Category Archives: Apartments of Eternal Xmas

ICE-STUCK

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This morning, I woke to more snow. Not a terrible amount but enough that some people were off of work while others were not. I was not.

A fantastic thing about cars that aren’t from the 1990’s (RIP Prissy) is that you can start them from your apartment to begin the melting-of-the-ice before you are ready to clear them off. So I did that and then – because my apartment is being measured for new windows today – I made the appropriate warnings for maintenance and hung them before heading downstairs:

#livingthedream

On my bedroom door. #livingthedream

#truestory

On my front door. #truestory

Clearing the snow off my car was simple enough this time – thanks, technology! – then began the 50-point-turn process of backing out of my tiny, ice-covered, car-crammed parking lot at The Apartments of Eternal Christmas.  I get out of my spot without touching the Lexus next to it (50 points to Hufflepuff!! #wishiwereaGryffindor), start to pull out of the lot in general, crunch over something, and then… STUCK. I try reverse, drive, turning the wheels in different directions. NOTHING.  I get out of my car and grab the shovel (which I’ve been keeping in the backseat all winter) so I can dig around the wheels a bit. Then I try again.

Alas, still nothing. No budging.

It turns out that my car is stuck on a BLOCK OF ICE.  2ft to the right is fine – there is only a thin layer of ice, level to the ground.  Where I am, there is a thick, elevated, island of frozen water that my car is determined to sit pretty on for FOREVER.

Sonofa...

Sonofa…

Being fully aware of my enemy now, I determine the best plan of attack is to let the car run a little so engine-heat can soften the ice – then I will beat my frigid foe to death with my shovel and coast to the street, victorious!  Easy-peesey.

Except because winter 2015 has been INSANE, this hunk of hell-ice has been building over days or maybe even weeks. Its layers are not to be melted so quickly or easily.

I pulled out my trusty AAA card and was about to begrudgingly place a call when an orange Mustang stopped and two young men jumped out to offer assistance.  Side note: I love how dudes see a car in trouble and get genuinely excited at the opportunity to make a car do something that it isn’t currently doing.

I am anti-Damsel-in-Distress and like to do things myself or pay someone professional to do it for me (it’s an “independence” thing) so am skeptical as the guys start assessing but I tell them what I know. They kick at the ice, look under the car, laugh at my plight, and offer to push; they seem confident. But NOTHING happens. This car is *not* going *anywhere*. To seem like less of a moron, I stress that I’m used to driving a truck with 4-wheel drive (again, RIP Prissy) and this little-car-in-winter thing is brand new to me.  These dudes are good-natured, amused, but definitely still laughing at me. We play this “maybe we can help you” game for about 10/15 minutes before I say I’m just going to call AAA. Then ANOTHER guy stops. He has a huge white van. And rope in his car. And offers to tow me.

I have now become both the neighborhood cause AND entertainment as several people have started watching the commotion.

Makeshift Towing

Neighborhood AAA

BUT IT WORKS!!  Dude-in-white-van pulls me off of the ice block as I pilot my car. Then the gents coached me through another 50-point-turn to once again *not* hit the Lexus… but actually get out of the parking lot this time.  There may have been cheers as I drove away.

Once again I’m impressed with humanity and humbled by the idea that sometimes you really do need to accept the help of others when it is generously offered and that it doesn’t make you a Damsel-in-Distress – just human and lucky that the right people happened to be coming by and stopped to assist. These guys all chose to stop, to spend their time finding a solution, and to literally get down on their knees in cold, wet ice in order to help a stranger get her car out of a ridiculous, unnecessary situation. People are truly awesome and it’s nice to be reminded of that; I’m determined to pay this one forward.  But I’m not cancelling my AAA subscription any time soon.

The Kindness of Strangers

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I should have known that things were going to be “off” at the Apartments of Eternal Christmas this week as soon as I saw this:

Oh. No.

After 1 year and 9 months of solo living, I have done the thing I have been fearing most: I locked myself out of my apartment while going down to the laundry room.

You see, I am paranoid about always having my keys and my phone on me even if I’m just running downstairs for 2 seconds. I don’t ever leave my apartment unlocked and I always make sure keys are in hand before leaving. I guess I was a bit distracted due to preparations for kittens (more on this later) so I did not realize I was without my keys until I was 3 feet from my door – which was far enough away that when I turned around, I could not reach the door before it slammed.

No keys. No phone. Just dirty laundry, detergent, and quarters.

One of the things I like about my apartment building is that people are polite but private. I don’t know why but not really knowing my neighbors or feeling pressure to know my neighbors has been in the plus column. It’s the introverted-extrovert in me, I suppose. So I was less than pleased when I realized I was going to have to knock on doors of people I did not know for assistance. The universe was at least conspiring to be sure that I wasn’t in my usual laundry room state (read as: no bra, slippers, and acne cream) so that when I knocked on a stranger-neighbor’s door, I didn’t have to be ashamed of being locked out while awkwardly-yet-strategically crossing my arms in front of my chest to poorly hide the bra-less-ness.

I hear the TV on in the apartment directly under me, so I knocked on the door. The dog barked and I waited a moment but nobody came. So I knocked again.  And this is how I met Neighbor Paul – formerly known as the-guy-who-impressively-and-enthusiastically-washed-his-car-in-a-thunderstorm.

When I told him what happened, he gave me his phone in order to call our property manager.  But he didn’t have the number. However the universe ALSO conspired to have me locked out on a day when repair flyers had been distributed so our property manager’s number was everywhere.

Now not only did Paul give me his phone for that call but – because our landlord did not pick up – he insisted that I keep the phone for 30 minutes until I got a call back, told me to do my laundry, and said he’d find me later.  And not only did he find me later sitting on the front stoop waiting for The Unlocker to arrive, but when he found me, Paul brought me booze.

We chatted about the apartment building, the neighborhood and had started to scratch the surface of work when The Unlocker in the form of Edwin The Repair Man arrived and my new neighbor-friend and I parted ways.

BTW – Edwin is my favorite repair man and he gets called to do everything from repair leaky sinks to SCARE RACCOONS OUT OF PEOPLE’S APARTMENTS. For serious. He once got a call from folks on the first floor after a raccoon wandered in because they had left their un-screened window open. Very concerned, I asked him if he called animal control. He said “No. I just make LOUD noise.”  Edwin is also very sweet and super friendly so only after many repairs and conversations – and now one unlock – did he finally tell me that my demon-cat scratches repairmen when I am not around. He felt the need to stress that it only happens when I am not here.  I digress…

Anyway, I now sit in my apartment WITH my keys, a Straw-ber-rita, and with a new friend made; and I am once again impressed and touched by the kindness of strangers.

YES.

YES.

 

 

These Are My Confessions: Bugs and Bedding

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These Are My Confessions may become a series wherein I admit things that I should probably not put on the internet. But you only live once so…

I’m not going to beat around the bush here. My apartment has bugs. More specifically, my kitchen has bugs. It has had bugs for a little bit of time now. I say “bugs” but they are roaches. Which makes my skin crawl so I’m going to keep saying “bugs” so maybe you’ll picture ladybugs or fireflies or butterflies… which is not what I have in my apartment. I have roaches bugs.

When it became more than just one or two here and there (which is to be expected in an urban setting), I reported the issue to my landlord. This was back in mid-winter and that call resulted in  The Apartments of Eternal Christmas being fumigated. It also resulted in an epic car breakdown with The KitBit* in tow and a Blanche DuBois style relying-on-the-kindness-of-strangers situation as I was on my way to the BFry’s to wait out the fumigation. It may have resulted in this Facebook post:

Sometimes/And Then Sometimes: A Personal Essay - posted to Facebook on February 17th, 2014 - because I was blogging before I had a blog...

Sometimes/And Then Sometimes: A Personal Essay – posted to Facebook on February 17th, 2014; because I was blogging before I had a blog…

 

Bugs had never been a problem in the whole year+ I had been living in my apartment and I am not a dirty kitchen-keeper (because aside from the occasional tartlet I rarely cook) plus there was construction happening on the apartment below me so I had hope that this was a one-time anomaly. And things died down.

Literally. Bugs died and I would find them down on the floor.

Now, I’m a pacifist and the kind of person that likes to catch-and-release but finding bugs dead-as-a-doornail was oddly satisfying. Gross. But satisfying. And all was quiet on the apartment front for a time.

Then a few weeks ago, they started again. The BFry and I returned from a lovely evening out and immediately had an epic battle vs. approximately 20 bugs. 20 OF THEM.  And because I can’t squish things, the BFry did all the swatting and smacking and smooshing while I stayed out of his way. My preferred method of bug destruction is to catch them in a disposable cup and then run to the bathroom to flush them down the toilet before they can crawl out, throwing the cup away afterwards.  I don’t know what that says about me…

Anyway, I reported the buggy-ambush to my landlord and he sent someone the next day to put down traps. And about a week later, Faybsuh-laybsuh-little-layduh* and I had to evacuate to once again head to the BFry’s for what I like to call a Fumigation Vacation; Fabs* enjoyed herself, as you can see:

What a lush!

LUSH

 

I, again, had hopes that this would clear up the problem at least for a while.  No such luck.  There has been some calming of the issue, but not enough. Never enough.

And so on the evening of July 23rd, no longer relying on the landlord and armed with self-bought sticky-traps and cat-safe poison-traps, I waged war.

I am the 300. I am King Leonidas.  And the bugs are my Persians circa 480 B.C.

 

This is what I look like in my head as I am laying those bug traps down. (© 2007 Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.)

This is what I look like in my head as I am laying those bug traps down. (© 2007 Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.)

 

After arriving home close to 9pm, I placed those traps around the kitchen.  And in the process, flushed at least 3 bugs down the toilet. But I’m out of solo cups so have been using an empty paper towel roll and I trap bugs inside the column to then transport them to their watery fates which is MUCH harder than the cup method.  It was rough. And I did it all in heels. Adorable Crown Vintage t-strap 4″ heels; who says women can’t do it all?!

After I was satisfied with the strategic placement of both kinds of traps and felt I had killed enough for one evening, I treated myself to a 2003- freshman-year-of-college-throwback whiskey-sour. Complete with star-shaped ice cubes, an orange glitter swizzle-stick – a #fauxdult move if there ever was one –  and apparently a bit too much whiskey.  I think this was somehow influenced by feeling like I could “do it all” and since “Do It All” was actually the motto of my conservative Catholic alma mater during my freshman year (I know, right?), I was feeling a touch nostalgic.

As I slowly became tipsy, I remembered that I wanted to get Faba-face* a set of bowls that sit off the ground so as not to attract buggy attention.  And I started browsing Amazon because I have Prime and you can’t hate on free shipping.  Then, just to check, I migrated to Overstock.  And then I started looking at sheets. Because I was sent that bedding coupon…

And so it happened that in a full-on whiskey-sour fog of sweet-and-tart regret, I bought #ALLOFTHESHEETS.  Seriously.  I thought it was appropriate to purchase three sets of polka-dotted sheets in various pastel colors along with pillowcases and a food/water bowl set for my cat.

I mean – this is the kind of bounty a grandma would give her cat-loving tween granddaughter for Christmas:

 

3 pastel polka-dotted sheet sets, one cat food/water bowl system, and a set of white pillowcases for good measure.

3 pastel polka-dotted sheet sets, one cat food/water bowl system, and a set of white pillowcases for good measure.

 

So while some may get drunk and make booty-calls or call up exes, I imbibe in celebration of waging war on bugs and then purchase sheets that no self-respecting adult woman would want to sleep on and things for my cat.

These, my friends, are my confessions.

* The cat, Fabian Raven Ittameh Bittameh Kittameh The Duchess of Things, has many, many nicknames.

Update: since July 23rd, the occurrence of bugs has greatly decreased but I’m not getting cocky about it yet…

Purchases of Promise

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Occasionally I get the idea that I’m going to be a different person than who I currently am and decide to invest in tangible objects that promise to help me become this new person who I am so sure I actually am deep down inside.  I think this impulse may stem from my belief that talents and truths can be buried and all you need to do is unearth the hidden treasure to become who you have always been destined to be. Or something.

And apparently I also think that means that I need to purchase tartlet pans with my 20% Off coupon to  Bed, Bath and Beyond to fulfill my previously undiscovered destiny of becoming a celebrated tartlet maker. Or at least someone who makes fancy and impressive tartlets to bring to parties or to serve to friends or the BFry on a lazy Sunday morning for breakfast like it ain’t no thang to make tartlet crust from scratch (when it is most definitely a thang). My actions in this regard may also correlate heavily with my enthusiastic-yet-short-lived bursts of extreme Pinterest-browsing. And I may or may not have an entire Pinterest board dedicated to tartlets called “All Tarted Up.” Because I am merely human and a sucker for a pun.

So on January 24, 2013, I used those 20% off tartlet pans and a Pinterest recipe and I made these:

Posted to Facebook with the caption: "If these taste half as good as they look...man...I may have found a new love."

Posted to Facebook with the caption: “If these taste half as good as they look…man…I may have found a new love.”

Despite that declaration of potential new-found love, this, my friends, was the one and only time I have made tartlets. Because you know what? They tasted fine delicious-ish but were a pain in the keister to make and only yielded four tiny tartlets for HOURS of work. They were also super expensive because I did not have all of the ingredients on hand in my teeny-tiny Smitten Kitchen style cooking/baking/microwaving/refrigerating center at  The Apartments of Eternal Christmas to make my own bastardized version of Flourishing Foodie’s mini heirloom tomato tartlets with a parmesan crust.  I had to buy #ALLOFTHETHINGS before getting down to business.

So now I have tiny tartlet pans that sit in solitude in a top cabinet with the round layer-cake pans and a box of granola that has gone untouched for far too long.

In any case, I refer to tartlet-pan type investments as Purchases of Promise.

Over the last decade, here are some of the other Purchases of Promise I’ve made:

  1. Guitar: Folk-Songstress Phase – I went hard with this one because I thought I was going to be the Stevie Nicks of my generation. Or at least I’d get decent enough to accompany myself singing here and there to make the singing less terrifying and have the guitar to focus on. I bought the guitar, a gig bag, a tuning pipe, tons of picks, how-to-play guitar DVDs and books. I tried to play it only a handful of times over the 3 years I owned it so it got pawned off to a friend during a move that required downsizing…and money. And I’ve seen the guitar used as a prop on stage in a theatrical performance, so it’s doing better than it was sitting in my room.  This dream is not entirely dead though and I have – on more than one occasion – considered purchasing a banjo. I have nothing more to say for myself on this front.
  2. Mop and bucket: Clean-and-Green Phase – I was going to (1) clean my floors frequently and (2) ONLY clean them with a mop and traditional sudsy water/environmentally approved cleaner so as not to be wasteful or harmful to the environment. I don’t think these items have been used in the way they were intended to be used even once. I store things in the bucket. Things like Swiffer pads. And wet Swiffer pads. And paper towels. And the mop has been used to reach cobwebs in high corners. But so has the Swiffer.  #allhailtheSwiffer.
  3. Clothing Steamer: Professional-Real-Adult-Lady-Phase –  I was going to save so much money by steaming my clothing at home vs. taking items to the dry cleaner. Or – let’s get serious – wearing them wrinkly. I asked my parents for the steamer for Christmas a few years ago; I did my research and got a mid-priced, portable, easy-to-care-for model. And I have used it zero times. I have loaned it out to a theatre company once for use on costumes during a production – so it has been used. But I have used it zero times.  I know not how the thing works yet it continues to sit out in the open in my room as though it will be used at any moment. I have no hope I will actually use the steamer some day.
  4. Capers: The Gourmet Chef – What do capers even go on? I’ve had a jar of capers for about a year now and don’t know what to put them on. They may not even be good anymore.
  5. Knitting kit, wine glasses/chalkboard paint, painting supplies: DIY Gifting Gal – Have a birthday coming up? Let me give you these 80’s style leg-warmers knitted together with sparkle-rainbow-yarn and love! Get your Masters? Here are some wine glasses with chalkboard paint bases so when you are entertaining, people can write their names in chalk on the bottoms for identification purposes! Have a baby? Here is an adorable painting of Tigger to go in your Winnie-the-Pooh themed nursery!  Yeah. I sometimes forget that I was the kid in girl scouts who was not only not very good at arts and crafts, but who would throw her arts and crafts violently across the room or on the table in frustration and then cry.
  6. Table and stools for kitchen: The Civilized Citizen – I will be taking all meals at the table from here on out because eating in front of the TV is for heathens. But I really just want to sit on my super comfy sofa. And – hey! – there’s a new episode of Ru Paul’s Drag Race available On Demand.  And I can just pull over this stool and use it as a tray table…
  7. Ulysses by James Joyce: The High-brow Literate Lady – I don’t even know what I was thinking when I purchased a book that entire semesters of college experiences are dedicated to. If this book needs a professor and a syllabus to decipher, am I really going to get through it?  Plus my Harry Potter collection is on the same bookshelf. And I’d choose Harry Potter any day.

In thinking of all of these items (and many more), my newest idea is to try to be as minimalist as possible. To go through all of my stuff and jettison things I have not used in a year plus. Because maybe it is my destiny to be the no-fuss, no-frills, no-crazy-amounts-of-extra-bedding-in-the-closet type whose apartment is always ready for visiting and whose every item serves a function. Maybe. But I do have a magical unicorn 20% Off Your Entire Order coupon from Bed, Bath and Beyond waiting for me at home…