Saturday, October 08, 2005


In Which I Say The C Word

No, not that one.

Firstly, for all who were worried about the rent (myself included), it is now time to relax. Asstwinkies over at the head office cut a cheque, manager over at the job site made them deliver it, husband brought it home, rent is paid. I may well owe the man a hat.

But the day didn't start off quite so well. I had been told by the new landlord that there would be a guy coming in to run the gas line from the furnace room (which is also my storage room) to the suite upstairs for a gas fireplace. This, of course, meant that I had to empty out the entire room, so my house is now top to bottom and front to back with boxes. Mostly, seemingly, boxes of yarn.

He said that they would be here "between ten and eleven" and I foolishly decided that, seeing it fit my schedule perfectly, that they would arrive at ten and leave at eleven.

No such luck; they were to arrive at some point between ten and eleven and stay a couple of hours, thus necessitating the cancellation of a couple of extra hours I had scheduled at work. (They've offered me some data entry work and although it's a slightly lower rate than I make at my regular job, it's still good money and easy work, so I accepted.)

No biggie that I had to cancel, I can do it next week, but it was still annoying.

The GOOD thing though, is that during the exodus from the storage room, I found the missing hand carders and am no longer concerned that I'll have to replace them. Being in a tizzy due to the lack of sleep, the boxes everywhere, the unbridled vacuuming that went on around here the last couple of days and a number of other items, I took Juno's wise advice about the relaxing nature of spinning.

I said to myself, "Self," I said, "let's turn that frown upside-down!"

And then I punched myself in the face for a while because really, who needs to hear that sort of shit, even from oneself? If I'd-a wanted perky I woulda married Julie Andrews or someone.

So I put the rediscovered hand carders to good use:

Made some spiffy little rolags from the clownbarf:

And did me some spinning.

I then realized that Stephanie was infinitely wise when she said, in response to my first lumpy attempts at spinning, that in six months I would no longer be able to spin that thick and thin yarn I was referring to as "art" rather than as "ass". Feh. More like six weeks. This is nearly all even and oh, about 1/4 as thick as the stuff that started out on this bobbin. I'm going to have to stop this here and start another bobbin so that I can ply it.

(Marie caught me as I was putting this post together and before I managed to incorporate this picture commented:

Morning, Rabbitch. Pretty, pretty. I trust you didn't spin the cat. I mean, really, catgut makes poor yarn albeit great string.

Wishing you a very happy, merry Canadian Thanksgiving.)

Thank you! And the same to you and yours.

Sasha still hates the knittens and refuses to come in for any length of time. It is fall in the Great White North here, and I was concerned about her wellbeing outside at night but she seems to have come up with a clever solution.

Is this a huge sack of fleece?

Or is it an insanely warm catbed?

hello i am vog, goddess of the fleece. touch my temple at your peril. and bring me gravy

Anyhow, I toddled off to work feeling far better in mind and body, knowing that a) there would be money for rent and b) I can spin, albeit a little wonkily. I was a little pissed, as I couldn't find my knitting bag in which my glasses were residing. (Diamond decided last night that he needed to chew on the hair of the mo which I am making into a stole, so I hid it from him. And also, apparently, from myself.)

All was well until I got downtown and discovered that several people had decided to start out their holiday weekend by ramming their cars face-first into various structures, including a metal lamp post that I saw actually removed from its moorings and lying on the sidewalk. Pole wasn't doing well, car was far shorter than the manufacturer had intended, and although I didn't see the driver I'm going to have to conclude that he just isn't having a good time right about now.

Emergency vehicles everywhere, for this and other accidents, and traffic was even slower than usual.

I ended up ten minutes late for work, which I hate at the best of times, however today the person I was relieving was sick as a dog and shouldn't even have been at work that day, but we're short-staffed and she had to. Nice. Yay me. I'm so pleased that she's doing my performance review on the 20th, too. (It'll be fine, I'm joking.)

(She'll fire me.)

(No, she won't. Shut up.)

Work was all sorts of insane. Codes right left and centre, way heavier call volume than usual, and then later on in the day a code brown (hazardous material) because someone had decided to fill one of the stairwells with pepper spray. A very good decision around a hospital, yes. I'm sure the people with respiratory ailments, the babies in the Special Care Nursery and the geriatrics would especially appreciate that.

I got a little bit of a skritchy throat and an unpleasant taste in my mouth and I was quite a long way away from where it happened. It just wasn't a lot of fun.

Dear person who did this: Please consider doing the car and lamp post thingie before you can breed.

Work calmed down, and then I got an email from DH informing me that he had met our new upstairs neighbours.

And they're our old landlords.

Yes, the people who used to own this place make their living buying, fixing up and selling houses. In this real estate market it's a great plan, however I guess they're in between houses at the moment and when the suite upstairs came up, they grabbed it.

The only problem is ... we hates them, my preciousss. They lied and lied and lied from the minute we moved in here. He's slimy and she's ... ok, here's the word ... as disgusting as chenille.

There! I said it. I swore I would never use that word but I just had to. I hope you sent your children out of the room before they had to see that.

I was nervous when the place sold but relieved that I would never have to see them again, and now here they are. Upstairs. Sharing my laundry room.

Her Worminess came down to see Ben and stared at him with her giant moonface while asking who owned the stuff that was in their parking spot. He said that the ottoman was ours but the rest of the empire was leftovers from the last tenants. She asked him to move it, he said no because he was leaving for work that very minute and couldn't be late (unlike some irresponsible rabbits). She stormed off, arm-wattles flapping, and promptly moved everything in the carport, including all of the garbage cans, into our parking spot.

Spiteful bitch.

Please note that I am in no way sizeist, having been anything from damned-near-anorexic to very-well-upholstered over the span of my lifetime, however this woman actually has drooping wads of fat from her upper arms that cover her elbows.

It bothers me.

Likely it wouldn't bother me as much if she wasn't so chenilly.

If this post bothers some of my larger readers, I apologize; no offense is meant. At least not to you. Unless you're putting my garbage cans in my parking space then then yes, I meant you too.

And such.

I sat there at work thinking "Oh fuck. That's getting close to the final kick in the teeth for me," and then I went all Pollyanna again with the frown upside-down thing and the face-punching and it really took up quite a lot of my time.

And then I received another email from DH. He wants to move. He does NOT want to share house space with those people.


I've been trying to talk him into moving for months, but he hates change and would rather that I live in a place that is far too small and that I hate, than change his surroundings in any way.

And now He Wants To Move, Tonight If Possible.

Dog does indeed move in mysterious ways. I can't think of anything better that could have happened to us.

Oh yes, and I owe the spiteful cow some money for utilities from when they owned this place. I had it set aside to give to them today. I spent it on beer and food instead; with that sort of behaviour she can just wait until I get paid next week.


Wow. I thought my life was crazy - I think you just hit on every major life event in this post.

Good luck with the move. As for "Chenille" I'd wait a couple more pay cycles at least before I'd pay the wretch hag.
What can I say? You gotta move, girl!
Have you thought about writing for soap operas? No, wait, who'd believe some of the crazy stuff that happens to you and yours?

Here's hoping for a peaceful stretch in your life of at least a couple of weeks.
Go. Move. No money for Chenille, and on your way out, consider using the other "C" word. (Covering your child's ears first, of course...)

Happy, um, Action de GrĂ¢ce day. I have a very dirty can just imagine what kind of a day I thought it was going to be when my husband informed me it was "Grace Action Day."

No such luck. It's just freaking Canadian Thanksgiving, turns out. And we both hate turkeys, of the eating kind and the kind who wrap themselves around telephone poles...

I'll make a cake and spin the rest of the day. Lift a Guinness or two, too. Cheers to you for getting through one hell of a day. Need boxes? ;-) Muah...
happy thanksgiving. as for moonface, she's an assbeagle chenille bitch. don't pay her at all, she's screwed you, now it's her turn (although i'm sure you wouldn't touch ehr with a 10 meter pole)
Take beer over chenille any day.
Move to North Georgia. You know we could do some damage as a team. There's probably work here, I wouldn't know because I haven't looked, but I bet there is. There are loads and loads of arm wattles as well, but so far not much chenille. Move! (N. GA.!)
YAY! Moving! From the place you hate! Maybe there is a plan in chenille bitch moonfaced people moving in upstairs after all...a silver lining that will turn your frown upside down (no need for punching since I said it)
Move, don't give the "Chenille Wobby Armed" person the money. And have a Great Turkey Day.
I hope you find a place that has a room just for you and your fibers. And I hope that someone as nice as Satan himself moves into your old place. That way the landlords get theirs.
On days like this, what the hell would we do without sheep-related soothing activities?

May I suggest you begin referring to the upstairs folks as The Captain and Chenille?

Also, if you really want to up the ick factor, the full version of the maxim is (or so I was taught):

"Turn that frown upside down, and let a smile be your umbrella on a rainy, rainy day!"

It's best if you bat your eyelashes while saying it.
Oooo, I hate people like the Chenille you wrote of. My current landlady is also getting on my nerves. She's one of those people that always sounds drunk when she talks (even if she hasn't touched a drop) and also has a nasal, high-pitched thing going on, and also -- she doesn't shut up. None of this would bother me...except for the fact that someone keeps trying to break into my apartment, and she refuses to put bars on the windows because, and I quote, "There was no crime there when I lived there in the 60s, so there can't be any now." Plus, when I told her that someone was skulking around the little alley behind the building, she told me that I was a liar. Fucking Chenille. I feel like I've co-opted your blog for my own bitching, and more than once...Sorry...
As soon as you have found your next domicile, discontinue removing trash from your current place. On move out day place all of said trash in Chenille-Moonface-Assbeagles parking space. Buy pizza and beer for the friends who help you move with the money you owe her.
I like the idea of you moving to North Georgia. We could truly start up our torrid affair, then. Seriously. (Did I just out myself on your blog?)
What you need for the thing upstairs is a Waggle Whisperer.

She'll soon be dancing naked in the backyard.

I fear the authorities will then need to get involved.
Stop punching yourself in the face. You deserve a little bit nicer, though maybe discourage the use of the phrase 'turn your frown upside down' as just too cheery and not in the good way. Punch her instead.

Moving, although evil, sounds like a good idea. Dare I ask if the house of dreams you posted about is coming available?
"If I'd-a wanted perky I woulda married Julie Andrews or someone." Oh. My. goodness. I can't stop laughing! I'm so glad things are looking up for you and that you're finally going to get your way and move, even if it does mean having to deal with the Chenille for a little longer while you look for a new place.
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