Ever since Saturday night, I have been subjected to one hell of a headache. The kind that makes me feel like someone evil is squeezing my eyeballs with the hope they will pop and squirt vitreous fluid all over my shirt. Cross your eyes and read something in very tiny font on your computer screen for 8 hours; that is kind of how my eyes hurt. I advised my boss that I plan to start trepanning my sinus cavities as soon as I find my trephine kit. I'm not sure she knew what I was talking about, but that's okay! Drilling holes in my face should be fun. Would having the holes hurt more than the pressure in my head? There's no way to find out unless I go for it, right? Society's standards of beauty be damned! Extra holes in my face it will be.
In my glee to move forward with Hardwood Floors 2007, I came straight home from work and tackled the bookcase in the livingroom. We are getting the floors installed on Monday the 15th (Presidents' Day floors!), and since I keep having these terrible weekends of allergy madness, I felt I should put my energy in to packing the livingroom when the moment strikes me. What I should mention is we do no dust. WE. DO. NOT. DUST. You can probably guess the problem here. If you don't feel like using your brain, I'll go ahead and point out the two obvious issues: 1) we're lazy, 2) I am highly allergic to dust. I feel it is better to leave the dust alone, than stir it all up in the air for me to suck in and die. Take four cats (now three...sniffs) and a good four years of dust accumulation, you have a horror show on the bookcase. I donned some latex gloves and a face mask (avian flu!), dug around the garage for various boxes, then went to motherfucking town. How do I dust books? Dragging them across the carpet, of course. I even managed to pack some DVDs and video cassettes from the entertainment center. I ran out of boxes at the same time I ran out of steam. The cats are enjoying chasing the dust bunnies, and I'm enjoying some couch time.
Wikus is being screwed by his current landlord. This is not surprising since they have been screwing him over since day one (hence the moving in a couple weeks). While he was at work today, they posted a notice on his door that said, "Dear (Ridiculous Apartment Complex Name) Residents: There will be an inspection tomorrow on all units, February 9, 2010. We will be entering your home between 9:00am to 5:00pm. Please make sure if you have a pet to put them in a safe place for the day."
What kind of inspection? Why such short notice? Really, between 9-5? Oh, find a place to put the pets all day? Seriously? Let's just call up our local cat daycare and drop them kitties off for the day. Grand. Then let's toddle on to work and not think of what may be going on in the apartment all day that would necessitate the pets actually vacating the premises. Poor Wikus. A lame sick day for him tomorrow. Texas has the shittiest laws for apartment residents. It is totally pro-business, and zero tenant. For example, in Boston, we at least had to have two egresses; here, you'll have just one and it will be connected to wooden stairs. And, no, they don't provide escape ladders. Ha. Laughable. Anyway, don't move to an apartment in Texas--you'll be very sad that you did.
The cats are enjoying the boxed books. Oh, god, there's Luke Wilson hawking AT&T again. Fucking fat bastard. It is going to take a lot for me to watch him in any movies again (outside of Rushmore..."They're O.R. scrubs." "Oh, are they?" Slays me every fucking time). I know it is going to be very hard to boycott everything AT&T has their filthy hands in, but boycotting fatty Luke Wilson should be somewhat easier. I'd rather watching that motherfucking "Do the Potty Dance" commercial a thousand times before dealing with AT&T ever again. Jackasses.
If there was some way I could force all AT&T executives to watch and listen to that video at top volume, then I feel my anger will abate. Any ideas on how to make that happen?
No comments:
Post a Comment