Back when I first started this blog, one of the things I looked forward to was NaBloPoMo. After all, it was my favorite time of year as a blog reader, so obviously I would love it as a blog author, right?
Hahahaha. Oh, my sweet summer blogger self! Fast forward a few months to my paltry store of published posts, and it's obvious that I can barely post once a month, let alone once per day. Still, I'd like to give it a try. I can't swear that you're gonna get thirty high-quality posts--hell, I can't swear you're gonna get thirty posts, of whatever quality. But, one must try.
The nice thing about being such a slacker is that the first post back almost writes itself. I spend a bit of time updating previous posts and handing out excuses for why I haven't written. Easy! So without further ado...:
Nothing But a Family Thing, Part Two: Aunt Violet has made a complete recovery. Like, she's so recovered that I find myself wondering if my cousins exaggerated the seriousness of her condition. I'm not the believe in miracles type, so that's really the only explanation I can come up with as to how one goes from comatose for nearly a week with an almost non-existent EEG to a few weeks of physical therapy to back on Facebook pestering me with game invites and posting Inspirational Jesus quotes on my wall. It's weird. I should call her myself. After all, her suicide attempt/accidental overdose (depends on which version of events you believe) caused a slight Tragic Blue Screen of Death to happen in my brain, as I flashed back to awful things best forgotten and her kindness during the awful things. Unfortunately, I've had to build a wall around myself, in order to shut out the people responsible--and since she stays in close, happy contact with those people, I have to keep her at arm's length as well. I've worked too hard to be the just barely functioning human I am today. I can't let the wall wobble. It's not safe. Besides, how awkward would that conversation be? "Hullo, there, Auntie. So, was it suicide or what? Also, were your kids full of shit when they told me that they might have to unplug you and leave it up to Jesus? 'Cause you seem pretty damn healthy for someone they were about to send into the light?" Yeah, no. Can't do it.
Depression, Yet Another Update Upon: Eh. Still feel exhausted every single day. Still have to force myself to hit the treadmill. Still manage to be very healthy til about 6 p.m. when I realize I am STARVING and proceed to eat all the food. I'm doing a lot better though, since leaving the Temp Job From Hell, where I was simultaneously stressed out and bored to death, resulting in some EPIC emotional eating. I managed to cold turkey the need to eat chocolate from 2:30 p.m. to 4:56 p.m. every single weekday, and am now weaning myself off my pre-bedtime bowl of cereal. As to exercise, I've discovered a new way to motivate myself on the treadmill: NETFLIX. I suddenly remembered that I have Netflix on my Kindle Fire. Twice a week, I cue up a 45-50 minute show on the Kindle, and walk briskly up and down simulated hills for the entirety of the program. I'm at nearly 3 miles in that time, which for legs as short as mine, especially considering how heavy I am right now (see EPIC emotional eating, above) is actually a pretty good pace. In the next few days I plan to add in basic body weight stuff like squats, pushups, planks, etc. into the routine. I alternate the 50 minute workouts with 20-30 minute workouts two or three times a week, courtesy of Songza. Which program I cannot say enough nice things about, so thanks again MariaMelee for introducing me to it.
Speaking of the Kindle Fire, the first show I picked for workout viewing was Orange is the New Black, about which I have many, many things to say, but for now will just mention this: I watched it through once and loved it. LOVED. I got pretty tired of Piper pretty quickly, but with such a big, awesome ensemble (Crazy Eyes! Poussey! Captain Jane-Er, I mean, RED!!! Love!) it's pretty easy to ignore Piper. Then I read the book. And I really, really liked the real-life Piper. She's nothing like the character Piper. Now, on re-watch, I find the show less wonderful. After seeing the depth and dignity of the real-life people, the show characters seem shallow and cheap. And show Piper is INSUFFERABLE. I swear to god, she mentions Barney's one more time... Anyway. It's still a good show, don't get me wrong. But it was a very striking example to me of the way TV (or Streaming Media, in this case) will alter things for the sake of drama, and it made me feel a little small to realize how eagerly I had consumed that drama, much--most--of it untrue. Still, I highly recommend reading the book.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Nothing but a Family Thing
I gave the bare bones on Twitter, but I need to get this out.
I had a horrible childhood. My mother was distant, my father absent, my uncles and older cousins were predators.
My dad's younger sister was a sweet, loving woman, born to the wrong family. She deserved better. All of the sweetness and tenderness I remember from my childhood came from her.
We drifted apart in the last few years--there's a lot of miles between us, she became foster mother to two of my second cousins when their mother died, and as an adult, the pain my dad's family caused me pushed me to become very aloof toward my relatives.
We talked on Facebook sometimes. Not often. She'd had some health problems. Something wrong with her lungs...it wasn't emphysema (not yet, anyway) but she'd been a two pack a day smoker for years. Now she carries an oxygen tank, and can't really draw a full breath. She had some knee and hip problems, she has fibromyalgia.
On Monday night, her daughter called to chat around nine. They talked for a few minutes, Aunt said she was tired. Her son called just after ten, and got no answer. He assumed she'd gone to bed. He went over to her house around 8 on Tuesday morning, and found her barely breathing, unconscious, face down on the floor of her room. An empty six pack of beer was beside her, as was a prescription bottle. It was her muscle relaxers, and they believe she took about 90 pills.
She meant to die.
She has not regained consciousness. She will have an MRI either later tonight or tomorrow morning. We will find out then if she gets her wish. If there is no brain activity, the family will withdraw life support.
This hurts. I wish she'd called me. I wish I'd called her. I wish she didn't hurt so much that she thought this would help.
Please send good thoughts. Her name is Violet.
I had a horrible childhood. My mother was distant, my father absent, my uncles and older cousins were predators.
My dad's younger sister was a sweet, loving woman, born to the wrong family. She deserved better. All of the sweetness and tenderness I remember from my childhood came from her.
We drifted apart in the last few years--there's a lot of miles between us, she became foster mother to two of my second cousins when their mother died, and as an adult, the pain my dad's family caused me pushed me to become very aloof toward my relatives.
We talked on Facebook sometimes. Not often. She'd had some health problems. Something wrong with her lungs...it wasn't emphysema (not yet, anyway) but she'd been a two pack a day smoker for years. Now she carries an oxygen tank, and can't really draw a full breath. She had some knee and hip problems, she has fibromyalgia.
On Monday night, her daughter called to chat around nine. They talked for a few minutes, Aunt said she was tired. Her son called just after ten, and got no answer. He assumed she'd gone to bed. He went over to her house around 8 on Tuesday morning, and found her barely breathing, unconscious, face down on the floor of her room. An empty six pack of beer was beside her, as was a prescription bottle. It was her muscle relaxers, and they believe she took about 90 pills.
She meant to die.
She has not regained consciousness. She will have an MRI either later tonight or tomorrow morning. We will find out then if she gets her wish. If there is no brain activity, the family will withdraw life support.
This hurts. I wish she'd called me. I wish I'd called her. I wish she didn't hurt so much that she thought this would help.
Please send good thoughts. Her name is Violet.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Summing Up
Depression: Obviously, still there. I mean, if you don't really do anything about depression, it will settle in and get comfy, and I haven't really done much to address it. I am forcing myself to be active, to go outside a bit more, and to get at least one thing (laundry, change bed sheets, wipe down sink, etc.) done every day, and that has been surprisingly effective. The sense of satisfaction derived from doing something, anything, versus wallowing has been helpful. Now, if I can get my eating behaviors under better control, I may be able to fix one of the main contributors to my sense of worthlessness: my weight. Baby steps, right?
Rats: Mostly eradicated. The rat guy came out, rolled his eyes at my landlord's griping, and did a rock-solid job of closing off all the openings that the rodents were exploiting. He also set several traps in the attic. After ten days, he came back, double-checked that no one had gnawed through his work, and cleared several dead rats from the attic. He warned me that since we hadn't signed up for the maintenance plan (landlord unwilling) we would need to be conscientious about walking around the house every few days to make sure that there were no new incursions. He also added, almost as an afterthought, that we may occasionally hear sounds from the rats trying to get back in. Sure enough, last night, we hear the weirdest noise. I can't even describe it. Almost a grinding. It was in the same place where the original rat hole was, so we realized it was a rat trying to chew through the metal grates that now adorn our soffitts. Since we are survivalist nutjobs, we happen to have some very powerful pepper spray on hand, so we crept out to the backyard and doused the area the rat had been chewing with the spray, then scurried back into the house. Back in bed, we smugly congratulated ourselves on outsmarting Mr. Rattus rattus, and settled down to sleep. I can now attest to the fact that rats are not deterred by pepper spray. I shall have to do some more research to figure out something that will repel them.
Job: Still don't have one, but I've updated my resume pretty much all over the internet, and I continue to apply to several jobs a day. I've dropped my minimum salary requirement a little bit, and am hoping that will help. Ideally, I would find a way to be paid to troll Facebook, write tweets, and play Candy Crush, but that job does not seem to be hiring.
Food: We signed up for a CSA share, and I've been enjoying the challenge of using all the veggies every week. So far, I haven't been super creative; a lot of veggies end up in a broiler pan underneath a bunch of chicken thighs, or sauteed in some olive oil and served over pasta, but hey...gotta start somewhere. We keep getting these tiny, tiny beets with greens attached, and let me tell you, you roast those under some chicken for 45 minutes at 475, and they are UH-mazing.
I also tried a recipe I had never heard of, but which is apparently quite common: Beans and Greens. I found this while searching for uses for Escarole, which I had never cooked with before. This recipe allows a lot of customization, so I'll share my version:
1 lb Bacon
1 head Escarole
2 cups of fresh Spinach you still have from last week's CSA, and really need to use up
2 cans White Beans with liquid
ALL the garlic
3-4 bulbs spring onions, finely chopped (also in my CSA share this week, you could probably sub shallots or white onions)
Dash or two (or more if you like) Dried Red Pepper Flakes
Splash of Half and Half (totally optional)
Chop bacon into bite size pieces. Fry over medium heat in large skillet til crispy. Set bacon aside on paper towels. Move one or two tablespoons of bacon fat to another skillet, and set over medium heat. Remove bacon fat from original skillet, leaving one to two tablespoons. Add beans to bacon fat in original skillet, along with garlic, onions, and pepper flakes. Stir to combine, and allow to come to a gentle boil. Reduce heat to simmer. While this is happening, chop escarole and spinach into bite size pieces, and add to second skillet. Toss leaves to coat, and allow to wilt for seven to ten minutes, tossing frequently. When escarole is done, add it to bean mixture, along with reserved bacon pieces. Season to taste with salt and black pepper, and add a splash of half and half, if desired. Allow to simmer another five minutes for flavors to combine. This is a good time to slice up a loaf of crusty bread. Serve beans and greens with bread. You can probably skip the spoons, the bread is fabulous for scooping. Inform husband that he will have to find his own food, as you do not wish to share this.
Rats: Mostly eradicated. The rat guy came out, rolled his eyes at my landlord's griping, and did a rock-solid job of closing off all the openings that the rodents were exploiting. He also set several traps in the attic. After ten days, he came back, double-checked that no one had gnawed through his work, and cleared several dead rats from the attic. He warned me that since we hadn't signed up for the maintenance plan (landlord unwilling) we would need to be conscientious about walking around the house every few days to make sure that there were no new incursions. He also added, almost as an afterthought, that we may occasionally hear sounds from the rats trying to get back in. Sure enough, last night, we hear the weirdest noise. I can't even describe it. Almost a grinding. It was in the same place where the original rat hole was, so we realized it was a rat trying to chew through the metal grates that now adorn our soffitts. Since we are survivalist nutjobs, we happen to have some very powerful pepper spray on hand, so we crept out to the backyard and doused the area the rat had been chewing with the spray, then scurried back into the house. Back in bed, we smugly congratulated ourselves on outsmarting Mr. Rattus rattus, and settled down to sleep. I can now attest to the fact that rats are not deterred by pepper spray. I shall have to do some more research to figure out something that will repel them.
Job: Still don't have one, but I've updated my resume pretty much all over the internet, and I continue to apply to several jobs a day. I've dropped my minimum salary requirement a little bit, and am hoping that will help. Ideally, I would find a way to be paid to troll Facebook, write tweets, and play Candy Crush, but that job does not seem to be hiring.
Food: We signed up for a CSA share, and I've been enjoying the challenge of using all the veggies every week. So far, I haven't been super creative; a lot of veggies end up in a broiler pan underneath a bunch of chicken thighs, or sauteed in some olive oil and served over pasta, but hey...gotta start somewhere. We keep getting these tiny, tiny beets with greens attached, and let me tell you, you roast those under some chicken for 45 minutes at 475, and they are UH-mazing.
I also tried a recipe I had never heard of, but which is apparently quite common: Beans and Greens. I found this while searching for uses for Escarole, which I had never cooked with before. This recipe allows a lot of customization, so I'll share my version:
1 lb Bacon
1 head Escarole
2 cups of fresh Spinach you still have from last week's CSA, and really need to use up
2 cans White Beans with liquid
ALL the garlic
3-4 bulbs spring onions, finely chopped (also in my CSA share this week, you could probably sub shallots or white onions)
Dash or two (or more if you like) Dried Red Pepper Flakes
Splash of Half and Half (totally optional)
Chop bacon into bite size pieces. Fry over medium heat in large skillet til crispy. Set bacon aside on paper towels. Move one or two tablespoons of bacon fat to another skillet, and set over medium heat. Remove bacon fat from original skillet, leaving one to two tablespoons. Add beans to bacon fat in original skillet, along with garlic, onions, and pepper flakes. Stir to combine, and allow to come to a gentle boil. Reduce heat to simmer. While this is happening, chop escarole and spinach into bite size pieces, and add to second skillet. Toss leaves to coat, and allow to wilt for seven to ten minutes, tossing frequently. When escarole is done, add it to bean mixture, along with reserved bacon pieces. Season to taste with salt and black pepper, and add a splash of half and half, if desired. Allow to simmer another five minutes for flavors to combine. This is a good time to slice up a loaf of crusty bread. Serve beans and greens with bread. You can probably skip the spoons, the bread is fabulous for scooping. Inform husband that he will have to find his own food, as you do not wish to share this.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Unedited, uncensored, unhappy
I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know how much longer I can keep waking up, keep putting one foot in front of the other. I've never been unemployed more than a couple of weeks, and the lack of solid routine is killing me. I'm not even kidding. First I stopped doing all the deep cleaning. Then I stopped doing laundry. I'm still managing dishes, shopping and cooking, but that's largely because I need to do those things in order to eat, and eating is what I do when I can't do anything else. Husband lectured me this morning about the fact that I've stopped exercising, that I'm spending too much time in front of the computer, and that I can't let myself (Let myself. After seven years, you would think he would get the most basic thing about depression, but no)get in to such a deep funk, that I have to pull out of it. Then he left without really saying goodbye, which is the kind of thing that drops my mood even further. Despite his lack of depression empathy, he is a good husband, he's a good friend, and I want to be with him, but in the state I'm in right now, I find myself wanting to run away from home. If only I had the slightest idea where to go. If only I wouldn't still be me when I got there.
Depression lies. Depression lies. Depression Lies. Keep saying it, keep thinking it, cry when you have to, do whatever it takes to keep yourself from lying down and never getting up again. Drink more coffee, take the dog on a longer walk. Try that new peach lemonade thing at Starbucks. Fuck it, eat a goddamn pastry while you're at it, too. Sugar feels good for a little while, the sadness, the emptiness all falls away along with the crumbs, at least until the guilt sets in again.
The guilt ALWAYS sets in again.
Troll Craigslist, write cover letter, send resume. Smile prettily and charm as hard as you can through the interview. Spend two days manic, thinking of how this job will fit your life, what time will you get up in the morning, maybe the budget can stand a new outfit, or just a new top, even, to wear on your first day. Plan the grocery list so you have good stuff to take in lunch. Put on your best smiley, professional voice when you see their number on the caller ID. Keep up the professional tone as you say "Oh, well, I'm sorry to hear that, I was very impressed with your company. Yes, good luck to you as well." Hang up, try to breathe. Go back to the first sentence of this paragraph. Allemande left and start again.
See my doctor? Take some pills? Well, I can't. I was uninsured forever, so I couldn't go then. Then I finally got insurance, but work was so busy, I never quite got around to making that appointment. Then Husband's employer screwed us. They switched providers, and the new guys started the pre-existing/major waiting period over again. With my luck, when the waiting period expires, the bastards will switch again. There's also the fact that we are soon going to lose the ability to afford the horrific premium, and will drop my coverage. Even if that doesn't happen, the last time I talked to a doctor about depression, I ended up on a merry-go-round of pills that didn't work, pills that made me sick, and pills that made me feel as if I was legit losing my mind. I don't want to try it again. I'd rather feel this than feel crazy.
It lies, it lies, it lies. La la la la la la I can't hear you, depression. Go away. Let me be.
Write a blog post, send a tweet. Try to reach out in the world, try to feel part of something. Make yourself be funny on facebook. Play Candy Crush. The bright colors, the ridiculous sound effects.
I'm not having fun. I just want to cry, but tears won't come. I watch sad videos to try to make myself cry. I get a few trickles, but can't seem to manage the soul-tearing ugly cry that I'm sure will make me feel better.
Go to bed early, so I can feel better tomorrow. Lie awake from 1 to 4, staring into the darkness, fighting the urge to elbow his snoring ass in the ribs with all your might. Close your eyes, wish they would stay that way.
I don't know what to do anymore.
Depression lies. Depression lies. Depression Lies. Keep saying it, keep thinking it, cry when you have to, do whatever it takes to keep yourself from lying down and never getting up again. Drink more coffee, take the dog on a longer walk. Try that new peach lemonade thing at Starbucks. Fuck it, eat a goddamn pastry while you're at it, too. Sugar feels good for a little while, the sadness, the emptiness all falls away along with the crumbs, at least until the guilt sets in again.
The guilt ALWAYS sets in again.
Troll Craigslist, write cover letter, send resume. Smile prettily and charm as hard as you can through the interview. Spend two days manic, thinking of how this job will fit your life, what time will you get up in the morning, maybe the budget can stand a new outfit, or just a new top, even, to wear on your first day. Plan the grocery list so you have good stuff to take in lunch. Put on your best smiley, professional voice when you see their number on the caller ID. Keep up the professional tone as you say "Oh, well, I'm sorry to hear that, I was very impressed with your company. Yes, good luck to you as well." Hang up, try to breathe. Go back to the first sentence of this paragraph. Allemande left and start again.
See my doctor? Take some pills? Well, I can't. I was uninsured forever, so I couldn't go then. Then I finally got insurance, but work was so busy, I never quite got around to making that appointment. Then Husband's employer screwed us. They switched providers, and the new guys started the pre-existing/major waiting period over again. With my luck, when the waiting period expires, the bastards will switch again. There's also the fact that we are soon going to lose the ability to afford the horrific premium, and will drop my coverage. Even if that doesn't happen, the last time I talked to a doctor about depression, I ended up on a merry-go-round of pills that didn't work, pills that made me sick, and pills that made me feel as if I was legit losing my mind. I don't want to try it again. I'd rather feel this than feel crazy.
It lies, it lies, it lies. La la la la la la I can't hear you, depression. Go away. Let me be.
Write a blog post, send a tweet. Try to reach out in the world, try to feel part of something. Make yourself be funny on facebook. Play Candy Crush. The bright colors, the ridiculous sound effects.
I'm not having fun. I just want to cry, but tears won't come. I watch sad videos to try to make myself cry. I get a few trickles, but can't seem to manage the soul-tearing ugly cry that I'm sure will make me feel better.
Go to bed early, so I can feel better tomorrow. Lie awake from 1 to 4, staring into the darkness, fighting the urge to elbow his snoring ass in the ribs with all your might. Close your eyes, wish they would stay that way.
I don't know what to do anymore.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Rant Aftermath
If you follow me on Twitter, (and if you don't why not? I almost never tweet, I won't take up much space in your stream) you saw the ranty rantyness of my day yesterday, specifically about the rats in the ceiling, and my landlord's lack (to my outraged eyes) of suitable action. I was very ranty. I didn't quite come right out and call him a slumlord, but I was hovering around slumlord territory. Now, with the passage of time, and the reduction of righteous adrenalized outrage, I am feeling apologetic. One hundred forty characters will not suffice for that, so I decided to clear the cobwebs from my blog, dust off the keyboard, and say some stuff.
So, just to catch everyone up, here is the story. About three weeks ago, I heard a scratching sort of sound. Just very briefly, and very quietly. Quiet enough that I only noticed it because my snoring husband hadn't come to bed yet. I didn't really think anything of it. Though we live in the city, we live between a greenbelt and a sedge bog/wildlife preserve park. There are A LOT of raccoon, possums, coyotes, feral cats and largish insects in the neighborhood. It's not uncommon (I've seen it happen, in fact) for the local racoons to run up the tree at the corner of my house, out along a branch, drop onto my roof, and sprint across the roof to the chimney. From there, the crazy bastards leap onto another tree branch and from there, I don't know where they go. The point is, it's not unusual at all to hear things running across the roof. I heard the scratching, but I thought it was something smaller than a raccoon.
A few days later, I made a rare visit to the backyard, intending to deal with a blackberry bush that was threatening to undermine the neighbor's fence, and which had entwined itself around a rosebush I rather liked. I was checking out the roofline as I went, because it's the time of year when wasps build nests, and if there were any ambitious wasps out there, I wanted to know about it now, since it would take at least a week of whining about it to get Husband to go out there and deal with it. (What? I don't DO wasps. If I wanted to deal with insects, I would have stayed single. I acquired a husband to avoid these things. I also don't take out the garbage or the recycling, but I will pull the bins up after pickup. Marriage is about compromise, people.) No building activity, but there, between the roof fascia and the soffitt, a small hole. Slightly bigger than a 50-cent piece, with edges that seemed rather...chewed. "Huh." I thought. "I wonder what that's about?" But I promptly forgot about it, as the blackberry turned out to be a rather formidable foe.
Fast forward to five days ago. It is one a.m. We are trying to sleep. But instead of sleeping, we are staring up at the ceiling above our heads as the sounds of many, many tiny feet scamper about, and as weird, scritchy, chewing sorts of sounds occur, again, directly above our heads. On the cheesy, I-doubt-it's-very-strong acoustic tile that makes up our ceiling. I don't say it out loud, but I am certain that at any moment, dust motes will come sifting down at us, and a tiny, rodent nose will appear, and then a cascade of squirrels will rain down on us, and I will simply die.
Wait--Squirrels? I thought it was rats.
Well, it is rats. At the time I'm telling, though, I was thinking squirrels. For some reason, squirrels seemed less offensive. And I've always heard that rats and squirrels don't occupy the same ecosystem, because they compete for the same resources. Apparently, I have always heard wrong, as my frantic internet research the next morning showed. Squirrels would have been good neighbors. Still not something you want in your ceiling, what with the urine, feces, and chewing of electrical wires, but at least diurnal. We would have been able to sleep if squirrels were living with us. No, the nocturnal activity meant either rats or raccoons, either of which made me want to strike a match, and toss it over my shoulder as I walked away. A bit more research confirmed that I did not want to do this myself. For one thing, access to that space would be difficult, if not impossible--the attic doesn't extend over our bedroom, which was added on several years after the house was built. For another, I was not going to live trap and release the rats, because I didn't want to be anywhere near live rats, and I wasn't going to snap trap them, because I didn't want to be anywhere near dead rats. Poison was out, because no way was I going to have dead rats in my ceiling over the summer. That would render our bedroom truly uninhabitable. So I called in a pro, who would dispose of the rats, seal off all the little openings they had chewed, and would guarantee a rat-free environment for two years, all for the bargain price of 684.38.
Now, some landlord background. We moved in to this house in December 2007, so we've been here awhile. My husband works in the building trades and once owned a contracting business, so he's pretty handy. We like our privacy, and we HATE the guy that does maintenance for the landlord. He's weird and tweaky, and we suspect him of being a meth head. We only call our landlord, let's call him Mike, for maintenance/repair of the roof, which leaks at least once a year. Husband has done his share of roof work, and hates it, and I'd rather not worry about our sole provider falling off the roof. Everything else that happens, we deal with. Mike never even knows about it. Door frame needed fixing, we fixed. Faucet needed replacing, we replaced. Mike decided on his own to paint the house last summer, but that and buying roofing materials for the tweaker is the only money he's spent on this house since we moved in. Because we've been such profitable tenants, I assumed this rare request for him to act like a landlord would be cheerfully assented to.
Boy, was I wrong. Mike wanted to purchase poison, and have the tweaker deal with the rats. I pushed back, pointing out that some of the access points the rats were using were caused by Tweaker's poor workmanship on the roof. (This was according to the Rat Guy.) I didn't want to have to worry about this next year when the rats were looking for nesting sites. It was a health hazard, it was ruining my peace of mind and enjoyment of my home, and I wanted it handled professionally. Mike objected to the expense. I put him on hold, and told Husband what was going on. He sighed. "Cheap bastard. Tell him we'll pay half." Mike didn't like it, but he assented, and supposedly, a check is in the mail. (Why he didn't just have it taken out of the rent, I don't know.) Since my internet sleuthing has revealed that he bought this house VERY cheaply (he bought juuuuuust before the Seattle housing market EXPLODED, and before this was a desirable neighborhood) and that he paid off his mortgage long before we moved in, and that his property taxes are only about $2000 a year (versus the more than $13,000 a year we pay in rent) I felt cheated. So I ranted.
Now, I'm wondering how fair that was. Yes, we've been inexpensive. But, in a neighborhood where most houses rent for 1400 to 1600 a month, our rent has been 1100 a month since we moved in. He's never raised the rent, and since we are month to month, he could do so. When we moved in, we had one cat, for whom we paid a deposit. My kids were living with their dad at the time, so the lease terms were Husband, me, and Original Kitty. Since then, both kids have moved in, (Donovan moved out again) one dog has come and gone, another dog took his place, and a second cat has joined us. None of which we cleared with Mike, and no further deposits were paid. The original lease reverted to month to month after a year of tenancy, but still, we are probably still bound to abide by those terms, ethically if not legally. Furthermore, while Mike is required by law to deal with the rat situation, his original offer of having his maintenance guy deal with the problem does fulfill his legal obligation. He is required to get rid of the rats; he is not required to do so by the methods I prefer. So my ranting was out of place, and childish, and unfair to him. I called us "great tenants" in one of my tweets. Dishonest tenants are not that great, really. Although I do have to stress that we have done no damage to the house, my kids were always well behaved, my cats have never been scratchers, and there was only one unfortunate incident with the dog, which I cleaned very, very, thoroughly. Still, given that I haven't behaved in an exemplary fashion, I do feel as though I should retract the rant.
I have such a bad temper. And I am bad about owning up when I'm wrong, and I think I'm wrongish in this case, so, sorry Mike. You're still not a great landlord, but I'm not such hot stuff either.
So, just to catch everyone up, here is the story. About three weeks ago, I heard a scratching sort of sound. Just very briefly, and very quietly. Quiet enough that I only noticed it because my snoring husband hadn't come to bed yet. I didn't really think anything of it. Though we live in the city, we live between a greenbelt and a sedge bog/wildlife preserve park. There are A LOT of raccoon, possums, coyotes, feral cats and largish insects in the neighborhood. It's not uncommon (I've seen it happen, in fact) for the local racoons to run up the tree at the corner of my house, out along a branch, drop onto my roof, and sprint across the roof to the chimney. From there, the crazy bastards leap onto another tree branch and from there, I don't know where they go. The point is, it's not unusual at all to hear things running across the roof. I heard the scratching, but I thought it was something smaller than a raccoon.
A few days later, I made a rare visit to the backyard, intending to deal with a blackberry bush that was threatening to undermine the neighbor's fence, and which had entwined itself around a rosebush I rather liked. I was checking out the roofline as I went, because it's the time of year when wasps build nests, and if there were any ambitious wasps out there, I wanted to know about it now, since it would take at least a week of whining about it to get Husband to go out there and deal with it. (What? I don't DO wasps. If I wanted to deal with insects, I would have stayed single. I acquired a husband to avoid these things. I also don't take out the garbage or the recycling, but I will pull the bins up after pickup. Marriage is about compromise, people.) No building activity, but there, between the roof fascia and the soffitt, a small hole. Slightly bigger than a 50-cent piece, with edges that seemed rather...chewed. "Huh." I thought. "I wonder what that's about?" But I promptly forgot about it, as the blackberry turned out to be a rather formidable foe.
Fast forward to five days ago. It is one a.m. We are trying to sleep. But instead of sleeping, we are staring up at the ceiling above our heads as the sounds of many, many tiny feet scamper about, and as weird, scritchy, chewing sorts of sounds occur, again, directly above our heads. On the cheesy, I-doubt-it's-very-strong acoustic tile that makes up our ceiling. I don't say it out loud, but I am certain that at any moment, dust motes will come sifting down at us, and a tiny, rodent nose will appear, and then a cascade of squirrels will rain down on us, and I will simply die.
Wait--Squirrels? I thought it was rats.
Well, it is rats. At the time I'm telling, though, I was thinking squirrels. For some reason, squirrels seemed less offensive. And I've always heard that rats and squirrels don't occupy the same ecosystem, because they compete for the same resources. Apparently, I have always heard wrong, as my frantic internet research the next morning showed. Squirrels would have been good neighbors. Still not something you want in your ceiling, what with the urine, feces, and chewing of electrical wires, but at least diurnal. We would have been able to sleep if squirrels were living with us. No, the nocturnal activity meant either rats or raccoons, either of which made me want to strike a match, and toss it over my shoulder as I walked away. A bit more research confirmed that I did not want to do this myself. For one thing, access to that space would be difficult, if not impossible--the attic doesn't extend over our bedroom, which was added on several years after the house was built. For another, I was not going to live trap and release the rats, because I didn't want to be anywhere near live rats, and I wasn't going to snap trap them, because I didn't want to be anywhere near dead rats. Poison was out, because no way was I going to have dead rats in my ceiling over the summer. That would render our bedroom truly uninhabitable. So I called in a pro, who would dispose of the rats, seal off all the little openings they had chewed, and would guarantee a rat-free environment for two years, all for the bargain price of 684.38.
Now, some landlord background. We moved in to this house in December 2007, so we've been here awhile. My husband works in the building trades and once owned a contracting business, so he's pretty handy. We like our privacy, and we HATE the guy that does maintenance for the landlord. He's weird and tweaky, and we suspect him of being a meth head. We only call our landlord, let's call him Mike, for maintenance/repair of the roof, which leaks at least once a year. Husband has done his share of roof work, and hates it, and I'd rather not worry about our sole provider falling off the roof. Everything else that happens, we deal with. Mike never even knows about it. Door frame needed fixing, we fixed. Faucet needed replacing, we replaced. Mike decided on his own to paint the house last summer, but that and buying roofing materials for the tweaker is the only money he's spent on this house since we moved in. Because we've been such profitable tenants, I assumed this rare request for him to act like a landlord would be cheerfully assented to.
Boy, was I wrong. Mike wanted to purchase poison, and have the tweaker deal with the rats. I pushed back, pointing out that some of the access points the rats were using were caused by Tweaker's poor workmanship on the roof. (This was according to the Rat Guy.) I didn't want to have to worry about this next year when the rats were looking for nesting sites. It was a health hazard, it was ruining my peace of mind and enjoyment of my home, and I wanted it handled professionally. Mike objected to the expense. I put him on hold, and told Husband what was going on. He sighed. "Cheap bastard. Tell him we'll pay half." Mike didn't like it, but he assented, and supposedly, a check is in the mail. (Why he didn't just have it taken out of the rent, I don't know.) Since my internet sleuthing has revealed that he bought this house VERY cheaply (he bought juuuuuust before the Seattle housing market EXPLODED, and before this was a desirable neighborhood) and that he paid off his mortgage long before we moved in, and that his property taxes are only about $2000 a year (versus the more than $13,000 a year we pay in rent) I felt cheated. So I ranted.
Now, I'm wondering how fair that was. Yes, we've been inexpensive. But, in a neighborhood where most houses rent for 1400 to 1600 a month, our rent has been 1100 a month since we moved in. He's never raised the rent, and since we are month to month, he could do so. When we moved in, we had one cat, for whom we paid a deposit. My kids were living with their dad at the time, so the lease terms were Husband, me, and Original Kitty. Since then, both kids have moved in, (Donovan moved out again) one dog has come and gone, another dog took his place, and a second cat has joined us. None of which we cleared with Mike, and no further deposits were paid. The original lease reverted to month to month after a year of tenancy, but still, we are probably still bound to abide by those terms, ethically if not legally. Furthermore, while Mike is required by law to deal with the rat situation, his original offer of having his maintenance guy deal with the problem does fulfill his legal obligation. He is required to get rid of the rats; he is not required to do so by the methods I prefer. So my ranting was out of place, and childish, and unfair to him. I called us "great tenants" in one of my tweets. Dishonest tenants are not that great, really. Although I do have to stress that we have done no damage to the house, my kids were always well behaved, my cats have never been scratchers, and there was only one unfortunate incident with the dog, which I cleaned very, very, thoroughly. Still, given that I haven't behaved in an exemplary fashion, I do feel as though I should retract the rant.
I have such a bad temper. And I am bad about owning up when I'm wrong, and I think I'm wrongish in this case, so, sorry Mike. You're still not a great landlord, but I'm not such hot stuff either.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Makeup Monday: Lip Edition, and Kera Breaks the Fourth Wall
In my previous Makeup Monday post, I mentioned that I rarely wear lipstick. Although I adore lipstick, I am not the type that pays attention to my makeup once it's on, so lipstick lasts until I start drinking my tea. At seven-thirty. In the morning. By the time it occurs to me that I should touch-up my lips, it's three o'clock and I figure, why bother? I may have to change my ways after what happened this last Friday, however. I was wearing kind of a dressy black top to offset my jeans (hooray for casual Friday!) and on the spur of the moment put on a dark red lipstick. I never, NEVER wear red to work, because with red you really have to stay on top of it. It's such a dramatic look, and dominates one's appearance so much, it just seems tacky to not keep it neat and fresh-looking. But this Friday I was feeling a little pale and tired, I'd been in a hurry and only had time to put on a light coat of mascara, and with the black top, I looked even more pale, so I redded things up.
I am not kidding, I had people asking me all day if I had special plans after work, because I looked so nice. So maybe there is something to this whole lipstick thing. Maybe making the effort to keep things pulled together isn't such a bad idea after all!
Despite my lipstick laziness, I am a sucker for buying new lipsticks, and therefore have a ton of them. I keep them in a basket near the front door, so I can decide which one to wear right before I go. It's a complicated decision-I factor in what I'm wearing, the amount of makeup I've already applied, (basically pairing more dramatic shades with lighter makeup, and more natural shades with heavier)and even the kind of lighting we have that day, choosing brighter shades in summer, and deeper ones in winter. In theory, the lipsticks are neatly arranged in the basket, with the color indicator stickers facing up, so I can see them all at a glance. In actual practice, the basket looks like this:
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| A jumble of lipsticks |
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| Included are three lipglosses that I never, ever wear. I can't stand the stickiness |
Here's another view, showing off the color indicators:
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| For whatever reason (*cough*cheapskate*cough*) I seem to favor Revlon and Maybelline |
Today I'm wearing Pink Peony, which is the lowermost and rightmost of the open tubes. It's from the Maybelline Colorsensationals line. Their ads, featuring a drizzle of honey falling over flower petals, convinced me to try them, and the quality of the color made me scurry right back to Target and buy several more. They are very creamy-feeling, and highly pigmented, so the color lasts a long time without feeling heavy or drying. I even like the way they're displayed in the store-they're sorted into color groups, Reds, Nudes, Pinks, and Plums. I like that, because I'm usually not looking for a specific color when I browse lipsticks--I'm thinking "Hm, I could use a nice bright color for wearing with summer dresses." With this display, I can ignore plums and nudes, and know that I'll find something in reds or pinks. That's how Coral Crush, up there in the top left corner, joined the family. My only real beef with this line, is that they have a somewhat strong scent, and it's very ...lipsticky. It's sort of a heavy cosmetic odor, not really good or bad, just very, very present. It reminds me of being a kid and looking through my grandmother's lipsticks.
Also appearing, two of the the Revlon Just Bitten stains. These are fairly awesome. They are not as long-lasting as they claim to be, but you can get away with only touching up once or twice a day with these. The color end is like a Sharpie, which makes application super easy, and the other end has a lip balm, which keeps the stain looking smooth and moist, rather than dry or sticky. The color goes on sort of translucent, but deepens as you build it.
At top right, you will see that I have joined the cult of Honey. This is a stain/balm in crayon form, and if you try to take it from me, I will cut you. It's the perfect pink for me, it's longwearing, it's creamy, it even smells good.
Now, with no further ado, but with trembling hands, I present to you what I look like today:
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| In real life, I promise I am not quite so cheesy-meets-psychotic looking. |
Monday, May 6, 2013
Makeup Monday! Kinda.
I LOVE MariaMelee's idea of doing weekly makeup posts. I don't love the fact that these will by necessity be photo-heavy posts, and I am currently having camera issues. Well, camera user issues, mostly. I have a camera on my phone, which takes pictures that can only be called okay-ish, but I fail at getting cameras from the phone to the computer. I will eventually figure it out, but until then, I will make do with pictures from the internet. So you are not seeing my own personal products in this first post, and instead of showing all my makeup, I am going to focus on my daily routine.
First up, skincare:
For cleansing, I use the Olay Total Effects line. It's creamy and nice-feeling, rinses clean, and makes people gawp at me when I tell them I have an eighteen-year-old:
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| Photo: Walmart.com |
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| Photo: Amazon.com |
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| Photo:Target.com |
As I mentioned before, I almost never wear blush, so once I get my skin sorted out, it's eye makeup and done. I recently learned how to tightline my eyes, and I can't recommend it enough. You get all the benefits of wearing eyeliner, without looking like you are wearing a ton of makeup. It takes practice, it takes a steady hand, and it takes some experimentation to find the right type of eyeliner for you. I found all of my pencils to be too creamy to stay put that close to the waterline. I bought a gel eyeliner in a little pot, but couldn't seem to load the product onto the brush correctly, so it wouldn't go on smoothly. Then I stumbled onto this:
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| Photo: Maybelline.com |
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| Photo: Ulta.com |
Much like my eyelashes, my blonde eyebrows are also near invisible. I keep them plucked (sometimes waxed) into a basic thick-on-one-end, thin-on-the-other, slightly-arched shape. I use the Anastasia Brow Duo from Sephora and an angled brush to define them:
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| Photo: InStyle.com |
The whole process takes about ten minutes, start to finish, a bit more on days when I try to hurry and end up with mascara smeared beneath my lower lashes. I rarely wear lipstick, because I forget to reapply it, so it's gone the first time I eat anything. However, I am a sucker for buying new lipsticks, so there will probably be a Makeup Monday post covering lipsticks in the nearish future.
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