No more GERMS! (no more Fester!!)

Hey, everyone! I have found a new, gorgeous apartment, all to myself and my cats, and I am blissfully roommate-free! Before I embark on my lovely, one-bedroom-apartment life, I wanted to do one last Fester dump of an entry. I know, I wrote a book here, but keep in mind that this all happened over months and months. Even when I tried my hardest to ignore Fester and keep the peace, he was still fixating on me, and I documented everything in case his behavior escalated to the point where I felt unsafe.

When it became clear that Fester was just a childish coward (funny, considering how many times he called me a coward), I kept on documenting. Now I'm going to share this lengthy roommate rant with you... one last roommate rant from the apartment I lived in for 8 and a half years.

Fester's rules:

• I am a coward because I never said anything to his face when his being a gigantic slob got on my nerves (not true at all, but someone has a very selective memory, and it isn't me).
• I am a coward for posting anything about him on my blog or Twitter. Also, even though I was obviously venting, didn't expect him to read any of it, and didn't use his real name, he seems to consider this harassment.
• I am a coward when I don't post anything about him on my blog or Twitter. To the sane person, it should be obvious that I stopped posting about Fester so that he'd calm the fuck down and ignore me as I tried to ignore him. Yeah, that didn't work. He is obsessed with me.
• I'm a coward for leaving notes about cleaning up after himself when it became obvious that Fester wouldn't talk to me in a rational manner. He insists that this never happened (by note, of course), but he has gone into his room and yelled at me through the door in the past - and he's yelled through his bedroom door at me SINCE he insisted that he's never done that. He sees no problem with leaving typed-out notes for me on the stairs up to my room, with passages from my blog inserted to show me how awful I am.
• I'm a coward for contacting Shon, the landlord, about things that Fester has done. I did this after talking to Fester and notes to Fester didn't work. I did this when Fester stopped being a slob in general and started constantly trying to yell at me and bother me on purpose (in fact, Fester told me - through a note - that he would change none of his behavior, and that I should move out if I didn't like it). At that point, I had no idea if he was dangerous or not, and my friends and my own mother were telling me to watch out for him, because he was obviously unhinged. So yeah, I contacted my landlord. 
• I'm somehow admitting guilt for whatever stupid bullshit Fester accuses me of if I don't contact Shon. Also, I'm a coward.
• When I argue with him, I do it like a coward. Apparently I don't look at him enough or something...? Really, the sight of him makes me nauseous. He's all dingy and gross. And, when he starts yelling at the top of his lungs and spitting all over the place, it's not like he's capable of being reasoned with. Just because he starts a fight about something completely moronic doesn't mean that I'm obligated to let him finish. But, of course, he doesn't get this.
• When I refuse to fight with him because I have better things to do, I'm a coward.
• Nothing that he's done - clogging the toilet multiple times, telling me that I need to clean the fridge out for him, leaving disgusting messes in the sink and on the countertops, letting things rot in the kitchen, stuffing the garbage as full as possible and then blaming me when the garbage bag breaks, doing things on purpose to annoy me, etc., etc. - justifies my behavior towards him. This is another way of saying that Fester can do no wrong, and I'm an evil witch for expecting him to clean up after himself like an adult and to not act like a gigantic, festering douchebag.
• Fester thinks that he will "win" if I move out. I don't really care, since I am now rid of him and his disgusting, poisonous presence, his douchey, loud voice, and his gross messes.

yo-ho, yo-ho, the quiet life for me

I am at my best when things are orderly and quiet. This isn't something that I used to be able to admit to myself - I wanted to be wild and crazy, at least sometimes. I wanted to be the kind of person who can pack a bag and fly off somewhere on a whim. The kind of person who is called on to bring a party up a notch. Or, let's say this: I wanted to want to be that kind of fun, zany person.

But I am what I am. And I am a person who craves a reading nook, a pot of tea, a cat in my lap. Tranquil, light-filled rooms.

Traveling doesn't interest me much, and while I can certainly party, I don't really want to be the center of attention. I like a plan, direction. A place for everything, and everything in its place.

Lately I've been all frenetic and messy, and I've had trouble focusing. I've been sleeping horribly. Nothing feels calm or true. I know that I just need a quiet weekend of reading and tea to get back to myself, and I know that it won't happen this weekend. But I have this image in my mind, and I'm striving for it.



Heaven.



Stoker

I love Design*Sponge's Living In series - the writers post stills from and blurbs about their favorite movies, accompanied with items that evoke the movies' atmosphere, which the reader can purchase. The idea, of course, being that we would all love to live in these movies.

One of my favorite genres is the Gothic family drama/mystery. I would love to live in some of my favorite books: The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield, We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson. I like dark, unsettling tales focusing on monied (or formerly monied), insular, odd families.

I saw the movie Stoker on Sunday afternoon, and it was a movie after my own heart. I can't say too much without giving anything away, but the film is about a young woman, India, whose father has just died, and how she and her emotionally brittle mother deal with the appearance of India's sinister, beautiful uncle. Who no one knew existed. Dun Dun DUN.

We have the huge, gorgeous house out in the Connecticut countryside, removed from town. We have a family that barely seems to speak, shaken by the death of a father and the appearance of a family member never mentioned before.

We have a constant, dreamlike feeling that something peculiar is going on. And there is a sort of distorted quality of time, heightened by the camera's fixation on items from another era - saddle shoes, a vintage Jaguar. It wasn't until halfway through the movie that I realized that it was set in the present day, not the early 1960s.

I loved this movie. I loved the atmosphere of this movie, especially. I loved the house, which managed to be both light-filled and foreboding. I loved the clothing. I loved India's quiet watchfulness (Mia Wasikowski is perfectly cast). Oh, and Matthew Goode.

Matthew Goode.

So I have a new movie obsession, and it would be downright criminal if Design*Sponge doesn't do a post about this movie at some point.

spring fever

I like very strong, very obvious beginnings and endings. This is why seasons (especially in western New York) have always sort of annoyed me. Spring especially. Spring is the shortest season in this area, because we go from freezing cold to oppressively hot way too quickly.

I know it's only the first day of spring, but I am so done with the snow and the wind! Especially after my driver's side windshield wiper snapped off on Monday night.

It's cool. Tree needed an oil change anyway, and I wasn't super impressed with the Bosch windshield wipers, which were described as "the Porsche of wipers" when I bought the car. Whoo-freakin'-hoo. They weren't that great in the rain or in the snow. So oil change tonight, and cheaper, probably better windshield wipers.

Yeah, my car also needs a severe cleaning, but why bother when it's still snowing and crappy out? And I have some sweet new stickers to slap on my car, including an incredible Tom Waits sticker, but not until the car is clean.

Not until the snow stops. Which could be mid-May.

There was a weekend, a few weeks ago, when it was 70 degrees out. The sun was lovely. I had my car windows down, the sun roof open, and how sweet it was. One afternoon, I stopped by the local wine bar, and they had their door open. And now I want that really badly! I want some springtime. I want to be able to walk without looking down to make sure that I don't slip on ice. I want to be done with winter hats and gloves and scarves. I want a lighter coat. I want sandals on my feet. I want porch beers and warmer breezes.

I would settle for seeing some crocuses.

Ms. Social

It was such a beautiful weekend.

I took the longest walk on Saturday afternoon, after a little spring cleaning in my room. I ambled all over Buffalo. Everyone I encountered was so bouncy and happy, because the sun was finally out, and the snow was mostly melted. People were gardening, or riding their bikes, or washing their cars. I quite enjoy winter, but we hadn't seen the sun at length for weeks, it seemed, and the Vitamin D was much needed.

I went to a charitable beer blast on Saturday night - I know, so unlike me, but "charitable" is the key word here. But the beer on offer was high-quality stuff, and for $20 I drank as much as I wanted from 7 to 9 PM, and a lot of money was raised for a good cause. Afterward, I went with Julia to see the Albrights at the Sportsmens Tavern. My eyelids were drooping at the end of the night, but I was social for a while there. 

Yesterday the weather was even more gorgeous, so I decided to walk down to the local movie theater to see "Oz the Great and Powerful." It was an interesting story, and beautiful, but some of the CGI was weird, and James Franco was a little too... James Franco for me. Having every female character in the movie fall in love with him immediately was pretty laughable, since I find him annoying and not handsome. And one character's angry yelling, which was supposed to be scary and powerful, just sounded kind of teenagery, petulant, and bratty. Not frightening.

Then to Just Vino for Green Dot Day, a wonderful invention. Basically, any glass of wine from an already opened bottle is half off. Ami and I had some nibbles and some wine, and enjoyed the lovely breeze coming in through the open door.

It's supposed to start snowing again this week, but it was nice to have a weekend of sunshine and fun, to hold us over until spring gets here for real.

there and back

House should renew Violence Against Women Act

"Last year, House Republicans blocked renewal of the law because they objected to extending the law’s protections to Native American women, lesbians and illegal immigrants. Those women, including thousands here in Western New York, also deserve to be protected against domestic violence."

*~*~*~*~*

I visited my family for the long weekend, and it was a good time. For the first time this winter, I didn't have to drive through any white-outs, there or back, and I didn't have to clean off my car once. And I got to see all of the nieces and nephews, except for Izaak, who went on vacation with his aunt and her family. We watched some Harry Potter, we watched some Jurassic Park, we watched some Powerpuff Girls. I finished the last season of "Justified" and caught up on "The Walking Dead". I played race cars with Johnny (more accurately, I stole his race car, and he chased me around and took it back).  

Zelda and Floyd loafed around.

Owen took a bubble bath and insisted on reading a book in the bath, just like I do. PRECIOUS! And yesterday Kailyne was reading some little kid comics on my mother's Kindle, and doing a great job at it. And mom and I had a reading party on Saturday afternoon. 

I read "The Great Gatsby" for my book club. It has occurred to me that I should reread a lot of the things that I read in school, because I resented and rejected anything that I was made to read. I've sort of mentally thrown out some really good stuff in fits of wannabe-intellectual rebellion. Luckily, I got over this attitude by the time I got to college. But it would be helpful to revisit some things that I read in middle school and high school, from an adult point of view.

*~*~*~*~*

I'm about to start reading the "Game of Thrones" books. I seen the TV show, and now I'm about to get all the way obsessed.

*~*~*~*~*

I managed to slice open the tip of the middle finger on my right hand. It doesn't hurt much, but it looks gross, and it's inconvenient for typing. And, yeah, in true clutz fashion, I sliced my finger open on a tube of toothpaste. I didn't even feel it... I just looked down and saw the blood. As usual, I was distracted at the time. My poor hands.

  

all brain

I flopped down on my bed yesterday afternoon, stomach first. My body started settling into the bed and relaxing, and I was really paying attention to every second of it, every minute change in my arms and neck and back and legs. And it occurred to me that, unless I'm in some sort of pain, I don't really pay much attention to my body and how it's doing.

I don't feel the need to push my body to its limits, to train for hard things. No Mount Everest, no Iron Man. I don't feel the need to perform yoga moves where I balance on my arms, upside-down. I admire the drive of other people to do such things, but I don't value these things for myself. I don't even exercise, beyond a vigorous walk and a few flights of stairs every day. Sometimes I watch something like "Kill Bill" and then have momentary flights of fancy like, "Ooh, I should train to become a ninja assassin!", but these moments pass pretty quickly. I would much rather push my mind out past its boundaries.

My brain feels flexible, agile, capable of anything. My body, strong and sturdy though it may be, is clumsy and awkward. Good for walking without tripping (mostly), and moving furniture, gracelessly. I am constantly getting bruises on my legs and hips, scrapes on my hands, because I'm so caught up in my thoughts that I don't pay close enough attention to objects that I'm trying to walk around or interact with.

Sometimes, when I'm reading or concentrating on a task at work, my body completely disappears. I get so lost in my mental gymnastics that I may as well be a brain in a jar. Or Krang.

The only time I feel a nice mind/body synchronicity is when I take long walks around Buffalo. My mind is free to wander, unfettered, and my body is free to move, move, move. Sometimes I get into a state where every though, every swing of my arms feels so in tune. And then I feel less antsy.

I feel more connected, less lost in my head.

"I was just wondering if we could share organs, if needed."

 me:  Hey, what is your blood type?

 Julia:  I have no idea

 me:  Huh

 Julia:  how does one find out something like that?

do they tell you when you give blood?

 me:  give blood, or your doctor knows

I'm O-Neg

 Julia:  universal donor

 me:  I was just wondering if we could share organs, if needed

 Julia:  are you afraid someone is going to take a kidney while you sleep?

 me:  Nah, I'm a light sleeper 

I honestly don't know what made me think of it

I don't even know what blood types Mark and Nicky are

though they are both smokers and drinkers

 Julia:  yeah, you probably wouldn't want their organs

 me:  I'll bet Ami's organs are pretty healthy

 Julia:  yeah, she doesn't even swear to blacken them

 me:  and she eats a lot healthier than I do

dude, if swearing blackens your organs, I'm fuuuuuuuuuuuuuucked

 Julia:  haha

 me:  it says a lot about both of us that you're just rolling with this

 Julia:  i'm totally, "you bring up an interesting point"

 me:  "Ooh, which of my friends and family members would be harvestable?"

"Or nice enough to give me something that they don't absolutely need?"

 Julia:  haha

So, you know, this is what I chat about with my pals. It's good to know where you stand.

snippets

Finally, someone common-senses all over the gun control debate, in an enviably concise way. (Yes, I just used "common sense" as a verb).

*~*~*~*~*

I wrote my master's thesis on David Anderson's mother, Martha Jackson. The news of a print sale from Anderson's collection, to benefit local community organizations, makes me happy, happy, happy. Even if I can't afford to buy anything (I would love to get my hands on a John Hultberg print).

*~*~*~*~*

I'm going to surprise just everyone by saying that, so far, this winter has not been wintery enough for me. Where is my blue light? Where is my snow-quiet? I want these things. I haven't even gotten to shovel yet. And we just had our thaw, a month early, so the snow that fell while I was away has completely disappeared.

I miss my winter light.

 *~*~*~*~*

I am not one for chain restaurants, and I pick on my sister all the time about her love for them, but damned if I didn't get a massive hankering for Outback Steakhouse today. Either the Alice Springs Chicken, or a steak. Ooh, and a Bloomin' Onion. Ooh.

"See the cat? See the cradle?"

There's been a bit of a local kerfuffle about a teacher being forced to remove her religious items from her classroom in a public school in Cheektowaga. I believe wholeheartedly in the need for separation of church and state ("state" does include public schools), so I agree with the school district's stance that there is no place in this school for the teacher's religious beliefs, which were both prominently on display and, apparently, used in lessons she taught.

The comments are fascinating to read. A lot of the commenters rightly point out that most of the "Christians" who are horrified by the school district's actions wouldn't be quite so horrified if the teacher put up Muslim or Buddhist or Satanist items and was told to take them down. And I love that it was a student who complained about the teacher using Bible stories in some of her biology lessons.

*~*~*~*

I know, it's been a while, but I have not been getting up to any shenanigans lately. I have been quiet and content. And none of my deep thoughts feel very blog-worthy right now.

Work is going well. I hang out with friends and have a few drinks, when needed. My leisure time has been spent reading or watching a TV show or movie. Mostly reading, voraciously reading, with Floyd in my lap, trying to nuzzle my book. My reading slowed down over the holiday season, but now it's back in high gear, with the prospect of my very first book club membership on the horizon (hooray!). Right now I'm reading "Cat's Cradle" by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., and I'll be reading "Stone Arabia" by Dana Spiotta for the book club.

I saw "Django Unchained" last weekend, and loved it so much more than "Inglourious Basterds." I knew it was going to be difficult to watch in several places, and it was, but I didn't expect it to be so funny. Tarantino gets a lot of shit for being bombastic sometimes, and I really think he should quit trying to act, but he can do some things. He can do some things.

Otherwise, I have been obsessed with "Pitch Perfect," both the movie and the songs. This morning I woke up with the "Just the Way You Are/Just a Dream" mashup in my head.

Last night I finished the 3rd season of "Six Feet Under," and it destroyed me. I watched the first season when it was on HBO, but then I moved to Buffalo for grad school, so no more HBO, but my friend Julia owns all of the seasons and is letting me borrow them. And JESUS. That show is so good it makes me hurt. Especially the finales.

a long winter's nap

Lately, all that I've seen and heard indicates that a lot of people I know didn't enjoy 2012. I certainly have had sad times in the past year (mostly regarding the passing of my coworker, Robert), and quite a few angry times (though I enjoy those, maybe overmuch). But I also remember a lot of fun, and laughter, and good times spent with good people. A lot of metaphorical sunshine, and delicious beer, and moments that made me wish I was a poet, they were so sweet.

...Too much?

Well. I mean, my car tried to kill me, but then I got a new car. That kind of sums up the year for me. Things may have sucked somewhat at times, but then they got better.

I am looking forward to 2013.

After last week's many, many activities, I have spent this week hunkered down with my family. We celebrated Christmas with a delicious, delicious ham. We watched all of the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy, the extended version, and mom and I went to see "The Hobbit" today. I have played a ton of video games, mostly "Red Dead Redemption: Undead Nightmare."

The snow has been plentiful and pretty. And my new car Tree does pretty well in it, which is lovely to know.

And I have slept. Glorious, long sleep, and naps whenever I like. This is something that I'd like to continue in the coming year. Good, glorious, long sleep.

christmastimeishere

It has been a whirlwind of a week, with the shopping and the parties and the eating (the kind of eating that makes you tired). Cheese. So much cheese.

We had our company holiday party at a bowling alley on Tuesday. We also had "theme teams," which is not really my thing, but I did participate, a little. We were the Rough Rockers, and our team was worst first game. We cheered very loudly when we won. Rock stars don't care about high bowling scores.

Bowling is something that I definitely don't do enough of. I had the power, but my aim was non-existant. If I bowled on a regular basis, it would be like learning to do lay-ups in basketball - a struggle, and then a click, and fluid movement that you don't even think about. I could get into bowling. And then I could have my own, beautiful ball, and a chamois to clean it, and a nice bag to put it in, and my own shoes to wear.

It was kind of fun to go out Christmas shopping, after the bowling party, dressed as a rocker. I finished all of my shopping and wrapped EVERYTHING that night. And Wednesday was our team holiday luncheon, catered by Moe's. A fajita bar, people! I am so addicted to Tex-Mex right now. And, on top of that, we had a chocolate fondue fountain.

And Wednesday night was my first White Elephant party. It was so much fun, although I expected really horrible gifts, and a lot of the gifts were pretty useful and not horrible. Someone did get a Ted Nugent CD, though...

There was the cutest little guy there, a 16-month-old baby. He kept sharing his toys with everyone, and his books, and his creepy baby doll (when I held it and pressed on it, it said, "MAMA, CHANGE BABY!" in a very scary voice. No thank you!). He was very interested in all of the host's books, and he kept pulling down the biggest books he could find. He'd plop on the floor and go through the books very carefully.

Anyway, I ended up with some very old, very dusty red and blue candles. And one holder.

Last night I had a little kiki with some coworkers, and we tried the lovely Bubbly Flight at Just Vino, and then I ate at Fat Bob's for the first time ever! I can't wait to have my leftover Texas Mac N' Cheese for lunch.

WHIRLWIND. I am very happy to have been such a social butterfly all this week, and to eat all of this wonderful food (so much cheese). I will also be very happy to pack up the car and drive to my mother's tonight. Even if I have to drive through Winter Storm Draco - awesome name, by the way - I will get there, and I will relax and enjoy a family Christmas.

some moments (many zombies)

Just some little, recent moments that made me happy about my life:

- Sitting at a bar with Ami and Jon, celebrating some good news for Ami. We had the drinks (wine slushies for me) and the food, and we laughed and talked and were interrupted by a colorful gentleman who banged on the window and waggled his tongue suggestively at us. And I discussed the new zombie features of "Call of Duty: Black Ops 2" with one of the bartenders.


"WINE SLUSHIEEEEEEEEE!"

- Watching older "Tales from the Crypt" episodes, including one of my all-time favorites, "Easel Kill Ya." It stars Tim Roth as a stereotypically starving, alcoholic artist who finally starts making money in the worst way possible. My favorite Tales episodes have the skilled irony of an O. Henry story, mixed with the gore and sex that early '90s HBO was pretty much known for. There were a lot of Tales episodes that sucked, where you could see the irony formula and the "twist" coming from a mile away. But when it's done well, it's done WELL. And Tim Roth is hot.

Murder Painting

- Playing "Left 4 Dead 2" and battling a Tank. Little Miss Lyra came walking through with my brother, and as she walked, she started cheerleading for me, with arm motions and everything. "Go Sarah! Beat the Tank! Kill the Tank!" Since she usually cheers for the zombies, I found this quite remarkable.

KILL IT WITH FIRE.

- Walking with Owen and Kailyne through a very light drizzle. Owen started running around in a little parking lot, acting like a zombie and scaring Kailyne. She was freaking out, so I acted like a zombie and chased Owen, and then we were all shamble-running together. Zombie style. This continued for longer than was strictly necessary, and we must have looked like crazy people. But we enjoyed ourselved immensely.

Pretending

- Driving Owen to his mother's house. I am still not used to having CDs in my car, after 12 years of a tape deck, and I changed all of the CDs on Friday, before I drove down to my mother's. I had no idea what was in the CD player, and when Radiohead's "The Bends" started playing, I wasn't sure that Owen would like it. He's 6, and his taste is appropriately awful for a 6-year-old. But instead of some variation of "YUCK, what is this?", he asked very politely what it was. When I answered, he asked what my favorite song on the album was, and then he asked me to play it. So we spent the rather short drive to Nicky's house listening to "Fake Plastic Trees" and pointing out the best Christmas lights on the way.


Lighting up the night

- Hearing "She's So High" by Tal Bachman on my iPod. I remembered how much I liked the whole CD, and I wondered if he'd released anything else. I did a little research and came across his biography online - he left the Mormon church because he didn't think it made sense, and he'd commented on politics and literature on several Canadian news shows, just all of this interesting stuff. I love it.


"Joseph Smith is full of shi-"

the wonderful world of data entry

Years ago, I graduated with a Master's in Art History, just as Erie County cut its funding of the arts. I could have gotten upset about it, but I needed work and food and was unwilling to move away from my family and friends for a job in my field. And so I fell into several kinds of "office job," I helped create a few new kinds of "office job," and once, I worked in a warehouse where all of my coworkers were men. That job was great, until someone found out that I had a Master's degree, and all of my coworkers started acting like I was a peculiar species that they'd never seen before.

It was at this warehouse job that I discovered the wonderful world of data entry. A guy would sit in the front office and enter orders into the WAY outdated AS400 system, and then we would all fill the orders in the warehouse. I was sort of half-assedly trained as the guy's back-up. I was perfectly content to work in the warehouse, filling orders and joking with everyone (and I have never been more muscular than I was while I worked there). But one night the office guy didn't show up, so I had to enter all of the orders that came in over the phone and the fax machine. And the guy never came back, so his job was mine - we found out later that he'd been arrested for DWI in Pennsylvania, where they do not mess around. He sat in a jail cell for several days.

The office was kind of lonely, with everyone working out back in the warehouse, and the entry wasn't terribly difficult. Just different 6-digit numbers which corresponded to items that different stores were ordering. These numbers, over and over and over. I would just sit in the office, listening to music, typing in these numbers with my right hand, tabbing through fields with my left hand. I started to see the numbers whenever I closed my eyes. But I found that I had an aptitude for this work, and that I enjoyed it, even though it didn't take much thought. And, once the orders were all in, I could go back into the warehouse and fill orders and joke around with all of the guys.

That job didn't last long. The entire place was shut down when the owner was convicted on federal charges. But I enjoyed the job, and the data entry stuck.

Now I'm working at a much more respectable place, non-profit, of course. We have a very worthy mission, which we are all dedicated to. And I am much higher up on the data entry food chain. My job requires accuracy, focus, and a lot of independent thought. I troubleshoot, I offer solutions, and I have a lot of variety, from day to day.

Now I get annoyed when data entry is put down in TV shows or movies. It's true that I never would have considered this as a career when I was younger and just entering the workforce. It's true that I just fell into it. But I am so suited for it, and I still enjoy it, all these years later.

Programming note

My roommate Pothead is now Fester, because he fits several definitions of the word and looks like Uncle Fester with hair. FYI.

I'm still on the high road, since I haven't resorted to illegal email harassment like he has (NOW WITH PROOF!), and I know that he was the one "anonymously" commenting on this blog.

Maybe hide your IP address when you're harassing me, dipshit. Or, in your own interest, knock off the douche nozzle behavior, because I am documenting everything.

the high road

I think I can safely say that things are out in the open with Pothead. As I may have mentioned before, he's been doing things specifically to piss me off lately - things like opening the shower curtain every time I close it, opening the kitchen garbage can every time I close it, etc., etc. I wasn't sure where this new surge of rampant immaturity was coming from, and I didn't really care. I just sighed and closed the shower curtain, sighed and moved his dirty dishes out of the sink so that I could use the sink, sighed and closed the garbage can...

 

Well, I did put a note on the garbage can, very polite, because the aroma of garbage is actually not appetizing at all.

 

I know, you are all, "You and your notes!" But believe me when I say that notes are better for me, in many ways - anytime I verbally bring up anything, Pothead immediately goes to Douchebag Level 2 or higher. One time, he seriously did go into his room and start yelling at me through the door, like a small, bratty child. I cannot stress enough how unbelievably ludicrous that was to witness, let alone be a part of. Pothead obviously can't handle hearing that he needs to unclog his own toilet messes (I'm never, ever going to get over this), or do his own dishes.

 

I don't seem to be the only recipient of this behavior. I've heard him do the same thing on the phone, several times. I don't want to hear him on the phone, but he really does just start yelling THAT loudly, seemingly out of nowhere, and I can hear it everywhere in the house. I have heard this, and I have experienced it for myself: trying to talk to Pothead calmly is a one-way ticket to a screaming argument. Or possibly the police being called.

 

My name is Sarah, and I am a passive-aggressive notewriter. Sue me.

 

Anyway, I put a friendly note on the garbage can. And Pothead wrote something on the note about hearing me call him a douchebag outside his room one day. Whoops! And yes, this is where I got immature (well, even more immature, at this stage), because why should Pothead keep all of the immaturity to himself? I wrote yet another note (hey, it's better than a punch in the face) that was all, "I'm sorry that you heard me call you a douchebag, but in my defense, I was probably dealing with one of the following situations:".  And then I listed out quite a bit of the douchey behavior.

 

I'm assuming that this whole "douchebag" episode is what caused him to start trying to piss me off on purpose, instead of incidentally, through laziness and inconsiderate behavior. Because apparently Pothead's response to being called a "douchebag" is to... act even more douchey. Pothead Logic!

 

The thing is, I certainly am a bitch, and I have a hard time letting any sort of bullshit go. I'm not exactly proud of these things - they just are. I freely admit it. But, had I been nicer, Pothead would still be a belligerent prick. And I can't imagine anyone being so nice that they wouldn't be resentful of a roommate who is a constantly inconsiderate slob. I don't think I'd ever want to be that nice.

 

I acknowledge that writing my last missive wasn't the "high road" thing to do, and that I'm just inviting more bullshit from him. I acknowledge that I've gotten a little too into the spirit of 'YAY, ARGUING!" that the anonymous blog comments from last week (which I'm about 80% sure were written by Pothead) brought up. It almost feels nostalgic; I used to feel this way when I started fighting with my first roommate in grad school, all "Oh, why is she being so awful, and ooh, what's going to happen next!" It's very akin to reading a sibling's journal, knowing you shouldn't, feeling so excited at the same time.

 

The problem, of course, is that I don't have the energy for stupid feuds anymore. When I was in my early 20s, I was all, 'MA HONORRRR!" But now I'm 34, and I don't give a shit whether Pothead likes me or not, but I also see no value in "winning" any sort of argument with him. I've got my cool job, my nice car, friends that I adore, an awesome family. I don't need to "spice up my life" with this kind of pettiness. And it doesn't feel mentally healthy to want to continue an argument or feud.

 

So, it was fun for a bit, but I'm done. I tried ignoring Pothead before, but I didn't try hard enough. I'm certainly going to try harder, though it may be difficult, knowing that we live in the same house, which he hardly ever leaves. But I'm just going to live my life, and he can go on ahead and live his, hopefully ignoring me, like I asked. I've certainly got better things to focus on. I certainly hope that he does, too. 

 

I left my nasty note, and I probably shouldn't have, but now it's all out in the open. And I'm done. I'm going for the high road. 

Zelda Lee

Zelda doesn't like to leave the kitchen, at least while I'm paying attention. I suspect that she wanders the house in the night, while I'm sleeping. I've found her sleeping in the living room; as soon as I walk in and see her, she runs to the kitchen. She was adopted, and she's had quite a few homes, so I'm not sure how old she is, exactly, but I just thought that she was getting older, more sedentary.

When it's warm, she lays in the kitchen window, soaking up sunshine. When it's cold, she likes to be on the heat vent. Or she'll be under the kitchen table, on one of the chairs, wrapped up in the tablecloth. When I try to coax her out of the kitchen, or when I grab her and bring her into the living room or the family room with me, she politely puts up with me for about a minute, and then she runs back to the kitchen. She likes the kitchen. We call her the kitchen cat.

I noticed that she was a bit more active at my mom's house in the summer, but I figured that she was just excited to be in a new place, with a giant dog, and different beds to sleep in, different people to awaken with her LOUD, LOUD PURRING. And she was still very much herself, lazing around unless there was cat food involved.

Well, the cats and I just got back from 5 days at my mom's, and Zelda was a fucking maniac the whole time! She tried to get into the garbage repeatedly. She tried to dart into the refrigerator and get at the turkey carcass whenever anyone opened the door. She jumped up ON the fridge (pretty spry for an older cat). She got yelled at left and right, and she did not care a whit.

On the other hand, she visited us in the living room, which she didn't really do before. She wanted to cuddle, which she doesn't ever want to do. She slept with my mom every night, when she wasn't trying to get into the garbage. She was a completely different cat.

But, we're back in Buffalo, and she's back in the kitchen. Resting up for Christmas, I guess.

Mom's bed, in the process of being made, with a Zelda accent pillow

haters on the blog *EDITED*

I am enjoying the most incredible Thanksgiving break with my family - so much good food, so much relaxing, so many giggles from various nieces and nephews! I'm having such a great time that today is the first time I've checked my email since Tuesday. I was delighted to find some comments from a person called 'Eric.' Normally I just delete hateful comments, because I don't have time for that bullshit, but these comments made me LOL, so I decided to share them with you, along with my comments in bold.

Hi, my name is 'Eric'.

-Um, are you not sure of your own name? Or is this your clever way of pointing out that it's an alias, and that you're too cowardly to put your real name? Either way, not an auspicious start.

I'm in grad school for psychology, and lately I've been "practising" for lack of a better term, analysing people's blogs.

-Oh... great... that certainly sounds promising. You're “practising.” Because you can't think of a better term. By analysing my irregularly updated blog. I'm sure you'll be useful.

Here's what I believe to be the armchair version. I came across this blog, via twitter. What stuck out to me about your tweets was the level of negativity. Almost all your tweets have to do with people annoying you, or how stupid your co-workers are. When someone concentrates so much on people's negative traits, it’s almost always a defense mechanism; you don't have to work on and improve yourself if you put that energy into people’s negative traits, real or imagined. ; you look a lot better to yourself if everyone around you is unintelligent/ annoying.

-Wow, you got all of that from 140-character tweets? You're going to be the best psychologist EVER!! (P.S. That was sarcasm. Since you couldn't seem to perceive that most of my tweets are sarcastic or tongue-in-cheek, I felt that I needed to point out the sarcasm I'm directing at you.)

"Off to see The Avengers! I think there are going to be some annoying people in there, if the lobby is any indication". This is actually a cry of attention, more specifically affection.

-Yes. I definitely was craving affection from the methhead at the movie theater. Hey, wait, I saw the Avengers last spring. I'm sorry, are you analyzing my blog, or my Twitter feed? Or are you stalking me?

Please consider the possibility that every person you know, and every room-mate you’ve ever had is annoying or unintelligent.

-Why? I've certainly never said that, and I certainly don't believe it, so why should I consider it? I know a lot of intelligent, interesting, un-annoying people, and I've had some as roommates. The roommates I bring up on my blog are not in this group. Wow, 'Eric,' please consider the possibility that you're ALREADY failing as a fake psychologist, with your sweeping generalizations.

The odds that the issue lies with everyone you know, rather than with yourself is statistically insignificant. I'm sure it's crossed your mind, but not too many people would put so much energy into complaining about a room-mate.

-See above re: NOT everyone I know is mentioned on this blog, negatively or otherwise. And... how would you know how much energy I'm expending, unless you're stalking me?

It's completely obvious, textbook even, that you have unresolved romantic feelings for him/her ("Pothead"). I would recommend that you initiate a dialogue, unrequited love isn't healthy.

-Yes, nothing makes me hotter than a dude who can't flush the toilet without clogging it, who can't be bothered to clean up after himself, who sits in his room all day and all night like a mythical troll under a bridge, which results in a sepulchural pallor to his skin (look it up If you need to, sweetie)... yeah, I'm swooning while I write this. Pothead sure is a catch!

It's unfortunate that you're not very attractive (as evidenced by your twitter pic). That is the root of your problems, although a malignant tree seems to have grown, complete with bitter fruit, which, again, is unfortunate.

-Whoa, nice root/tree imagery. You're, like, TOTALLY going to be a poetic psychologist.

The causes are usually quite typical: around the time you entered secondary school, that's when you started to notice that there was a difference between you and the other girls. Guys would notice them, and not you. Because of this (and this is quite common), you became angry, meaning you're most likely hard to deal with.

-Oh shit, you figured me out! I need to go out and get a bunch of plastic surgery so that I can look like a Barbie Doll and get some male attention.

Usually a female in this situation doesn't have or get along with many males, and most times the only people that you're comfortable hanging out with are meek women, letting you be the "alpha".

-MEEK women? You obviously haven't met my female friends. So you're not a very good stalker either. And wait - if this is "quite common," and I'm the "alpha" because I'm ugly, does that mean that all of my "meek" friends are hot? They'll be happy to hear that, so I can't wait to berate them for it!

When someone develops this sort of personality, it’s a defense mechanism. In this case, you having a bitter angry personality puts the power of not dating in your hands. Perhaps you have a history of having crushes on openly gay men; this is safe for you, because there’s no chance of anything romantic developing.

-OUCH. Words can hurt like a fist, 'Eric'! And, since I'm female, I can't be angry for a good reason, right? For instance, I can't be angry because Pothead is a douchebag; it must be because I can't find a man!

In effect, men don't look at you, so you've turned bitter, making being eternally single seemingly your own choice: "I am my own boyfriend!". However, that's a very two dimensional way to be, and I imagine not very fulfilling. You must agree as well, it seems that you fill the rest of your life with being such a staunch liberal, a devoted aunt.

-I only became a “staunch liberal' so that I could get laid.

If you continue on this path, they'll be the only "children" you will ever have, you have almost full-blown cat-lady syndrome, as we jokingly call it, and that's no way to be.

-By “we,” do you mean the psychological healthcare community? I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to pick on the people you're trying to “help”. AND I'm pretty sure that the whole “cat-lady syndrome” joke isn't limited to the psychological healthcare community. Also, if you'd bothered to read more than one blog entry (since, as you say, you're analyzing my blog), you should have noticed quite a few mentions of the fact that I don't want children, and don't give a shit about getting married. Although you seem to have a pretty dim view of women, so I guess you think I'm lying. Misogyny isn't cool, 'Eric.'

So, in conclusion, here’s a few tips: You should immediately change your diet, bad eating habits are a huge factor in people’s moods.

-...How do you know what I eat, since it's not on my Twitter or blog? Again, I'm going with stalker.

By the same token, you should do as much cardio as you can, you’d be amazed at how good you feel when you drop a few pounds.

- See above, re: stalker. Although apparently you're too lazy to stalk me while I am walking everywhere.

I also highly recommend seeing a psychologist. Also, you probably need some antidepressants, and/or anti-anxiety medication. If you are already on medication, it needs to be tweaked, it’s not doing its job. Well, I do hope I’ve given you some insight, good luck!

-are psychologists the people who CAN'T prescribe medication? YOU ARE NO HELP AT ALL.

-But wait, 'Eric' isn't done yet!

I did forget to mention something...when someone like you (fat, flat-chested, unfortunate-looking and a bitter, abrasive personality) a lot of times force themselves to become a lesbian.

-Wait, is this critique of my appearance still from my Twitter pic, which shows me from the neck up? Not too smart, 'Eric.' Oh, and this sentence made no sense. I'm pretty sure that psychologists need to be able to write complete sentences that make sense, dude.

This is a bad move. Women are not going to be interested in you, same as men, until you take care of at least one or two of your main issues, as listed in the parenthesis above. Although, there is always the possibility that you're already a lesbian, that you've already been too scarred by the rejection of men. You should make as many changes as quickly as you can, judging by your pics on twitter, you look to be in your early 40's...statistically the chances of marriage go down drastically every year. More advice to follow....

-Wait, are you advising me to “force” myself to go lesbian, or are you advising me to make your recommended changes BEFORE I “force” myself to go lesbian? But if I make the changes, and the men fall all over me and quit rejecting me, why would I “force” myself to go lesbian (because, in your warped little mind, women only go lesbian if they can't get a man, not by choice, apparently)? Your reasoning is just plain bad.

I'm pretty sure that 'Eric' is someone who knows me IRL, possibly even Pothead himself, in which case, I'm impressed by his spelling, although some of the sentences don't make sense. I'm not so impressed with the punctuation - it's called the COMMA; look into it!

'Eric' says that he'll be back to offer more advice, but I don't think so. My blog, my rules, my comment moderation. And, since I use up SOOO much energy being negative and ugly and fat and flat-chested, I just don't have the energy to pick on 'Eric,' should he ever actually come back.  (That was more sarcasm, 'Eric.')

To sum up: EAT A BAG OF DICKS!

*EDITED* - 'Eric,' I'm done with you. You seriously have nothing to offer, your "advice" is trite and meaningless, and you're obviously full of sour grapes and hatred for me. So give it up. Maybe look into why YOU'RE so negative and hypocritical, and why YOU think that all women are just starved for male companionship, even if they're lesbians, I guess. (Hint: all of this is your problem, not mine.) Maybe go get some help for yourself, since you seem to have so many problems with women, especially with strong females. Either way, get off of my blog, mmkay?

update

I'm not sure how many people come here hoping for a roommate rant, but if anyone does, here is an update on living with Pothead:

He was gone for more than two weeks recently, and it was pretty awesome. At one point, I wondered if he'd moved out under cover of darkness, as so many have, because he doesn't have a job and maybe can't pay rent. But since Floyd kept breaking into Pothead's room and leaving the door open (cats are so inconsiderate), I could see that Pothead's stuff was still in there. And I dreaded his return.

One night, I went to bed in a nice, quiet, empty house. The next morning, I came downstairs and found the toilet seat up. I seriously felt like I was in a scary movie; my face was horrified, my eyes were darting all over the place. Ewww, Pothead was home.

I don't know where he was, but since he came back, he has been worse about doing his dishes and cleaning up after himself. The clogged toilet has started happening again. He seems to go out of his way to mess up everything I neaten, whether he actually uses it or not.

The door-slamming has gotten both more violent and more frequent. Now it is not enough to slam a door so hard that it sounds like a gunshot and shakes the entire house. Now he is slamming a door, opening it, and then slamming it again, two or three times. This morning, I came out of the bathroom and went into the kitchen to get my lunch together. Pothead went into the bathroom and slammed the door four times. FOUR TIMES. I don't understand! That door will stay closed by itself if you close it normally, and it has a lock! Why would you have to slam it four times?!?

Oh, and last night I was making dinner for Julia and I, a nice pasta feast. Pothead kept coming into the kitchen, shoving himself right in my way, being a general douche. It's probably not a bright idea to shove right in the way of someone who is trying to carry a huge pan full of boiling water and pasta to the sink. Someone who dislikes you intensely. But Pothead doesn't seem terribly bright.

I've started to wonder if maybe he is mentally unstable. When I came home on Saturday night, he was on the phone, screaming at the top of his lungs. This went on for an hour. So many times, I've heard him talking on the phone in a normal, reasonable voice, and then, out of nowhere, he'd start screaming as loud as he could. And whenever I try to talk to him about anything, he retreats to his room and starts yelling at me from behind a closed door.

Whether Pothead is unstable or not, he is definitely polluting my home environment. I'm not the kind of patient person who can work all day and then come home to loud, obnoxious bullshit, and messes that I'm apparently supposed to take care of. I need a certain amount of quiet, and I'm sick of having to come home and deal with all of the household stuff, when I'm the only person with a full-time job. It's becoming apparent that I might need to think of removing myself from the roommate situation. If it's not Pothead, it's the Kid, or the woman who thought she had a voodoo curse, or the woman who kept stomping around and screaming while having a mental breakdown. There's always an awful roommate waiting to pop in when someone leaves (though no one has been as quickly or consistently awful as Pothead). I just can't deal with such things anymore. Should I have to?

I saw "Skyfall" last weekend.

WELL! I am not a huge James Bond fan, because cool cars and watches and gadgets can't help me overlook what a douche Bond tends to be. But this newer Bond, while still a bit of a douche, is a more tortured douche.

Ouchie on my feelings!

Otherwise, the story was really good, the cinematography was AMAZING, and I absolutely loved Bond's relationship with M (I worship Judi Dench so much). The bad guy creeps me out, and rightfully so, and also, I have always been creeped out by Javier Bardem. Ralph Fiennes' character was a surprise, and Ben Wishaw plays the new Q, and he's all young and cocky. It's a good time.

SO CREEPY

Oh, and the fashions and makeup are great - there was a super-dark lipstick in one scene that I'd like to try. And, while I've never been into Daniel Craig or James Bond, Craig's body is niiiiiiiiiiice. 



Want that lipstick!



And Sam Mendes directed the movie.

I really loved "Casino Royale," but this movie is better. In my ever-so-humble opinion. Well worth a see on the big screen. Even though I was sitting next to a woman who seemed to be drunk, and was hooting and hollering and clapping at every little thing, I really enjoyed myself.

Here are some words: Guns. Emotions. Explosions. Scotland. Struggling. Razor. Island. Radio. DAME JUDI MOTHERFUCKIN' DENCH. (Sorry, that was a phrase.)


Did someone call for a bad-ass?



gold leggings

I went to my mother's for the weekend, and it was very fun and relaxed. Mom and I planned to teach my Aunt Connie "The Facebook," but Aunt Connie was too busy with the birth of her latest grandchild (HOORAY!), so we spent a lot of time at home instead. I played some video games with my nephews, and I caught up on "The Walking Dead."

There were flurries on and off all weekend, tiny little powdered-sugar flakes that disappeared as soon as they hit the ground. Owen got excited when I told him it was snowing, but there really wasn't a lot to see.

Yesterday we had a birthday celebration for Malachai, whose actual birthday is tomorrow. Eleven years old... I got him some books, and an awesome birthday card that made the kids laugh and laugh (it was a pee joke, quite juvenile). Mom made peanut butter cake, and we had ice cream. And there was a lot of general yelling and running around.

I wore my gold leggings from Halloween specifically to horrify my sister. And she was horrified. When I was driving everyone home, I got out to hug every niece and nephew, and Nicky said, "OH MY GOD, you don't have to get out of the car!" A true fact - no matter how old you are, it is still fun to embarrass your siblings. Plus, the pants are comfortable. And GOLD!

*~*~*~*

Pothead has been gone for two weeks or so, and it has been nice and quiet at home. Shon and I have thrown away a lot of Pothead's rotten food, but I'll take that momentary inconvenience over Pothead blaring videos on his computer, and slamming everything, and being a pig. Floyd has been breaking into Pothead's room to sleep during the day, and he lost his collar and tag somewhere. I'd rather buy Floyd a new collar and tag than touch anything that has been lying around in Pothead's repulsive room. Excluding Floyd, of course.

Although I do want to give Floyd a bath every time he comes out of that nasty, nasty room.

The Ghost Who Walks

I had a marvelous coworker named Robert. I used to love going to him with work questions, because it would never just be a straight question-and-answer session. Instead, it would turn into a chat about food, drinks, house repair, music, movies, whatever. Every time he saw me, he would chirp my name in a funny, high voice that always made me laugh. He was a pretty happy guy; even when he was swearing at a database, he seemed joyful about it. And let me tell you, hearing someone say, "You dirty motherfucker!" in a joyful tone is a DELIGHT.

Yes, I very much enjoyed Robert. And everyone else in the office very much enjoyed him.

Robert passed away last Friday, after a brief illness. We're all going to miss him so much. Rest in peace, Robert.

*~*~*~*~*

I have fallen into and been consumed by Karen Elson's album "The Ghost Who Walks." I've had the album for a while, and I liked it before, but lately I can't stop listening to it. She's a bit like the Pierces, maybe spookier, her voice smokier. I'm jealous of her songwriting abilities, and her voice. Oh, and she's a model. And she was married to Jack White - when they announced their divorce, they did it on an invitation to a giant party that they threw for the occasion. Isn't that the coolest? I mean, if you're going to get divorced.

*~*~*~*~*


Tomorrow night is the yearly Halloween party at Ami and Jon's. My costume is done, and I can't wait to wear it. A sparkly gem sweater (gems applied with tacky glue), gold leggings, glittery gold flats, my hair into a huge bouffant in front, curls in the back, red 1980s eyeglasses, crazy rainbow makeup. This is my muse:

Leslie Hall!

exhilaration

There are so many things that I love about autumn, beyond the falling leaves and the back-to-school feeling. There is a sort of wildness in the air, not as stark as winter, but more grounded than the summer. In the autumn, I feel more tied to the soil and the trees I grew up with as a child. And the idea of witches flying through naked trees, or of skeletons dancing in midnight graveyards, doesn’t seem so fantastic.  

I am normally a careful driver, but in the fall, I find myself racing the wind with my car. I love the scuttle of dead leaves over black asphalt.

I remember having my very first (and last) taste of Southern Comfort in a tiny country cemetery surrounded by cornfields. It was a grey afternoon in autumn, and it was the wild feeling in the air that made me take a swig, rather than any sort of peer pressure, or any desire to taste illicit liquor. The cemetery didn’t feel macabre or elegant; it felt sort of thrilling, but also cozy, nestled as it was in the countryside. Still, it wasn’t a great stretch of the imagination to picture dead things reanimated, rising from their country graves. And that was part of the excitement.

My favorite sorts of horror movies to watch in the fall are the ones that prominently feature the woods. I find the woods at night scarier than urban or suburban horror settings, but I also want to be there, running wild. It’s the yearning combined with the fear that exhilarates me the most.

Even though

I had a looong weekend, almost half of it unintentional, because I was sick. I couldn't tell you what I came down with, because it felt different every day. On Thursday I had a sore throat and that head cold feeling; on Friday I felt drugged to the point of exhaustion - I came to work feeling fine, but had to leave early because I could barely lift my head; on Saturday I felt great, if a little sniffly; on Sunday my sinuses were wreaking havoc (not infected, just inflamed); yesterday I was OK but tired.

It was sort of exciting but also awful to see what each new day would bring, in terms of symptoms. It was awfully exciting.

And it was lucky that I felt OK on Saturday. I was able to leave the house to see "Pitch Perfect," which was so great, and to buy groceries, which were sorely needed. Since I believe in the healing power of beer, it was procured and drank (drunk?) on Saturday and Sunday, which is why I felt alright yesterday. Don't argue with me - it's SCIENCE!

Otherwise, I sat on the couch in the family room, alternating between watching "Twin Peaks" and "The Walking Dead," season 2. It's my first time watching "Twin Peaks," and even though I know the major spoilers, it's still a delightfully weird and occasionally very disturbing experience. I love how people alternate between telling Agent Cooper that his out-there methods are the only thing that will work and telling him that he's crazy. I love that all of his dreams come true in some way. I love the (seemingly) random storylines outside the scope of the Laura Palmer murder investigation. Like Nadine going into a coma and waking up with superhuman adrenaline-fueled strength, convinced that she's back in high school. I am retroactively sad that the series didn't last longer.

I don't know if I mentioned it, but a group of friends and I are planning to attend the Prom of the Dead dressed as Twin Peaks characters, and I'll be going as the Log Lady.

I've got this face down already.

Once I finish "Twin Peaks", I'm going to start rewatching "The X-Files." It seems like a natural progression.

Anyway, I also got a lot of sleep from Wednesday night on, and even though I knew it was a bad idea, I took a two-hour nap yesterday afternoon. It was almost like a nostalgia nap, to commemorate all of the sick-sleep I got all weekend. I didn't get to sleep last night until 1 AM. I guess after 10+ hours of sleep every night, and naps when needed, it was inevitable that I'd sleep to the point where I couldn't anymore. But it was lovely while it lasted. Even though I was sick, the sleeping was lovely.