stay at Murray's house for the weekend. Normally when I'm in town, we stay at his parents'.
Since she's staying at the house for the weekend, we needed to address an issue that we've neglected for the past several months. The guest bathroom shower does not have hot water. That is so not cool. I mean, it's not the end of the world or anything. She could have just used Murray's shower. But still. I really really wanted it to be done for when she's in town.
The first step in any undertaking such as this is to call El Senor. Which I did. If El Senor lived in the same city, the next step would be to make El Senor come over and fix it. It's what I've done my entire "independent" life. But that wasn't really available to me as an option.
So I explained the problem to El Senor and because he knows everything, he diagnosed what the problem possibly was, and explained how I could test it. He said I had to turn the water all the way to hot to see if anything was coming out. If nothing came out, it meant there was a hot water blockage and I'd have to take off the faucet and pull something out and replace it or whatever.
So I turned the water all the way to hot and nothing came out. So my problem was at least partially diagnosed. Then Murray came home while I was in a rage about not being able to figure out which valve turned the water off. Poor, poor, patient Murray. Then I got in a rage about not being able to take the thingy off the faucet because the screw wouldn't unscrew because maybe it was stripped or maybe I just wasn't using the right tool, but it was near impossible to tell anyway because the thing was tiny and down a hole; not easily accessible.
Anyway. We made a trip to Home Depot because I thought that I had to replace the whole faucet. But then I remembered that Home Depot's motto is "You can do it. We can help" so I realized that they were obligated to help us figure out the problem.
So we talked to a guy who had us talk to another guy who kindof explained the problem in terms I could kindof understand. And then the first guy gave us the part we needed (a cartridge) and we were off.
At home, after a fair bit of plumber's crack and only one curse word, we had the faucet completely disassembled (did I mention we figured out how to turn off the water?). And we found out that the new cartridge was actually the wrong part. So we went back to Home Depot right before they closed, got the right part, and went back to finish the job (with a quick stopover at Macey's where we got ten white pumpkins for a steal).
So we finished the job (all this time not actually knowing with 100% certainty that this was the right thing to fix the hot water situation). And when we turned on the water, we found out that I'd installed the thingy upside down, so in the off position, water was coming out at full force. So we turned the water off again, and I reinstalled it all and we turned on the water again and somehow I had still managed to install the thing upside down. But the third time I did it, it worked. And the hot water works. And Switchback had better appreciate it.
And now Murray and I are officially plumbers. But we won't be booking any appointments until after November 3rd. And we only specialize in reinstalling cartridges. And we charge $300/15 minutes.
Who knew that by not relying on El Senor, there was a whole world of empowerment awaiting me?
Since she's around to chaperone, then we'll stay at Murray's house for the weekend. Normally when I'm in town, we stay at his parents'.
Since she's staying at the house for the weekend, we needed to address an issue that we've neglected for the past several months. The guest bathroom shower does not have hot water. That is so not cool. I mean, it's not the end of the world or anything. She could have just used Murray's shower. But still. I really really wanted it to be done for when she's in town.
The first step in any undertaking such as this is to call El Senor. Which I did. If El Senor lived in the same city, the next step would be to make El Senor come over and fix it. It's what I've done my entire "independent" life. But that wasn't really available to me as an option.
So I explained the problem to El Senor and because he knows everything, he diagnosed what the problem possibly was, and explained how I could test it. He said I had to turn the water all the way to hot to see if anything was coming out. If nothing came out, it meant there was a hot water blockage and I'd have to take off the faucet and pull something out and replace it or whatever.
So I turned the water all the way to hot and nothing came out. So my problem was at least partially diagnosed. Then Murray came home while I was in a rage about not being able to figure out which valve turned the water off. Poor, poor, patient Murray. Then I got in a rage about not being able to take the thingy off the faucet because the screw wouldn't unscrew because maybe it was stripped or maybe I just wasn't using the right tool, but it was near impossible to tell anyway because the thing was tiny and down a hole; not easily accessible.
Anyway. We made a trip to Home Depot because I thought that I had to replace the whole faucet. But then I remembered that Home Depot's motto is "You can do it. We can help" so I realized that they were obligated to help us figure out the problem.
So we talked to a guy who had us talk to another guy who kindof explained the problem in terms I could kindof understand. And then the first guy gave us the part we needed (a cartridge) and we were off.
At home, after a fair bit of plumber's crack and only one curse word, we had the faucet completely disassembled (did I mention we figured out how to turn off the water?). And we found out that the new cartridge was actually the wrong part. So we went back to Home Depot right before they closed, got the right part, and went back to finish the job (with a quick stopover at Macey's where we got ten white pumpkins for a steal).
So we finished the job (all this time not actually knowing with 100% certainty that this was the right thing to fix the hot water situation). And when we turned on the water, we found out that I'd installed the thingy upside down, so in the off position, water was coming out at full force. So we turned the water off again, and I reinstalled it all and we turned on the water again and somehow I had still managed to install the thing upside down. But the third time I did it, it worked. And the hot water works. And Switchback had better appreciate it.
And now Murray and I are officially plumbers. But we won't be booking any appointments until after November 3rd. And we only specialize in reinstalling cartridges. And we charge $300/15 minutes.
Who knew that by not relying on El Senor, there was a whole world of empowerment awaiting me?
Incognito
Today I blew our cover.
Nat and I met up for lunch and for a visit to Home Again, my favorite store. She had just come from the gym. I had just thrown on shorts, a tshirt, and a bandana. We weren't looking our finest, but it was great for a Saturday afternoon.
She had called me to get my opinion on a coffee table that could potentially match the armoir I had her buy at Home Again last month. I approved it and she asked me what I thought Home Again's policy on haggling might be. I told her to give it a try.
She got to the counter with her ticket (the table cost $125) and I lurked elsewhere in the store, listening to Nat's negotiation skills. It went something like this:
Nat: What's your policy on negotiating price?
Worker: Well, it depends on the piece. If it's been in the store for a while and hasn't sold, then we're willing to negotiate down.
Nat: What about this table?
Worker: That came in yesterday. We're not going to negotiate down.
Nat: SOLD!
That's when I started laughing, which probably looked crazy to those around me who didn't know that I was secretly listening to that conversation.
Because I can't leave that store without buying a home accessory, I went to the counter to purchase a $20 bird cage that matches the $14 bird cage I bought last month. When I got to the counter, I asked the ladies, "What's your policy on negotiation?" Then we all had a chuckle because we all knew I was joking, but honestly, I think they'd throw in a free bird cage every now and then if they realize that I keep luring Nat into the store and encouraging her to spend lots and lots of money (about $1000 in the past month).
As they were ringing me up, Nat asked, "Why is it that every time we come here, I spend so much money and you spend so little?" I replied, "Because I'm not a lawyer."
Again, we all enjoyed a good chuckle until the ladies behind the counter looked at us in disbelief and asked Nat, "Wait... are you really a lawyer?" She replied that she was. They told her that knowing that, they surely will never negotiate with her again because she obviously had the necessary money to buy their furniture.
Then they asked me what I do. I said that I'm an editor. And for some reason, that sounds glamorous to people. Well, and for my own pride's sake, I threw in the fact that I also design leather fashion---like handbags. So they decided that since I'm a working professional, too, then I will never have a chance of a bargain price with them.
Anyway. In the end, I've decided my negotiation skills might be worse than Nat's.
Nat and I met up for lunch and for a visit to Home Again, my favorite store. She had just come from the gym. I had just thrown on shorts, a tshirt, and a bandana. We weren't looking our finest, but it was great for a Saturday afternoon.
She had called me to get my opinion on a coffee table that could potentially match the armoir I had her buy at Home Again last month. I approved it and she asked me what I thought Home Again's policy on haggling might be. I told her to give it a try.
She got to the counter with her ticket (the table cost $125) and I lurked elsewhere in the store, listening to Nat's negotiation skills. It went something like this:
Nat: What's your policy on negotiating price?
Worker: Well, it depends on the piece. If it's been in the store for a while and hasn't sold, then we're willing to negotiate down.
Nat: What about this table?
Worker: That came in yesterday. We're not going to negotiate down.
Nat: SOLD!
That's when I started laughing, which probably looked crazy to those around me who didn't know that I was secretly listening to that conversation.
Because I can't leave that store without buying a home accessory, I went to the counter to purchase a $20 bird cage that matches the $14 bird cage I bought last month. When I got to the counter, I asked the ladies, "What's your policy on negotiation?" Then we all had a chuckle because we all knew I was joking, but honestly, I think they'd throw in a free bird cage every now and then if they realize that I keep luring Nat into the store and encouraging her to spend lots and lots of money (about $1000 in the past month).
As they were ringing me up, Nat asked, "Why is it that every time we come here, I spend so much money and you spend so little?" I replied, "Because I'm not a lawyer."
Again, we all enjoyed a good chuckle until the ladies behind the counter looked at us in disbelief and asked Nat, "Wait... are you really a lawyer?" She replied that she was. They told her that knowing that, they surely will never negotiate with her again because she obviously had the necessary money to buy their furniture.
Then they asked me what I do. I said that I'm an editor. And for some reason, that sounds glamorous to people. Well, and for my own pride's sake, I threw in the fact that I also design leather fashion---like handbags. So they decided that since I'm a working professional, too, then I will never have a chance of a bargain price with them.
Anyway. In the end, I've decided my negotiation skills might be worse than Nat's.
The To-Do List
So I've checked a few things off my to-do list. I got drapes and blinds. And I got a chair. And I made a pillow for the chair. Good news about the pillow? All I had to do was buy a cool placemat and sew it together. So $4=cool new pillow. Ready for the updated pictures?
Beta Room
I know that I haven't posted lately, and you probably are thinking that I've been busy doing fun, amazing things. And you'd be right. For the past two weeks, I've been working on fixing up my bedroom---finally. Since moving in, I've focused a lot on the main room and I've completely neglected my bedroom because I had no idea what to do with it.
I finally got an idea, and I've been working towards that. I have pictures that I'd love to share, but you have to understand that this is still a beta room. (Please note that my bedroom is not the master bedroom, so you cannot call my room a master beta. El Senor's room is the master beta.) It's a concept that I like and that I'm working with, but there are still lots of things I want to do with it.
First I started with my love of dark wood on green. I'm picky about my shades of green, so I found one that worked for me. Next, I realized that the green went very well with maroon and dusty rose colors, so I covered some old wood shelves with fabric in those shades. Luckily, the dresser I already own is purple, so that works. I've been buying a few accents (if you don't know about Home Goods yet, you need to find out about it because that's where I've done a lot of my shopping---the mirror on the dresser cost me $30) and I'll have to acquire a few more things before this room is done. Read my to-do list if you're interested, and scroll further down to see the beta pictures!
TO DO
I finally got an idea, and I've been working towards that. I have pictures that I'd love to share, but you have to understand that this is still a beta room. (Please note that my bedroom is not the master bedroom, so you cannot call my room a master beta. El Senor's room is the master beta.) It's a concept that I like and that I'm working with, but there are still lots of things I want to do with it.
First I started with my love of dark wood on green. I'm picky about my shades of green, so I found one that worked for me. Next, I realized that the green went very well with maroon and dusty rose colors, so I covered some old wood shelves with fabric in those shades. Luckily, the dresser I already own is purple, so that works. I've been buying a few accents (if you don't know about Home Goods yet, you need to find out about it because that's where I've done a lot of my shopping---the mirror on the dresser cost me $30) and I'll have to acquire a few more things before this room is done. Read my to-do list if you're interested, and scroll further down to see the beta pictures!
TO DO
- I'll be upgrading my twin to a full bed, probably in April.
- I'll be changing the window treatments. I'll have a dark brown blind and sheer whispy drapes to hang to either side of the bed.
- I need to acquire pictures to put on my walls.
- I'll probably buy a large shelving unit to go on the far wall.
- I'll replace the bowl chair with a chair that takes less space; possibly something like this, but less expensive.
- I'll make decorative bed pillows, probably in pinks and maroons, possibly out of felt.
Not Quite Dwight
Yesterday I promised El Senor's coworker that I would post a picture of him with Dwight Schrutte glasses. You see, apparently El Senor has told his coworkers about my blog and tells me that I have a silent following over there. So, to reward my silent voyeurs, I present to you the childhood of Cicada and El Senor.
You see, it's funny that the two of us have ended up living together after all these years and all that's happened between us. We never liked each other growing up. He was by far my most trying brother. When he was seventeen, I once ran outside to cry about what a horrible person he was, and my mother came to comfort me, letting me know that he probably would never treat me nicely until after his mission.
We had a bad history. When I was nine, he'd put Weight Watchers and Shape magazines on my bed and tell me to use them. When I was eight, he'd comment on my disgusting unshaven legs, or he would tell me to "suck it in" when we went to the beach and my little tummy was showing. I once walked into a room and he looked at me and said, "Holy crap, you're ugly."
I was nasty to him in return. I would deliberately provoke him. My mother saw me provoking him one day and watched the ordeal. I annoyed him to the point that he finally hit me. He got in trouble and was sent to his room. My mother came to talk to me and said, "You knew that he would hit you if you kept doing what you were doing. Why did you do it?" I replied, "I like seeing [El Senor] get in trouble."
Fortunately for us, we both grew out of it. One day things simply changed---and it was even before he left on his mission. I'm not exactly sure what did it, but things have never been as bad as they were. Sure we have our moments, like when El Senor comes into the living room at 3:00 a.m., claiming that my silent typing is keeping him awake. Or like when I get in trouble for leaving a bowl in the sink overnight, but he never gets in trouble for leaving a cereal bowl beside the couch all night. Or like when he gets mad that I drink from a new glass every time I get a drink. Or like when I call to tell him that I went out of my way to buy him a Costa Vida burrito and he complains that it will be cold by the time he gets home and it'll be no good reheated. But seriously, things are better. Like now, instead of ordering me to read Shape and Weight Watchers magazines, he politely encourages me to read Shape ("You know, you can get a subscription to Shape for only $6 at discountmagazines.com...") and encourages me to participate honestly in Weight Watchers ("Don't worry, Cicada. I'll eat all that pumpkin pie you made. You don't have to even have a bite!").
And fortunately for us, we also grew out of what we used to look like back then. But mostly, I blame our parents for that. I present to you some pictures of El Senor with Dwight Schrutte glasses.
(Consider this last one my special bonus to you. Notice that Captain Fabuloso has a nice manly pair of hockey skates, but El Senor is wearing a cream colored coat, a dainty scarf, and figure skates.)
Fat and Lazy
El Senor thinks that I'm a fat, lazy slob. He objects to how much I eat and he objects to how much time I spend watching the television and he also objects to the amount of time I spend on the computer. And what bugs me the most is that he chooses to communicate this to me passive-aggressively.
When we moved into this place, he told me that it was my responsibility to provide TiVo for the condo. Well, I found out that TiVo wasn't an option because we don't have a telephone line in the condo, but I did some research and found out all about Comcast's DVR. So I made the phone calls and yesterday the Comcast technician came over and set us all up. Digital cable. DVR. Comcast on Demand. It's all pretty sweet. So last night, I sat on our brand new couch (so long, futon!) and programmed in all the programs that I want the DVR to record repeatedly. Most notably was Cast Away, which I've been wanting to watch again for years, but always seem to forget when picking out a movie. It was airing tonight with limited commercial breaks (which means fewer times that I would have to fast forward the commercials) and I had everything set up to record it.
So what happens? Well, I drive home from work today, all excited about watching Cast Away and I walk into the house and notice a couple of odd things. First of all, there's no more TV and DVR in the living room. El Senor disconnected them and put them on the floor of my bedroom. You may not know this, but a disconnected DVR will not actually record Cast Away. It won't record Without a Trace. And I doubt that it will keep the recordings of Design on a Dime and The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and The Colbert Report that were already recorded on it.
My computer was not in the living room where I usually leave it. It was in El Senor's room. It's not like he was using it, either. He was just keeping it away from me. He has his own freaking computer.
If you think that's bad, though, just wait to find out what comes next. He put the couch (which he knows is too heavy for me to move by myself) in the kitchen. It takes up all the room of the kitchen, so I have no access to the refrigerator, cupboards, dishes, pantry---anything. He's cut off all access to food.
He also put the dining room table and chairs in my bedroom, like just to rub salt in an open wound: "Ha. You can't eat food, and you can't even sit at the dining room table and think about eating food."
My room is now crowded with furniture and a useless television and DVR. Of course I stole my computer back when he wasn't paying attention, but seriously! I am starting to think that maybe living with him wasn't such a good idea.
Oh, so you want his side of the story?? Like that's important? Well, according to him, it's necessary to move everything out of the living room and dining room in order to install his hardwood floor this weekend. Of all the lame, transparent excuses. I suggest that a cheaper solution next time will just be to confront me about my television, computer, and eating habits instead of inventing reasons to block my access to my vices.
This is a picture of the floor that he's "installing."
This is a picture of my bedroom that he's shoved things into.
This is a picture of the impossible kitchen. What I wouldn't give for a nice warm cup of hot chocolate right now... Did I mention that to further deprive me of comfort, he left the doors open all day long today? Hmph.
When we moved into this place, he told me that it was my responsibility to provide TiVo for the condo. Well, I found out that TiVo wasn't an option because we don't have a telephone line in the condo, but I did some research and found out all about Comcast's DVR. So I made the phone calls and yesterday the Comcast technician came over and set us all up. Digital cable. DVR. Comcast on Demand. It's all pretty sweet. So last night, I sat on our brand new couch (so long, futon!) and programmed in all the programs that I want the DVR to record repeatedly. Most notably was Cast Away, which I've been wanting to watch again for years, but always seem to forget when picking out a movie. It was airing tonight with limited commercial breaks (which means fewer times that I would have to fast forward the commercials) and I had everything set up to record it.
So what happens? Well, I drive home from work today, all excited about watching Cast Away and I walk into the house and notice a couple of odd things. First of all, there's no more TV and DVR in the living room. El Senor disconnected them and put them on the floor of my bedroom. You may not know this, but a disconnected DVR will not actually record Cast Away. It won't record Without a Trace. And I doubt that it will keep the recordings of Design on a Dime and The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and The Colbert Report that were already recorded on it.
My computer was not in the living room where I usually leave it. It was in El Senor's room. It's not like he was using it, either. He was just keeping it away from me. He has his own freaking computer.
If you think that's bad, though, just wait to find out what comes next. He put the couch (which he knows is too heavy for me to move by myself) in the kitchen. It takes up all the room of the kitchen, so I have no access to the refrigerator, cupboards, dishes, pantry---anything. He's cut off all access to food.
He also put the dining room table and chairs in my bedroom, like just to rub salt in an open wound: "Ha. You can't eat food, and you can't even sit at the dining room table and think about eating food."
My room is now crowded with furniture and a useless television and DVR. Of course I stole my computer back when he wasn't paying attention, but seriously! I am starting to think that maybe living with him wasn't such a good idea.
Oh, so you want his side of the story?? Like that's important? Well, according to him, it's necessary to move everything out of the living room and dining room in order to install his hardwood floor this weekend. Of all the lame, transparent excuses. I suggest that a cheaper solution next time will just be to confront me about my television, computer, and eating habits instead of inventing reasons to block my access to my vices.
This is a picture of the floor that he's "installing."
This is a picture of my bedroom that he's shoved things into.
This is a picture of the impossible kitchen. What I wouldn't give for a nice warm cup of hot chocolate right now... Did I mention that to further deprive me of comfort, he left the doors open all day long today? Hmph.
Some Roommate Stories
Currently I'm living with El Senor. Before El Senor I lived with Redras who---apologies to any of my other former roommates who may be reading this---was my all-time favorite roommate. She wins the prize.
Nevertheless, it's the bad roommate experiences that drive me to choose to avoid roommate situations and live with brothers. Here, for your enjoyment, is a small collection of roommate stories---from heinous to unbelievable to incomprehensible. I apologize if all of the facts are not correct. I'm trying to be as faithful as possible to the facts that I remember.
My Worst Apartment
I moved in with a friend the summer after my sophomore year. There were four of us in the apartment and the space was incredibly cramped. My bedroom had bunk beds and I was on the bottom bunk (the top bunk was very low). Our air conditioning was broken and my roommate refused to sleep with a window open because the noise prevented her from sleeping. So she would sleep directly under the ceiling fan and I would suffocate on the bottom bunk. In addition to that, my roommates were messy. I decided to conduct an experiment one day---see how long I could not wash other people's dishes before someone finally took the initiative to wash the dishes herself. I waited two weeks while dishes piled up (I started eating out every day so that I knew that I was in no way contributing to the mess). After two weeks, there were dishes on every horizontal surface of the kitchen (stove top and fridge top included) and I finally broke down and cleaned them all. I can't even remember how long it took me. The clincher, though, was when my roommate was letting our tiny bedroom get more and more cluttered with her mess. It got to the point that I could hardly walk in my own room and one day, I got to the bedroom and there, in the middle of my messy, messy bedroom floor, was a used tampon applicator. That same day, I started looking for new housing. I moved out about a month later.
Redras's Roommate
Redras once told a story about a bizarre roommate but I can't remember what the story was because at the very end of the story, she flippantly added, "But then she joined the military and got mono and died."
Scoots (and Poops)
This story has nothing to do with scooting or pooping, but you may remember that Scoots and Poops is El Senor's old roommate's nickname. El Senor and Scoots lived together when they were in Provo, but they originally met in the dorms in Rexburg when they were going to school there. Scoots had a sortof odd roommate who could get upset about strange things. One night, El Senor and his roommate could hear Scoots's roommate yelling from across the hall. Soon after, there was a knock on El Senor's door. Scoots was standing there with his mattress tucked under his arm and announced, "I'm moving in!" What was the cause of Scoots's roommate's tantrum? Well, every day, Scoots was the first person to leave the dorm room so he'd run and pick up the mail. But Scoots's roommate wanted the experience of going to the mailbox and discovering what new mail awaited. (Clearly this was grounds for getting angry.)
Twinners
A good friend of mine---we'll call her "Twin"--- is back from her mission and moved to SLC so we've been spending a little time together. Friday night, we were both wearing black shirts and jeans---I asked her if it bothered her that we were wearing similar outfits. She said no, but that it would have bothered an old roommate of hers. She went on to explain that she and this roommate had a similar fashion sense and would often buy the same or similar clothes. One day Twin showed up to class to see that she and her roommate were wearing a similar outfit. She laughed and said, "Look! We're twinners!" She didn't think much more about it. Over the next little while, she and her roommate would occasionally wear similar outfits. Her roommate would get ready and leave the house before they ever saw each other, so if ever their outfits matched, it was purely coincidence. One day, Twin went home to find her roommate and her roommate's boyfriend at home. When the roommate saw her, she noticed that Twin's hair was curly (Twin does her hair curly, wavy, or straight). Her hair was also curly (though a good six inches shorter than Twin's hair). Suddenly she raged out at Twin, accusing her of always copying her. She yelled and screamed while Twin stood dumbfounded. Finally Twin was able to tell her roommate that if it really bothered her that much that they wore similar outfits and similar hairstyles, all they had to do was talk every morning and arrange what they'd be wearing and how they'd be doing their hair. The roommate continued to yell and scream at Twin as she ran to the bathroom and put her head under the faucet. While drenching her hair, drying her hair, and straightening her hair, she continued to yell at Twin.
********
And for all those reasons, my friends, I choose to live with brothers whenever possible. But Redras, dear Redras, the offer is always on the table for you to be my roommate.
Nevertheless, it's the bad roommate experiences that drive me to choose to avoid roommate situations and live with brothers. Here, for your enjoyment, is a small collection of roommate stories---from heinous to unbelievable to incomprehensible. I apologize if all of the facts are not correct. I'm trying to be as faithful as possible to the facts that I remember.
My Worst Apartment
I moved in with a friend the summer after my sophomore year. There were four of us in the apartment and the space was incredibly cramped. My bedroom had bunk beds and I was on the bottom bunk (the top bunk was very low). Our air conditioning was broken and my roommate refused to sleep with a window open because the noise prevented her from sleeping. So she would sleep directly under the ceiling fan and I would suffocate on the bottom bunk. In addition to that, my roommates were messy. I decided to conduct an experiment one day---see how long I could not wash other people's dishes before someone finally took the initiative to wash the dishes herself. I waited two weeks while dishes piled up (I started eating out every day so that I knew that I was in no way contributing to the mess). After two weeks, there were dishes on every horizontal surface of the kitchen (stove top and fridge top included) and I finally broke down and cleaned them all. I can't even remember how long it took me. The clincher, though, was when my roommate was letting our tiny bedroom get more and more cluttered with her mess. It got to the point that I could hardly walk in my own room and one day, I got to the bedroom and there, in the middle of my messy, messy bedroom floor, was a used tampon applicator. That same day, I started looking for new housing. I moved out about a month later.
Redras's Roommate
Redras once told a story about a bizarre roommate but I can't remember what the story was because at the very end of the story, she flippantly added, "But then she joined the military and got mono and died."
Scoots (and Poops)
This story has nothing to do with scooting or pooping, but you may remember that Scoots and Poops is El Senor's old roommate's nickname. El Senor and Scoots lived together when they were in Provo, but they originally met in the dorms in Rexburg when they were going to school there. Scoots had a sortof odd roommate who could get upset about strange things. One night, El Senor and his roommate could hear Scoots's roommate yelling from across the hall. Soon after, there was a knock on El Senor's door. Scoots was standing there with his mattress tucked under his arm and announced, "I'm moving in!" What was the cause of Scoots's roommate's tantrum? Well, every day, Scoots was the first person to leave the dorm room so he'd run and pick up the mail. But Scoots's roommate wanted the experience of going to the mailbox and discovering what new mail awaited. (Clearly this was grounds for getting angry.)
Twinners
A good friend of mine---we'll call her "Twin"--- is back from her mission and moved to SLC so we've been spending a little time together. Friday night, we were both wearing black shirts and jeans---I asked her if it bothered her that we were wearing similar outfits. She said no, but that it would have bothered an old roommate of hers. She went on to explain that she and this roommate had a similar fashion sense and would often buy the same or similar clothes. One day Twin showed up to class to see that she and her roommate were wearing a similar outfit. She laughed and said, "Look! We're twinners!" She didn't think much more about it. Over the next little while, she and her roommate would occasionally wear similar outfits. Her roommate would get ready and leave the house before they ever saw each other, so if ever their outfits matched, it was purely coincidence. One day, Twin went home to find her roommate and her roommate's boyfriend at home. When the roommate saw her, she noticed that Twin's hair was curly (Twin does her hair curly, wavy, or straight). Her hair was also curly (though a good six inches shorter than Twin's hair). Suddenly she raged out at Twin, accusing her of always copying her. She yelled and screamed while Twin stood dumbfounded. Finally Twin was able to tell her roommate that if it really bothered her that much that they wore similar outfits and similar hairstyles, all they had to do was talk every morning and arrange what they'd be wearing and how they'd be doing their hair. The roommate continued to yell and scream at Twin as she ran to the bathroom and put her head under the faucet. While drenching her hair, drying her hair, and straightening her hair, she continued to yell at Twin.
********
And for all those reasons, my friends, I choose to live with brothers whenever possible. But Redras, dear Redras, the offer is always on the table for you to be my roommate.
Crystal Ball
Does anyone have a crystal ball I can borrow? I am starting to think that life's decisions will be easier to make if I can actually see my future. So here's what's going on:
El Senor bought a condo in SLC. It has two rooms and my room has a 16-foot walk-in closet. That's 16 feet, folks. That's longer than my front room, and the fact that I'm hosting a party in my front room tomorrow means that I could actually host parties in my closet (although now that I think about it, I may not want to advertise for an "in the closet party"...).
Unfortunately, I interviewed for a job in Provo (note: Provo is not SLC). When I sent in a resume to the job, I was just applying to all jobs in the Provo-SLC area that I found online, and El Senor had not yet purchased my 16 feet of closet real estate. When the job called me back, I figured I'd probably just go in for the interview for a little bit of practice in interviewing.
So I went to the interview. And the morning's interview went okay, I thought, but I felt that I said a lot of ums. But within a half hour of my interview, two of my references (thanks girls) called me back to say that they gave me glowing references, and then the job called back to invite me for a second interview with the CEOs.
Here's where things get difficult. They weren't so difficult because the pay for the job was a lot lower than I am shooting for, so I would just use pay as an excuse to turn down the job if it was offered to me. But the job had other perks. Like a four-day work week and four weeks' paid vacation. My friends, I'm not going to get four weeks' paid vacation anywhere else.
And things got more difficult when I went back and met with a few other potential coworkers/supervisors/CEOs and I realized that I really---I mean really---liked these people. Oh, and forget the fact that the job was basically everything I was looking for because it combined writing, editing, design, French, and Italian. It doesn't actually get better than that, does it? Oh, and the fact that I'd be integral in the production of a worldwide publication, which wouldn't look half bad on future resumes.
And things got even worse when they asked me what my concerns about the job were and I told them that my concerns were location and compensation---I wanted to move to SLC and get out of Provo, and I expected higher compensation than what they were offering. And then the CEOs left the room to discuss my compensation. Yikes! And they came back and made me a higher offer.
But I just kept on thinking about that 16-foot walk-in closet...
I told them I needed till Tuesday to make up my mind and today, I finally made up my mind. I do actually need to get out of Provo. I'm ready for a new city for my new phase of life. So I called today to let them know. And when I talked to one of my interviewers, she was so nice and said she understood, and that she had thought I'd turn down the offer actually because I would be so tired of Provo and I'd need to get away. She was right. But then she was so kind and told me that I interviewed very well and had great talents, so she was sure that I'd be able to find employment up in SLC. But that if I changed my mind, to give them a call. And I let her know that the decision was really hard to make (because it was---great coworkers, long weekends every week, four weeks' paid vacation...). And we left on good terms.
So now, I just need to dream about my new condo and wonder how much money it's going to take to buy my list of needs...
I need:
El Senor bought a condo in SLC. It has two rooms and my room has a 16-foot walk-in closet. That's 16 feet, folks. That's longer than my front room, and the fact that I'm hosting a party in my front room tomorrow means that I could actually host parties in my closet (although now that I think about it, I may not want to advertise for an "in the closet party"...).
Unfortunately, I interviewed for a job in Provo (note: Provo is not SLC). When I sent in a resume to the job, I was just applying to all jobs in the Provo-SLC area that I found online, and El Senor had not yet purchased my 16 feet of closet real estate. When the job called me back, I figured I'd probably just go in for the interview for a little bit of practice in interviewing.
So I went to the interview. And the morning's interview went okay, I thought, but I felt that I said a lot of ums. But within a half hour of my interview, two of my references (thanks girls) called me back to say that they gave me glowing references, and then the job called back to invite me for a second interview with the CEOs.
Here's where things get difficult. They weren't so difficult because the pay for the job was a lot lower than I am shooting for, so I would just use pay as an excuse to turn down the job if it was offered to me. But the job had other perks. Like a four-day work week and four weeks' paid vacation. My friends, I'm not going to get four weeks' paid vacation anywhere else.
And things got more difficult when I went back and met with a few other potential coworkers/supervisors/CEOs and I realized that I really---I mean really---liked these people. Oh, and forget the fact that the job was basically everything I was looking for because it combined writing, editing, design, French, and Italian. It doesn't actually get better than that, does it? Oh, and the fact that I'd be integral in the production of a worldwide publication, which wouldn't look half bad on future resumes.
And things got even worse when they asked me what my concerns about the job were and I told them that my concerns were location and compensation---I wanted to move to SLC and get out of Provo, and I expected higher compensation than what they were offering. And then the CEOs left the room to discuss my compensation. Yikes! And they came back and made me a higher offer.
But I just kept on thinking about that 16-foot walk-in closet...
I told them I needed till Tuesday to make up my mind and today, I finally made up my mind. I do actually need to get out of Provo. I'm ready for a new city for my new phase of life. So I called today to let them know. And when I talked to one of my interviewers, she was so nice and said she understood, and that she had thought I'd turn down the offer actually because I would be so tired of Provo and I'd need to get away. She was right. But then she was so kind and told me that I interviewed very well and had great talents, so she was sure that I'd be able to find employment up in SLC. But that if I changed my mind, to give them a call. And I let her know that the decision was really hard to make (because it was---great coworkers, long weekends every week, four weeks' paid vacation...). And we left on good terms.
So now, I just need to dream about my new condo and wonder how much money it's going to take to buy my list of needs...
I need:
- a sewing machine
- a 20-inch iMac with Adobe CS2
- a couch
- a closet organization system
- a 32-inch flat panel television
- TiVo
- a new bicycle (a cruiser)
- an FM transmitter for my mp3 player b/c I think that Clicky's CD player is broken
- car insurance
- new clothes (to fill my closet)
- other hip furniture for the condo
- a surround sound system
Not cool. Definitetly not cooler.
When I came home from California on Monday, the Megetable (alternative name for Redras) had the swamp cooler running. The apartment was nice and cool. Unfortunately, lately the swamp cooler has been spitting our brown, dirty swamp water. It's also been spitting dirty flecks of what looks like paint chips into the room.
But I think later Monday night, at one point we turned the swamp cooler off and then on again. Suddenly the house filled with this strong, strong smell of burning rubber. I immediately turned the thing off and called the landlord.
The landlord had the neighbors (who receive a rent deduction to take care of household things) look at it. The neighbor guy said he figured he knew what the problem was and got the parts he needed to have it fixed. I was at work, but the Megetable said that it worked for about twenty minutes and then began to emit the stench of burning rubber. (It's so bad, by the way, that you have to air out the whole house after it runs for about 10 seconds. I only wish I were exaggerating.)
So a professional guy (friend of our landlord's?) came to fix it yesterday. He seemed pretty competant and confident. When he was done, he said he needed a part and would come back the next day to fix the rest.
He came back today and got it all fixed. I waited till he was done to take my nap. When he left, I set it on low and went to sleep to the sweet, sweet humming of cool air.
And woke up in a pool of my own sweat, hearing no humming at all. Yes, my friends. The swamp cooler is still broken.
But I think later Monday night, at one point we turned the swamp cooler off and then on again. Suddenly the house filled with this strong, strong smell of burning rubber. I immediately turned the thing off and called the landlord.
The landlord had the neighbors (who receive a rent deduction to take care of household things) look at it. The neighbor guy said he figured he knew what the problem was and got the parts he needed to have it fixed. I was at work, but the Megetable said that it worked for about twenty minutes and then began to emit the stench of burning rubber. (It's so bad, by the way, that you have to air out the whole house after it runs for about 10 seconds. I only wish I were exaggerating.)
So a professional guy (friend of our landlord's?) came to fix it yesterday. He seemed pretty competant and confident. When he was done, he said he needed a part and would come back the next day to fix the rest.
He came back today and got it all fixed. I waited till he was done to take my nap. When he left, I set it on low and went to sleep to the sweet, sweet humming of cool air.
And woke up in a pool of my own sweat, hearing no humming at all. Yes, my friends. The swamp cooler is still broken.
If I die before I wake...
My house has had a spider problem lately. If Redras is around, I make her kill the spiders I find. Or if I man is around, I make him do his manly duty. But honestly, this is getting out of control.
Yesterday, without necessarily setting out on a "spider hunt," I managed to kill six spiders. And it was the sixth spider that concerns me the most. You see, I found spider number five as I was going to bed. It was a small black spider on the wall at the head of my bed---approximately one inch away from where my head would be if I had lain down. But I didn't. I immediately went and got tissue paper, smashed it, and flushed it. And I shudder still just to think about it.
Many of you may know that it's been hot here in Provo lately. I put a box fan in my window and during the night I turn it on and it blows the cool night air into my room. Since the cool night air hasn't been as cool lately, I've been forced to sleep upsidedown in my bed, which allows my body to benefit more greatly from the blowing of the fan (which according to some cultures is not a good thing). I did actually wonder about spiders when I was going to sleep. Killing five spiders in one's house during a day tends to do that to one. So every little tickle I felt I swore was a spider and sortof freaked out. Until I eventually calmed myself and allowed myself to go to sleep.
Only I woke up at one point and my finger was itching. And I scratched it and thought, "That's funny... it feels like a mosquito bite but I didn't hear any mosquitos... the fun must have drowned out the..." ---and I didn't finish that thought because I fell back asleep. Until I woke up what I imagine was about thirty seconds later and felt my other hand itching. At that point, I thought, "It's a spider! I know I'm being eaten by a spider! If it was a mosquito I would have heard it the second time because my brain would have been prepared to hear it!" And really, in the back of my mind, I was thinking that I was overreacting and it was not really a spider. But I flipped on the lamp beside my bed and witnessed a spider running across my pillow case---where my hands had been. I ran to the bathroom and got tissue paper and killed it and flushed it down the drain.
And then I was awake for the next hour or so, researching Utah spiders on the Internet. Ugh. At least Nemesis was there (God bless time zones!) and able to provide me comfort.
I have drawn a picture in Paint of how I was sleeping so that you can appreciate how close the spider was to my head. For your benefit, I have pretended that I was wearing pajamas at the time, which, of course, I was not. What bothers me the most is why the thing bit me! I can understand why mosquitos would bite, but what did a spider have to benefit by biting me while I was sleeping? Do they suck blood? I don't think so? Do they feast on rotting corpses? Maybe, but I certainly wasn't there yet. Do they avenge the deaths of their spider brothers? Probably. Probably, my friends.
Yesterday, without necessarily setting out on a "spider hunt," I managed to kill six spiders. And it was the sixth spider that concerns me the most. You see, I found spider number five as I was going to bed. It was a small black spider on the wall at the head of my bed---approximately one inch away from where my head would be if I had lain down. But I didn't. I immediately went and got tissue paper, smashed it, and flushed it. And I shudder still just to think about it.
Many of you may know that it's been hot here in Provo lately. I put a box fan in my window and during the night I turn it on and it blows the cool night air into my room. Since the cool night air hasn't been as cool lately, I've been forced to sleep upsidedown in my bed, which allows my body to benefit more greatly from the blowing of the fan (which according to some cultures is not a good thing). I did actually wonder about spiders when I was going to sleep. Killing five spiders in one's house during a day tends to do that to one. So every little tickle I felt I swore was a spider and sortof freaked out. Until I eventually calmed myself and allowed myself to go to sleep.
Only I woke up at one point and my finger was itching. And I scratched it and thought, "That's funny... it feels like a mosquito bite but I didn't hear any mosquitos... the fun must have drowned out the..." ---and I didn't finish that thought because I fell back asleep. Until I woke up what I imagine was about thirty seconds later and felt my other hand itching. At that point, I thought, "It's a spider! I know I'm being eaten by a spider! If it was a mosquito I would have heard it the second time because my brain would have been prepared to hear it!" And really, in the back of my mind, I was thinking that I was overreacting and it was not really a spider. But I flipped on the lamp beside my bed and witnessed a spider running across my pillow case---where my hands had been. I ran to the bathroom and got tissue paper and killed it and flushed it down the drain.
And then I was awake for the next hour or so, researching Utah spiders on the Internet. Ugh. At least Nemesis was there (God bless time zones!) and able to provide me comfort.
I have drawn a picture in Paint of how I was sleeping so that you can appreciate how close the spider was to my head. For your benefit, I have pretended that I was wearing pajamas at the time, which, of course, I was not. What bothers me the most is why the thing bit me! I can understand why mosquitos would bite, but what did a spider have to benefit by biting me while I was sleeping? Do they suck blood? I don't think so? Do they feast on rotting corpses? Maybe, but I certainly wasn't there yet. Do they avenge the deaths of their spider brothers? Probably. Probably, my friends.
Out with the Old, In with the New
The Boy left me. This is sad on many levels. I absolutely loved living with him. Sure, we had our moments, like when we argued over who was leaving the toilet seat up (I may mention that for the last six months, I swear it's only been left up once) or when I talked to him about eating the ingredients I had bought for recipes and I talked to him about eating the ingredients I had bought for recipes and I talked to him about eating the ingredients I had bought for recipes. I guess he never quite got that. But who am I to complain? He's kept me supplied with Crystal Light for the past nine months. And he's done really sweet things. Take the other night for example.
I was in bed with the window open, listening to the creepy sounds outside my window. This used to be a bigger problem when he was working the night shift and I was all alone. Last summer, I finally realized that the "footsteps" I was continually hearing was actually the sound of the trees hitting the shed beside my window. But the other night, as I tried to convince myself that the creepy noises were just the trees, I began to realize that the creepy noises were not the trees. There was something alive outside my window. And it was moving.
I sent him a text message: Come here.
Seconds later, he was in my room, and of course, the creepy noises had already stopped. But, being the brave man he was, he said he'd go out and investigate. "I'm just happy I have this!" he said. I expected to see him with a gun, a baseball bat, or even a golf club, but he was wielding a flashlight.
I heard him go outside and around to the side of my house where my window was. And then I heard a cat meowing. He found the culprit. But then instead of just shooing the cat away and coming back into the house, he did a full circuit around the house, inspecting the back yard, too, to make sure that there were no other unwelcome guests. He's a sweetie.
(Another reason I'll miss him: The other night, I saw him coming home. I was sitting in the living room with the lights out. I went to the door and waited for him to come in. He opened the door and I jumped at him and yelled. The look on his face was one of sheer terror, but it was nothing like the look on my face when he immediately punched me in the boob. He had no idea what he was doing, but it was the fight of his fight-or-flight instinct.)
I have replaced The Boy with a roommate I'll call Redrass. I'll call her that until 1) she discovers my blog and 2) she demands that I change it. Redrass is a friend of mine from class this past semester. We had three of our Tuesday-Thursday classes together, so we ended up spending a fair amount of time together. She is one of the very few people who I've met in class and chosen to hang out with outside of class. She's simply cool enough.
So welcome Redrass and goodbye The Boy.
I was in bed with the window open, listening to the creepy sounds outside my window. This used to be a bigger problem when he was working the night shift and I was all alone. Last summer, I finally realized that the "footsteps" I was continually hearing was actually the sound of the trees hitting the shed beside my window. But the other night, as I tried to convince myself that the creepy noises were just the trees, I began to realize that the creepy noises were not the trees. There was something alive outside my window. And it was moving.
I sent him a text message: Come here.
Seconds later, he was in my room, and of course, the creepy noises had already stopped. But, being the brave man he was, he said he'd go out and investigate. "I'm just happy I have this!" he said. I expected to see him with a gun, a baseball bat, or even a golf club, but he was wielding a flashlight.
I heard him go outside and around to the side of my house where my window was. And then I heard a cat meowing. He found the culprit. But then instead of just shooing the cat away and coming back into the house, he did a full circuit around the house, inspecting the back yard, too, to make sure that there were no other unwelcome guests. He's a sweetie.
(Another reason I'll miss him: The other night, I saw him coming home. I was sitting in the living room with the lights out. I went to the door and waited for him to come in. He opened the door and I jumped at him and yelled. The look on his face was one of sheer terror, but it was nothing like the look on my face when he immediately punched me in the boob. He had no idea what he was doing, but it was the fight of his fight-or-flight instinct.)
I have replaced The Boy with a roommate I'll call Redrass. I'll call her that until 1) she discovers my blog and 2) she demands that I change it. Redrass is a friend of mine from class this past semester. We had three of our Tuesday-Thursday classes together, so we ended up spending a fair amount of time together. She is one of the very few people who I've met in class and chosen to hang out with outside of class. She's simply cool enough.
So welcome Redrass and goodbye The Boy.
If I wanted water, I'd ask for water.
Okay, so basically no one's going to get that reference. Except maybe my family and marriedin. It's from an old Canadian beer commercial.
The point is that I want water. Today I came home from class and heard running water outside my house. I went inside and heard running water inside my house. I went to the basement to find a waterfall coming from behind our dryer. Luckily we have an unfinished basement with a drain in it, so all the water just came down the wall and ran down the drain.
I called my landlord and left a message. I called my apartment manager and left a message. I IMed Daltongirl and complained.
Eventually, though no one called to tell me they'd received any messages, my landlord's brother-in-law showed up to look at things. After realizing the job was too big for him, he turned off our water and called a plumber.
You may recall that I've been sick. Because I'm sick, I didn't shower this morning. That may not make sense, but the point is I didn't shower, okay? But I really really needed a shower tonight. There is an apartment of girls in my ward that I've fallen in love with during the past week or so, so I called one of them first. But she didn't answer. So I called my visiting teachers and asked if I could use their shower. Strange request, but nonetheless necessary.
I ran with my bathrobe and towel and soap for a couple blocks to their house. Not in my bathrobe and towel. With my bathrobe and towel. They led me to their basement and showed me into their bathroom and told me to enjoy my shower. They didn't leave me any showering instructions or warnings, so I assumed that all was well. I got naked, stepped into the shower, and started the routine.
Then the water went frigid.
Then normal.
Then frigid.
Then normal.
Then frigid. In fact, it was so cold that I actually almost screamed. The rest of the shower was painful. I'd step out of the stream of water when it was freezing, and then step back into the stream of water when it went warm again, vigorously lathering or rinsing my body in an effort to end the unpleasant shower as quickly as possible.
When I got out of the shower, the house was deserted. My visiting teachers left me a note saying they hoped I enjoyed my shower.
I came back to the house to find out that our plumber had said that our water would not be turned back on tonight since he didn't have the part he needed to fix the pipe. Ohhhhh, the misery! I have no idea when this is going to be fixed! But there are bright sides to this situation, I'm sure...
1) I don't have to feel guilty about not doing the dishes or mopping my filthy floor (even more filthy now that the plumber has walked through it seventeen times).
2) I have extra incentive to go to the gym now, since I'll need to use their workout facility and their shower facility.
And that is it. It's a list of two. Now, I'm hungry, but I don't want to make any food because I have naught wherewith to clean it up. I would go out for food with The Boy, but he already ate today. Woe is me.
The point is that I want water. Today I came home from class and heard running water outside my house. I went inside and heard running water inside my house. I went to the basement to find a waterfall coming from behind our dryer. Luckily we have an unfinished basement with a drain in it, so all the water just came down the wall and ran down the drain.
I called my landlord and left a message. I called my apartment manager and left a message. I IMed Daltongirl and complained.
Eventually, though no one called to tell me they'd received any messages, my landlord's brother-in-law showed up to look at things. After realizing the job was too big for him, he turned off our water and called a plumber.
You may recall that I've been sick. Because I'm sick, I didn't shower this morning. That may not make sense, but the point is I didn't shower, okay? But I really really needed a shower tonight. There is an apartment of girls in my ward that I've fallen in love with during the past week or so, so I called one of them first. But she didn't answer. So I called my visiting teachers and asked if I could use their shower. Strange request, but nonetheless necessary.
I ran with my bathrobe and towel and soap for a couple blocks to their house. Not in my bathrobe and towel. With my bathrobe and towel. They led me to their basement and showed me into their bathroom and told me to enjoy my shower. They didn't leave me any showering instructions or warnings, so I assumed that all was well. I got naked, stepped into the shower, and started the routine.
Then the water went frigid.
Then normal.
Then frigid.
Then normal.
Then frigid. In fact, it was so cold that I actually almost screamed. The rest of the shower was painful. I'd step out of the stream of water when it was freezing, and then step back into the stream of water when it went warm again, vigorously lathering or rinsing my body in an effort to end the unpleasant shower as quickly as possible.
When I got out of the shower, the house was deserted. My visiting teachers left me a note saying they hoped I enjoyed my shower.
I came back to the house to find out that our plumber had said that our water would not be turned back on tonight since he didn't have the part he needed to fix the pipe. Ohhhhh, the misery! I have no idea when this is going to be fixed! But there are bright sides to this situation, I'm sure...
1) I don't have to feel guilty about not doing the dishes or mopping my filthy floor (even more filthy now that the plumber has walked through it seventeen times).
2) I have extra incentive to go to the gym now, since I'll need to use their workout facility and their shower facility.
And that is it. It's a list of two. Now, I'm hungry, but I don't want to make any food because I have naught wherewith to clean it up. I would go out for food with The Boy, but he already ate today. Woe is me.
Karma
The Boy will learn that what goes around comes around. Today, I came home to find a family-sized package of Lever 2000 on my bed. If you read Irish Spring, you'd know that our apartment didn't actually need new soap until 2007, but there it was, a whole package of Lever 2000 on my bed. This, from the brother who says he doesn't read my blog.
Cicada: So... There's Lever 2000 on my bed. I didn't think we needed soap. Did you read my blog?
The Boy: Yeah, I read your blog.
Cicada: You know I was only joking, right? You really didn't have to go out and buy new soap.
The Boy: Yeah, I know. But I realized you were right. It really does smell like old man! In any case, we won't have to buy soap again for a very, very long time.
So since my brother is the sweetest boy alive, I did him a favor tonight. On his way out the door to work, he noticed that Brother 2 had left his dinner leftovers on our stove. The Boy didn't have time to put them into Tupperware and into the fridge himself, so he asked me to do it. I really did not want to remove myself from the couch all night (indeed, it's where I'm sleeping tonight) but my motivation finally came when I remembered the soap on my bed. I got up, and lovingly put the leftovers in a tupperware container and put them in the fridge.
In related news, I'm beginning to wonder if I'm experiencing a little bit of karma here myself. For the first time in my history of blogging, a post has gone more than 24 hours without comment. Perhaps this has something to do with the fact that I haven't been diligent about reading and/or commenting on everyone else's blog... Or maybe it wasn't even remotely an exciting post. I'll try to post pictures of me in a bikini next time. Hopefully that will generate some feedback.
Cicada: So... There's Lever 2000 on my bed. I didn't think we needed soap. Did you read my blog?
The Boy: Yeah, I read your blog.
Cicada: You know I was only joking, right? You really didn't have to go out and buy new soap.
The Boy: Yeah, I know. But I realized you were right. It really does smell like old man! In any case, we won't have to buy soap again for a very, very long time.
So since my brother is the sweetest boy alive, I did him a favor tonight. On his way out the door to work, he noticed that Brother 2 had left his dinner leftovers on our stove. The Boy didn't have time to put them into Tupperware and into the fridge himself, so he asked me to do it. I really did not want to remove myself from the couch all night (indeed, it's where I'm sleeping tonight) but my motivation finally came when I remembered the soap on my bed. I got up, and lovingly put the leftovers in a tupperware container and put them in the fridge.
In related news, I'm beginning to wonder if I'm experiencing a little bit of karma here myself. For the first time in my history of blogging, a post has gone more than 24 hours without comment. Perhaps this has something to do with the fact that I haven't been diligent about reading and/or commenting on everyone else's blog... Or maybe it wasn't even remotely an exciting post. I'll try to post pictures of me in a bikini next time. Hopefully that will generate some feedback.
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