apartmentally insane

As I stated earlier, I'm currently living in a sucky apartment, managed by Michael Barry. Here's a nice little overview of my stay at my current apartment:

When I first moved in, I was honestly just relieved to find a place. I only had a few weeks after I found out I got a job. My friend lived in the same apartments, one building over, and she loved it. I thought her apartment was cute.

After moving in, I was excited to try and get things sorted out and arranged; however, I ended up never really getting settled in. First of all, I'm a procrastinator. Secondly, things just started going wrong.

One of the first and worst things: bugs. There were HUGE roaches. I only saw a few of them live and in person, but I would find roach corpses. In the den. Under the futon. Near the front door. In the closet. I soon realized that the door in the kitchen didn't quite seal up all the way. In an effort to fix my problem, I tried to seal the gateway. It worked, a little. I did call Michael Barry several times. They came to spray twice, I think, and also told me it would "really help them out" if I could spray myself. What the fuck am I paying $525 a month for?!

Another problem resulting from the door not closing all the way was all the air escaping and/or coming in. My apartment was either too hot or too cold. The windows didn't quite seal up either. My gas bill was astronomical, no matter what I tried to do.

Then there were the leaks. At the beginning, I noticed that the ceiling in the kitchen looked like a blister ready to pop. I didn't think too much of it. The first time it rained, I think there wasn't a huge problem. But then there was. Every time it would rain, it would drip into the kitchen floor. First it was just a little, then it was buckets full. All over the floor. Everywhere. Then it leaked in the hallway. I called, and called, and called. The option is to leave a message on the maintenance line. After leaving three, I called and pressed 0 for an operator and told the old lady in the office what was going on. She said she'd pass it along.

I was never told if anyone ever went to my place to fix anything, and they never left me any maintenance slips. I basically had to wait for it to rain again to see if the problem was fixed. After several more leaks and problems, I called and left several angry messages, complaining about the blistered ceiling which had finally just opened up completely. They came back, and the only reason I knew was because they stripped everything away from the ceiling. Now there's a little hole, but I've yet to see any water drip out. This was just a few months ago, right before my lease is up.

Then there was the little incident after Thanksgiving with my power. I came home after work that Monday, and after being in the apt for just a few minutes, the power went off. I called the maintenance number, and she said she could come over to check it out. She also told me that the power company had been changing out the meters; maybe that had something to do with it. I waited for about an hour, and then I left. Three hours later, she actually came to the apartment and gave me some story about getting a ride. The power flickered on and off when she jiggled the meter box, but it wouldn't stay on. She then advised me to call the power company. I did, but that ended up taking forever, too. I stayed with J and his family for the evening, receiving a phone call when I was almost there letting me know someone was headed over.

The next evening, I was in Tuscaloosa and didn't get home until later. When I arrived I was treated to...no power. When I called the maintenance girl, she was of no help. I called Alabama Power. They told me it was the inside breakers, it wasn't their fault, when in fact, there are no inside breakers, at least, the person Michael Barry has employed as their MAINTENANCE person didn't think so, and didn't know. I had to call the power company again, and then they told me that they normally wouldn't send someone, but someone was in the area, he'd come by. Two hours later, it was after midnight and I had to work, and I'd had no sleep...I headed to J's for the night and was practically in tears. Someone from the power company called me back at nearly one and was pretty much a "nice asshole," letting me know it wasn't anything they had done, and that "I could've had my power on hours ago." To which I said no, I couldn't have, because I HAVE been in touch with my landlord, thankyouverymuch, and the maintenance people kept directing me to them.

I called the maintenance girl, AGAIN, and I told her that I would be out of town the entire next day, and I told her what the power company told me, and I asked her to please get it fixed. She apologized and promised she would. I took the day off, took care of some things, then headed back towards Bham. This time, though, I decided to call her again and be sure my power was on before I headed back to a dark apartment. Surprise—she wouldn't answer. I just decided to stay at J's. At 1030pm, she finally returned my call. She told me that her transmission went out in her jeep, blah blah blah, she couldn't get a ride over (sound familiar?). All damn day. All day she had to do something about my power, and she didn't. She called me around lunchtime the next day to say the power was back on, and it was the meter that had been loose.

After all of that bullshit, and getting berated by the power guy on the phone, and everything. I lost a fridge full of food and a lot of sleep. Needless to say, I was pissed. One thing they weren't late on getting to me was a bill for the second half of my pet deposit (I hadn't realized I didn't pay it in full yet) and a late fee (I didn't know I'd turned my rent in late). It read "Please pay in full. Merry Christmas!" What a great present.

But the worst thing I've had to deal with at apartment hell, managed by Michael Barry, have been in my kitchen—water beetles. They're these little bugs that first started showing up in the dish washer. Then in the drawer where I had my silverware (which I moved right away). Then they were in the sink drain. Then in two of my appliances, which I've had to throw away. They stay contained to that little part of the kitchen, where the water supply is, but it's absolutely ridiculous. I've called, I've begged, I've asked them to do something. The most they have done is spray, but what they don't understand is what they are and where they're coming from. The building is so damn old that if they don't do something to the whole building, it won't do any good.

So needless to say....yeah, I'm ready to move. More updates to come.

shot through the arm, and you're to blame...

...who gave Gardasil such a bad name?

So, at my last doctor's visit, he recommended that I get the Gardasil shot, also known as the HPV vaccine. It's supposed to safeguard you against the virus that causes cervical cancer. As afraid as I am of needles (they cause me to have panic attacks, no joke), I decided this would probably be the best thing for me to do.

The vaccine is three injections, spaced over six months. It hurts like holy hell. The first one wasn't so bad. This last one, which I had on Monday, make me curse and almost punch the nurse (who is lovely, by the way). But like I said, I know it's a necessary thing.

I came to work Monday AM after my second injection, ready to be productive. As I went to the kitchen, one of my co-workers approached me. She asked me how my day was, I replied that it was fine, excepting the early-morning needle vaccine pumped into my arm. I made conversation about the vaccine, saying that they were starting to require it in schools.

"Well, I just don't agree with that," she said. "The government telling me I have to put something my body. I can't believe you did that."

This upset me. When another woman walked in and said her doctor recommended the shot for her 13-year-old daughter, said co-worker went at it again.

"Your daughter is too young! You need to read up on that. There have been complications from that."

???? Like I'm some fool who just wanders into exam rooms and asks to be shot up? Trust me, I wouldn't have gotten the vaccine if I didn't think it was important. She pointed out that there have been problems reported with the shot. However, those are rare and there is still yet to be proof linking so-called "side effects" to the Gardasil shot. People get sick from the flu shot sometimes! But they continue to get it.

When I argued the fact that it protects against a virus that causes a large percentage of cervical cancer, she said this: "Well, no one dies from cervical cancer."

Are you freaking kidding me.

Cervical cancer was once one of the leading causes of cancer-related death in women, according to the American Cancer Society. And yes, the death rate has gone down, but that is due to increased awareness of the disease and more frequent pap smears, no matter how old you are. And regardless if NO one died from cancer, any cancer, it's never a pleasant experience. The way my doctor put it to me was this: Shots may hurt, but biopsies and chemo and treatment hurt more. Do what's best.

I still defend my decision to have the shot, but I was still offended by this woman's vehement response to my choice.

More about Gardasil:
http://www.gardasil.com/

More about cervical cancer: http://www.cancer.org/docroot/CRI/content/CRI_2_4_1X_What_are_the_key_statistics_for_cervical_cancer_8.asp

what's the deal, pickle?

Sometimes things happen to me that just make me want to cry. Like, sit in the middle of wherever I am and bawl. Call me overdramatic, I don't care. (Actually, I do, and if you said that to my face, I'd probably collapse in a heap at your feet and commence the over-emoting.)

Anyway. I remember once hearing my mother say, "You know, Autumn and I just think everything bad happens to us. Everything bad really does happen to Summer."

Honestly. If there is a hole to fall in, a banana peel to trip over, or a bucket to step in, I will surely be the one to provided unintended comic relief.

The other day, I went to the grocery store after work. It was pouring down rain, but I brave those falling drops to purchase some pantry essentials. While shopping, a jar of pickles caught my eye. I haven't had pickles in so long! I thought. I picked up a jar and went about my way.

When I got home, it was still raining, and I had several bags. I pulled out my trusty umbrella and walked over the passenger side to retrieve my wares. As I turned one way, I noticed a box of pasta fall out. I hastily picked it up and turned to get my other bags. Then I heard the sound of glass splintering. What the hell was that? I thought. I turned around, wondering what would make such a noise.

It was my brand-new jar of pickles, lying naked on the grass, surrounding by the glass that once held them safely.

This was one of those moments where I wanted to cry. I felt so bad leaving them there, all alone on the sidewalk.

I think a dog came by and ate them one day. At least somebody benefitted from my misfortune.



I returned to the a scene a day later, prepared to mourn.

thanks a lot, jerk.

So, here's the sitch. I go home every day for lunch. I don't have the money to go out to eat all the time, and I am too lazy to just pack a lunch. Yesterday, I do like I always do and head to the apartment. As I'm getting in my car to go, I notice the backseat is looking bright. I turned my head and see that the back passenger side window is busted.

WTF. Seriously.

The glass was still intact, but it was completely spiderwebbed. I saw a man weedeating when I first arrived, but I just don't believe a rock would do this kind of damage. At least, not one that a weedeater would pick up.

Then I saw something else that made me a tad suspicious: a croquet mallet not but a few feet from my car.

What the hell?!? I don't live in the ghetto! I have never had this happen to me! Gah!


This is the damage. The hole wasn't there originally, but as I drove down the bumpy streets of Birmingham, chunks of it began to fall.


And this is the reason I suspect foul play. I took the weapon in question and placed it in my car. Somebody's next game of croquet is going to be very difficult. Take that, vandal.

too hot to handle

I will never even begin to understand the human instinct.

Why do we do some things, even when we know the outcome may possibly be less than desirable?

As many of you may know (and if you don't, do you even read my blogs?), I work in a restaurant in The Great Little Big City. And I have to say, my sampling of the human race that serves as our restaurant patrons do not give me much hope.

I've had people ask stupid questions, say stupid things, and order things like "hush puppies" and "onion rings" (we have neither).

But there is one thing I have noticed without fail.

However, let me preface this next bit with a little background info (as always).

We have recently installed new glo-rays at work. This now means that our plates, which are normally pretty hot, are now unbearably hot, within just a matter of minutes. I mean, it's almost impossible to leave a plate there for even the amount of time it takes to assemble it and then be able to pick it up again. The glo-rays are good for food temps, bad for fingertips.

Which brings me to my observation.

As I deliver these said piping-hot plates to picky patrons, I always say, "These plates are very, very hot. Do NOT touch them. In fact, it would be in your best interest to just merely eat the food right off the plate, right where it is, unless you want your flesh to melt together in a most horrific way." (Okay, that last part was an embellishment, but that is exactly how hot these plates can get.)

You would think this would be an ample warning.

Oh, no.

People take plates from me, grab them out of my hands, and then utter some curse and proceed to drop it on the table. Oh, golly gee, I wish I would have TOLD you the plate was hot, you fucktard.

Or another reaction, one of my favorites, is when you set the plate down and people automatically feel the need to look to see if you're looking and then grab the plate. I'm sorry, did you think this was a test of strength? I will win, believe me you. Or they give it a quick quarter-turn one way, then another quarter-turn back. What the hell was that? Does that make it taste better? Do you want to shift the food around a bit? Or is it just that necessary that you touch your plate to see if it is hot, then you want everything to think that you had reason to touch it. As you turn your plate, others that so patiently waited and tried to avoid first-degree burns will turn to one another, nod and say, "Oh, yes. He had to turn his plate. It was absolutely essential that he touched his plate."

There are variations of this example of the human instinct.

For example, when you get a taste of something really gross, and you spit out the offending material and then lean to the person next to you and suggest that they take a taste as well.

Or when you smell something really horrible and then try your hardest to contain that smell so that someone else can smell it and back you up on the fact that yes, it does indeed, smell.

But you know what? I'm guilty of it, too. I make the wrong decisions, too, a LOT, and it always seems like I end up getting burned.

Anyway. That's all. Just something I was thinking about.

nothing left to "loose"

I hate that. For those of you that know me, I am a grammar Nazi, and it pains me so much to see lose spelled looose. The real looser is the person who puts it on a church sign, as I have recently observed. There is this one church, on Church St. (ironically, or maybe not) that I like to think of as the Church of Bad Grammar. Every time I pass by, which used to be often, something else is wrong. Now, I know that no one can be perfect all the time, and I make my own fair share of mistakes. However, if you are going to be assembling a church sign that will be visible to everyone, or a banner, or a marquee, or whatever, please please PLEASE make sure it is correct. Gah!

Also. I noticed that it is quite often that children feel the need to run 'round displaying their artwork with spray paint on walls and street signs and such. These "delinquents" have come into contact with several street signs in the area, and my favorite is the person that spray paints the word "DON'T" above the word "STOP" on a red stop sign.

I don't get it. Does this person honestly think that a driver will pull up, look at the sign, and then think to him or herself: "Oh, wait. That's one of those "Don't Stop" signs. What was I thinking putting on my brakes? I'll just cruise on through."

If you want to be a real menace to society, why not just take the whole thing? Cut out the middle man. There is a large percentage of the Alabama population that is illiterate anyway, and they won't take the time to discern what letter means what.

I guess the moral of the story is this: the next time you are driving about your local residential area, pay attention to the signs. If you come across one of those tricky "Don't Stop" signs, and you aren't sure, err on the side of caution. Go ahead and take the extra time to stop. If you decide not to heed this warning, proceed with caution at your own risk, my friend.

back that thang up

As I arrived to class this morning, a little late as usual, I saw something that bothered me.

I always, ALWAYS parallel park on the side of the building, underneath the trees. There are (almost) always spaces here, and you don't have to have a sticker, AND it's perfectly legal with easy access to the Stone Center.

This morning, however, my attention was diverted to a Ford Focus. There is a nice long stretch of places to park, and Mr. or Ms. Focus was (I should only hope inadvertently) taking up about THREE of them.

I absolutely cannot stand it when someone feels the need to double park, park too close, too sideways, or not far enough in. If said Focus would have just pulled a little closer to the end of the line, or a little closer to the law abiding Malibu behind, another car could have easily fit in there!

But no. You pull around the side of the building, get excited because you see a normally great park, and...no, wait. There is just enough room so that you can't park there. It's sort of like when you are cruising the parking spaces at Wal-Mart, and you get that little flutter of excitement because you see a really great front park, and oh my gosh, why didn't the car in front of me pull in there? and this is just my luck and you put on your blinker because you want everyone to know that you are Lord or Lady of the Lot and that this is your space, and then - it's a teeny, tiny, sports car, pulled all the way to the line, sandwhiched between a Suburban and a Tahoe, fooling you into thinking there isn't really a car parked there. Damn!

Or it's kind of like the inevitable rule that once you give up and park in the back and decidem "Hey, I need the exercise anyway," you are almost taken out by a car leaving a front row park who can't get out of there faster. Honestly. I have had those moments where I wonder if I can still make it back to my car to pull it up closer (which is stupid), or if I a random passerby, I have been tempted to say, "You there - stand here and guard this spot whilst I pull the Cavvy around!" (Which is more stupid - but I have actually done it at the University of Alabama at the music hall...)

Anyway, I digress. Everyone have a great day and a fabulous Easter weekend.

Happy Tuesday

Happy Birthday to Stephany, first of all. That's the only good thing about this God-forsaken day. I swear, I hate Valentine's Day. I always have. Just don't like it. Don't get me wrong, I love candy, and those little shortbread cookies (even if they are in the shape of hearts), and I can't wait for the day after when WalMart discounts all the candy and stuff. But if I have to see one more paper heart, or a stuffed gorilla or bear or rhinoceros or any other gargantuan animal that hallmark thinks would realistically be squeezing a fuzzy heart and saying "I love you", I will lose my freakin mind.

Maybe I'm a little cynical. Just a touch. But I think that if you need a special holiday to tell your significant other that you love them, that's sad. They should already know. Wanna buy a gift? Go ahead. But that's also what anniversaries, birthdays, Christmases, non-Christian holidays, Arbor Day, Flag Day, and whatever the hell other days are for. Honestly, we are just setting ourselves up for another time when we have to buy a gift, or a card, or show some obligatory affection.

And then there's the looks us singletons get from those already coupled up. My favorite salutation on V-Day (or basically anytime I say I'm not in a serious relationship) is "Oh don't worry. You'll find someone." As if that's all I am worried about. And what about someone finding me? I'm a catch! I'm not worried about being in a relationship. I don't want one. The only one who seems to be worried about it is everyone else. I'm in no hurry to get attached. I am perfectly content to treat no one but MYSELF on February 14th, and every other day for that matter.

On to the topic of serious relationships. whatever the heck that label means. The word serious can sometimes be distorted. I know some people that are in "serious relationships" and the only thing they are is "seriously pathetic." Or "seriously miserable." But they don't want to break up with him or her because they don't want to be alone. (Because that would be SO much worse than where they already are.) Or they say "It's complicated. You wouldn't understand." Trust me. I don't understand. Nor do I want to. Seems a hell of a lot simpler to be ignorant in that situation.

And on to displays of affection. This is tricky. I understand that when you are in love, you just want the whole world to know, and you can't wait to put your stamp on this other person saying "This is mine. Don't touch." It makes me think of a dog or cat peeing on something to leave its mark: it's gross, it stinks, and it seems primitive. Oh, and generally it offends those who are around. Honestly, if you feel as bad for those that are around you that are single, spare us. Keep that at home, in the bedroom, or on National Geographic. I really don't need to see the PG-13 version of how babies are made. I'm all set here, thanks.

Now, I am not knocking relationships, or marriages, or courtships, or those of you that are in any of the above. Some of my best friends are married or dating someone. And I love them just the same. The only thing I have a problem with is anyone acting like it is so much better to be in one of those things. Please, God, don't look down on me, or feel sorry for me, or pity me. I don't need it. I feel bad about myself for other reasons at times, and that is the last thing I need.

I didn't mean for this to turn into a rant, but it did. Sorry guys. (Not even sure if anybody reads this or not.) And if any of you think that I am a cold-hearted bitch, read my last post. I am entirely capable of compassion and feelings. If you still don't believe me, screw you. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.