Yeah It Felt A Little Like This...

A couple days ago, I did something.  Something I actually don’t even regret, but I am impressed that it got results.

Quick Backstory: My soon to be former roommates are trying to get into a two bedroom, with a much lower rent, but were denied- even when I consigned on the apartment.  The management’s suggestion?  Renew the current three bedroom lease, oh and by the way we are raising your rent.  Jerks.

So we had sort of resigned ourselves to this situation: I’d be leaving the 3 bedroom, but renewing the lease and the two guys would be responsible for covering the rent.  Yet when we went in to sign the paperwork something seemed to snap inside of me. Maybe it was the smug way they seemed to treat us, or the fact that we kept getting a lot of double speak from them, or maybe my man period started right that moment.  I don’t know… I’m not a doctor.  But what I do know is that I asked for a manager.

I know. I winced writing that just like I’m sure you did reading it.

I wasn’t planning on doing this, but it was happening all too quickly.  Suddenly the words that were coming out of my mouth were used to paint a vivid picture of bait and switch, terrible double standards, and a monolithic company who had our collective balls in a vice and expected us to be grateful for the opportunity.  I wanted to let the people in that office know that I wasn’t just displeased, I was damn mad.

I was angry that they didn’t even seem to care that they were putting my friends (the family I chose), in a financial bind.  Angry that they didn’t care one of the roommates had lived in that complex for 10 years and had brought them new business.  But most of all I was steamed that they merely said “I’m sorry sirs, it is just our policy.”  That is not even close to an apology, it is a weak excuse.

After I had made it very clear how much the situation had unsettled me, the associate asked what they could do to help with the situation.  Honestly, that had not been the point of the rant.  All their moaning about how their policy couldn’t be bent had left me with just the intention of venting some of bile they had helped create, but it was an unexpected but very welcome opportunity.  Asking what they could do was a step in the right direction.  It was saying they actually were sorry about this iron clad policy, maybe there is another policy that I can bend for you to make the stay more comfortable.  You know something that wouldn’t undo the fabric of space and time.

And you know what we found out a couple days later?  Apparently that policy that couldn’t be bent at all?  The one that seemed like the bedrock of their foundation and any attempt at molding it would bring down the very sky above us all?  They were able to break it so the roommates could move in to the 2 bedroom as long as I co-signed, just as we had wanted.

The moral of this story?  Sometimes you have to be that dissatisfied customer who is willing to make a statement even if there seems like there is nothing to gain.  And you should definitely expect nothing, but on rare occasions, people will really hear you and come through in a way in which, even they didn’t think was possible.

This shot may cause you to stand on bar stools to win an auction, and puke in you're daughter's van.

A couple weeks back, the Professor and I made a quick trip to Shreveport.  The goal of which was to see my family: my sister who was moving away to Chicago in a couple weeks, and my uncle who I hadn’t seen in a while.  Also, there had been the promise of a bit of entertainment where someone was to act out the wire hanger scene from Mommie Dearest, but that fell through at the last minute.  So needless to say I was a little disappointed (Had you grown up in my house you would have an almost morbid joy when you watched that movie, since it was watched almost once a month).

But the trip was still on and it would be a big one.  Professor would finally meet the Sister.  Mostly, though this would be the first trip the Professor and I had taken. A HUGE milestone.

It took about… 7 hours to drive there.

You remember how I used the word quick earlier?  I think I am suffering from that same type of amnesia that women get after having given birth.  They can’t imagine the process to be as bad as really was.  In theory this would be the only way a woman would put herself through that kind of pain not once but 19 times.  Which is to say, I’m sure the drive seemed like it would never end, but looking back, it really doesn’t seem like it could be that bad at all.

The day following our arrival was great.  The Professor and I spent the afternoon with family, then we stopped by the casinos and played some slot machines.  My beginners luck was in full swing.  I ended up winning about $340 dollars, which went directly into paying for the plane ticket for a trip in August.

But that night… That night was unforgettable.  We (Sister, Professor, Dad, Mom, Me, Uncle) went to a bar that Uncle owns, which meant free drinks all night.  My sister and I definitely expected to have some liquor and share in a night of drunken stories and laughter with Dad while Mom sipped on some weaker drinks, and cringed when we got a little embarassing.

Then I did something my father will likely never forgive me for.  I suggested we do a shot.  I really wanted my mom to participate, and since she doesn’t drink much alcohol due to the taste, and not because she is prudish, I suggested the most delicious shot I could think of.  Buttery Nipples.

And ya’ll, let me tell you.  My mother loved them. In fact, she loved them so much, she did eight shots of them.

Let me repeat that.  My mother, this tiny woman who almost never has a cocktail, did eight buttery nipples over the course of maybe 3-4 hours.  The transformation was like night and day.  She was standing on bar stools, dancing(she is typically very shy) with my dad, and giving slopping kisses to me on my cheek saying how proud she was of me(my heart melted at this naturally).  And of course, puking in the car back to the hotel, and till she fell asleep back at the hotel room, and apoogizing profusely to Professor since she never gets like this.

Needless to say they didn’t make it to brunch like we had originally planned. But it was so worth it to see Mom let her hair down and have some fun that she would later regret.

So, after a fun filled vacation, and a 7 hour drive-each way, some drunken debauchery, coming home with more money than we left, and most importantly knowing we can survive hours upon hours while confined in a small space- I would consider this trip a success.

What’s that Kathryn? Don’t be silly, we loved the name and you seemed very agreeable to it last night.  And you can’t keep using your drinking as an excuse to not honor a contract agreement.  A verbal contract still counts in a number of place darling.

She does have a taste for the liquor, which is why I’ll gladly be the face of the product.

Now to continue, and I certainly hope you all know how to hold questions till the end, you start with a sheet of our special plastic.  Then you can just draw whatever the heck you could want on them.  Simple enough, right?  I’ve had my own little artists make some examples.  Let me just take them out of this folder and… Hmm.  It appears both Billy and Sammy have grown an interest in human anatomy. A vivid interest.  A vivd interest and generous imagination.  No matter, we’re all adults here, and I’m sure all you gentlemen have seen your own share of… these.

Taking this one here, you can see it is already drawn and filled with color. Next, we’ll just cut along the edges, like so.  The beauty of this is that you can really make your own toys customized to each child.  My goodness, I’ll just keep a couple extra inches on that end, it would be embarrassing to have such a small bit. Sir, I wish you would stop squirming, you’ll want to watch what happens next.

So we put the cut-out on this tray, which we can put it into this oven, and bake it.  Why we could even ship them with those things the little girls make the goodies with.  You know those small ovens, right?  Oh that is such a clever idea, a tiny oven for tiny toys!  I’ll have to jot that down for later. Don’t even try to weasel credit on that one Kathryn, there are witnesses here who saw how quickly that idea evolved and from whom.

Oh yes, there is a slight burning smell.  I wouldn’t worry too much about it, the parents may not like it, but the children won’t even mind. Heck I know for a fact that, most children have a scent of rancid milk and body odor about them so they will hardly even notice that burnt plastic smell.

Oh and there is the ding!  Let me take them out of there.  Oh my yes that smell is just a tad strong but you know what else doesn’t smell so good.  Money.  And I’m sure you won’t mind rolling in that, would you?

But if I could draw your attention away from the other drawings from my boys, and focus on something other than the smell, you’ll notice the… toys have all shrunk to about one-third of their size!  Isn’t that just marvelous? Here let me hand that around so you can look at and feel the weight of it.  It grows thicker as it shrinks, but also the coloring get more vibrant.   Why it almost looks like the real thing!  No thanks sir, I’ll let you all keep that, as you seemed to handle it in such a fond manner just now.

So now that you’ve seen it in action, I would like to thank you again for this opportunity present my… “our” idea.  I think this will present many children and parents the opportunity to bond, draw and create images of almost startling clarity.  Good day!

Beware The Cursed Items That Add Up To $6.66!

I think almost everyone here knows what the above title alludes to.  We’ve all done it.  You walk into a store minding you’re own business looking for a specific item or combination of items.  It could be anything really: A pair of scissors and tape, Gum and a lightbulb, a bowl for blood sacrifices and a tiny athamé, whatever.  You come to the check out with your little odds and ends and then BAM!  Your price comes out to $6.66.

I bet you didn’t realize you were doing the devil’s work by completing your purchase all at once.  But sadly, you realize almost your entire day must have been guided by his tiny pointed fingers.

This morning at my local McDonald’s, I fell victim to the devil’s nefarious scheme.  Admittedly, I pretty much knew that the sausage, egg and cheese biscuit with added bacon along with that McGriddle were evil to begin with.  But I didn’t realize they were that evil.

That didn’t stop me from buying it, naturally.  I figured at that point I needed to accept it and eat all of it as a penance.  I knew what I was doing was wrong, but if I didn’t eat those two items, then some poor soul somewhere else might have eaten them.  I couldn’t have that on my conscience.

And, while I savored every sinful bite of that moist McGriddle and that biscuit, I know that someday I may have to answer for that purchase, maybe not at the pearly gates, but someday soon, in a bathroom somewhere.  And you can rest assured that I will repent that order, and will have long forgotten how sweet and savory that hell inspired meal was.

Professor: “Yeah.  But I think maybe we should put my DVD player in the living room, since we’ll have your game thing in the bedroom. What do you think?”

Me (dripping with sarcasm): “Yeah, I think that’s an amazing idea!”

Professor: (oblivious to the sarcasm)

Me:  ”…You didn’t pay attention to anything I just said did you?”

Professor: “Why, what did you say?”
~~~
What is very weird about allllll that, is that right at the end of this little conversation I just sort of over flowed with all sorts of warm fuzzy feelings.  It was completely nauseating.

 I was in some sort of post-apocalyptic dystopia.  A place and time where huge cities, some quasi-futuristic with sweeping towers and holographic screens that still flickered into life, and some startlingly familiar looking places (especially the strip mall), were practically devoid of people, abandoned.

Almost every place I visited had that sad look and hollow sound that only sets in after years of disuse. There was a cold feel that only emerges after people move away.  The cities were still in that transition time where it had lost the vitality it once had but nature hadn’t attempted to reclaim the land.  Cities and buildings were simply large mausoleums, structures and places that showed how high we had ascended and how quickly we had been dispersed.  Apparently, I and an ever changing group of people were the last people who had managed to survive the brunt of a zombie nightmare.

That’s right.  I was in a real life(dream) zombie fest, and I have zero clue how I hadn’t managed to be eaten/infected.  After all, my cardio is clearly not up to snuff, and I have never really handled a weapon.  Yet there I was one of the remaining members of humanity.  Even during the dream I don’t remember really killing any zombies.  Though I do remember picking up a golf bag and selecting a couple long weapons: a baseball bat, a couple golf clubs, and some sort of pole.

The parts that I still remember were the exploring the cities for anything that could help us stay alive, I remember, also directing people into their positions when we were pinned down on an upper story of a building and trying to get down the stairwell. That was pretty intense.  There was also that time at the strip mall where a group of us had managed to scramble on top of the roof of a restroom, while we waited for the rest of the group to arrive and help.

The sad part of every dream, no matter how clearly you saw it, is that it always starts to fade as soon as you wake.  Even now while I write this I had to really make an effort to piece together the events of the dream.  And it was actually a fun dream.  I felt really accomplished in that world.  Though I guess when the bar is set to the point where waking up to a new day is the threshold for success, the dream was just trying to help me continue a lazy streak.

But I guess the point of this post is something important that I wanted to share with you all:  if you eat a huge meal consisting of chili cheese hot dogs right before going to bed, you are likely going to dream about flesh eating abominations.

For almost 8 months I’ve been officially dating the Professor.  That’s like almost 3 years in gay time, so this is kind of big news.  Since we’ve been seeing each other it has been pretty much fantastic.  We talk almost every day, and have even set up Wed or Thur as a semi official date night.

He makes me think all those cutesy love-struck things that, if taken out of the context of a relationship would see really creepy.  I think this card really gets this across the best:

“If i had a big enough needle, i’d stitch our skin together while you were asleep so that when you woke up, we were like one person. one big happy deformed person. ”

I plan on sending that to him at 1 year with the tip of my pinky in a velour box.  You know a little something that says: I thought of you and wanted to show you how much, and if you ever leave me… well you would never do that, would you?

Romantic, no?  But humor aside, he’s a pretty amazing person.  He is actually really fit (which if you knew me you’d realize how weird it is for me to be dating someone that knows how to pronounce, much less do, more than 3 different exercises), but he doesn’t push me in an obnoxious way to change my lazy ways.    Very book smart, but sometimes a little naive.  And incredibly thoughtful about my friends. We also get along very well.  We have some great conversation about serious topics, like how to handle Immigration policies, and those that may not be so serious, like how ducks never chew their food they just sort of choke it down.

So that is the run-down with my love interest.  If I refer to him in my posts now you know who he is, and why some descriptions may look like the written equivalent to Vaseline on a camera lens.  All fuzzy, and soft.

Initially they weren’t too painful, just really, really inconvenient.  Meaning I had to strategically plan my day around available restrooms, and pop immodium like mints.  After all, my parents were visiting, which meant they would meet the Professor (later! I really super special awesome promise to get into that later).  And so help me, I was not passing up the opportunity to have my boyfriend meet my parents in an official capacity.  I could have been passing a kidney stone, hunted by the CIA, and sent to an alternate dimension where the only way to return home would have meant chopping off my pinky toes, and I would’ve still managed to get my parents and him to meet.