Shake It

It's time for an update about stuff going on around the ever-lovin' apartment bldg! Yay!!!

Bldg. Manager Lady's just back from vacation. She wasn't here for my radiator problems--which I drafted, but never published, in a post called "I Should Be Steamed"--so good for her. (And good for me, after a few misfires, leaks, and a midnight visit from Johnny the maintenance guy.) Anyhoo she's really into her work, because when she ran into me and this other guy, we welcomed her back, and she thanked us and then asked us how our apartments were. Ya gotta love that kind of dedication.

Speaking of dedication, I recently (September) made my 10-year service anniversary at my place of work. Clap, clap, go me. That's staying power. The workplace always holds a service anniversary luncheon for those who've managed to last 5 years or more. The party's only for those anniversaries that occur in increments of 5 years--5, 10, 15, up to 35...I guess they figure by 40 you're out the door, dead, or you've been asked to retire so you can quit accruing or adding more to pension or 401k or whatever*--so tough luck to you folks who've put in 4 years, your time will come. Maybe.

Each time you have an anniversary, more pages get added to your gift catalog. For people like me (read: indecisive), that's a double-edged sword. On the one hand, yay, more gifts to choose from. On the other hand, crap, more gifts to choose from. It's not like all of the options are great, and there are always some I can mark off as a 'nope' right away, though I *did* consider getting the shop vac for my mom. (But we bought a bigger one over Xmas so that pretty much negated that.) I was also intrigued by some char-smoker grill thingy, but since I live in an apt with not much ventilation, it didn't seem like a realistic option. I can just imagine what sort of damage I would do to this place if I had the char-smoker. I mean, in my many years here, I've managed to ruin the stovetop--guess that stone scouring stick wasn't my brightest idea--chip the drywall (dang laundry basket banged into the corner) and, well, you get the idea. I don't want to be responsible for smoking out half the residents, especially given my past complaints about folks who smoke in the hallway. (They still sometimes do, btw.)

And I still haven't used my 5-year gift either, an electric sandwich maker. I don't really see the point. I like cold sandwiches usually (unless we're talking hamburgers or hot dogs, and even then I don't really think of those so much as sandwiches, though I guess technically they are) and I am not a fan of the whole panini craze. Gah. Paninis, flatbreads, focaccia. What's next? Matzoh sandwiches in your grocer's freezer? (Good pesach btw to all my compadres.)

Anyhoo my choices this time around are between the Hamilton Beach DrinkMaster and some speaker amplifier docking thing for the iPod. Truthfully, the DrinkMaster won my vote early on, but I'm nothing if not a waffler. (They didn't have a waffle maker, and even if they did, it wouldn't make my shortlist. Not when I can buy frozen ones from my Aunt Jemima, anyway.)

The DrinkMaster is one of those weird machines that allows you to enjoy milkshakes and soda fountain drinks from the comfort of your own home.

I love milkshakes.

One of my fave treats growing up was a grilled cheese sammich and vanilla shake at the local pharmacy. In fact, I raved about it so much that my bro used to make fun of me. He'd mock my excited voice, saying "Ooh, phaaaaaaarmaaaacy name..it's..it's.." until I felt kinda membarrassed. (That's mad and embarrassed.)
Fortunately the membarrassment didn't last. (I just happen to remember it, is all.)

But seriously, I gotta wonder, given the Electric Kool-Aid, I mean Electric Sammich Maker, and how I've had thoughts of regifting it....will I really *use* the DrinkMaster? Or will I maybe make one shake, let the novelty wear off, and then cram it into a cabinet to sit collecting dust? (Probably.)

Which brings us to the iLive docking thing. Now, I recently purchased a tiny speaker set I can use with my iPod. The set's maybe a few inches long, and really, in a studio, I don't need to be blasting my music. (Hint hint to neighbors.) Plus, I'm not WhoAmUsAnyway, and my music needs are sated. :D

Or...

Are they?

In the end, after pricing both options on the Internet and deciding what the hell, if I want the other later, I can buy it, I went for the DrinkMaster. I can play my 50s and 60s music, put my hair in a small ponytail (if there's any left after my cut on the 18th) and bop around my apt while drinking a vanilla shake through a blue-striped straw. Because for me, a service-anniversary gift is something I would like, but wouldn't normally buy for myself.

Speaking of things I wouldn't normally buy for myself...and back to the opening of the post, it seems my apt bldg is not feeling the effects of the recession. Or maybe we just have a funny way of showing it.

On Thursday, we got new washers and dryers! And they're front-loaders (yeah, yeah, good for the environment, but they don't seem to hold as much stuff) and oh yes, we have a new card system.

Instead of counting quarters and putting our pocket change to good use, now we're going to be bled dry courtesy of the new laundry machine card system.

What's the card system? Everyone's issued a card with a gold computer chip thing on it. We stick it into a machine and add money to it. Then we can do our laundry by inserting the card into the slot on the washer or dryer and watch as the money is deducted.

I'm sure this is probably good news for some -- not to mention we now have eight machines of each instead of six -- but my first thought was, "Aw shite, wtf am I gonna do with all my quarters now?!?"

I refuse to use Coinstar. I will NOT be charged money (8% last I checked) to convert my change into bucks. And I don't want their stupid, "We won't charge ya if you take your payment in the form of a gift certificate from Starbucks or Amazon."

FUCK YOU, COINSTAR! I don't need you to dictate how I'll spend my money.

And forget about going to my bank. They're closing my local branch on the 20th. And even if they weren't closing, they didn't have a coin counter last time I went. ^{Note: I never did go to WaMu...good thing.}

On the plus side (because let's face it, I'm not 100% negative), you can add money to the card by debit or credit or here's a twist, good ol' American cash!

I added 20 bucks to my card today and decided to do some laundry. Oh and by the way, they've upped the price. Used to be a buck twenny-five to wash and a buck to dry. Now it's a buck fifty to wash and a dollar twenty-five to dry.

Fuckers.

But I need to do my sheets and stuff so what can I do.

There's also a new way to add detergent. Instead of just putting it in the machine, there's a slot compartment that you pull out that has three recesses. Two small squares to the left and a big rectangle to the right. Each machine has a sign taped to it warning against using too much detergent.

I scanned the directions but didn't see which hole I should pour my liquid All Free & Clear into. Would it make a difference? They're all holes.

I poured it into one of the tiny squares.

Then I noticed the diagram on the machine that said where shite's supposed to go:

Compartment A (upper square) - fabric softener
Compartment B (lower square) - bleach
Compartment C (Big Rex-tangle) - detergent.

Well fuck. I'd put my detergent in the bleach square.

I wondered if it was too late to do anything about it, so I pulled out the compartment and saw a bunch of bubbles frothing.

I shut it right away. Last thing I need is to fuck up the new machines and get the floor wet, though maybe it would be justice in light of the radiator problem. Nah.

I stayed for a bit to see the new machines at work. They have glass doors so you can see stuff going on, i.e., if the water will become soapy. While I was hunched down peering into the machines, a girl came in and asked this guy if one of the machines was broken. He appeared to have knowledge, which kind of surprised me. I mean today is Saturday and we only got these machines on Thursday (or was it Wed), so how many fricking times has he done laundry anyway??

He wasn't super helpful.

He left, she left, and then she came back with Bldg Manager Lady.

Apparently the dryer deducted money from her card but the machine wouldn't work.

Being nosy (I mean helpful), I moved closer and inserted myself into their conversation in an effort to help troubleshoot the problem. I had maybe 5 minutes' experience down there with the new system, so I wasn't going to be much help, but whatever, global community, you know?

In the end, BML told Girl that she needed to contact Coinmach to get her money back. The girl basically said it wasn't worth it, and I have to agree with her. I mean I tried getting money back from the soda machine and the vending machine one time. I called their number, got some raspy recording -- and by that I mean, not the voice on the recording, but static on the machine -- and was like, "Wtf kind of operation are they running?" so I abandoned it. They want all this info, like machine number, place of residence, apartment number, last time you were body cavity searched, so I just hung up. Maybe 20 years ago I'd have persisted but not anymore.

I asked the chick if she had enough money to put on her card and she said yeah so I left.

Then I came back upstairs to download some songs for the iPod -- damn, maybe I should have ordered the speakers...oh well--and turn my mattress. The box springs have been super squeaky of late. I barely move and it sounds like a carousel out of Something Wicked This Way Comes, except without the eerie music and with more creaking.

My other post, should I decide to follow through, is your basic Flapjam-style rant. (More fun to write, but taxing on the spirit, etc., to relive. But I already have a title, and really, that's the part I like best!)

Flapjam extra: New stuff on my iPod

• Here Comes My Baby - The Tremeloes
  
  A boppy dippy song, at least the way they do it, but I prefer it to the Cat Stevens original.
  
  


• 1234 - Plain White T's
  
  I heard this song in a cab the other day and looked it up cos it was catchy. So catchy, in fact, that it merited my .99 on iTunes. Now I feel all hip.
  
  


• A Well Respected Man - The Kinks
  
  I've always liked this song, but they used it recently in an ep of Supernatural and so I thought it about time to download.
  
  


• I Go to Pieces - Peter and Gordon
  
  I caught part of one of those shows on PBS recently that shows oldies and the folks performing them. I mistakenly thought it was going to be more of a video jukebox, but I was wrong, and man, have a lot of these guys lost it. It was sad, so I turned it off after a while. They did, however, show a few old videos, which almost made it worth it. Anyhoo, I saw Peter and Gordon on there and figured I should get another song of theirs. I already have "A World Without Love" and this is a good complement. Maybe because it sounds almost exactly like it. Heh, just kidding.
  

Oh and Happy E to anyone who celebrates it. May the bunny's chocolates be edible and in great supply.

^{*I don't profess to know anything about the pension or 401k beyond the fact that I stick money towards/will get money from both or whatever.}

Xanadon't

OH FUCK I HATE MY COMPUTER!

It just erased all my goddamned post. I hate rewriting. I hate my computer. HATE HATE HATE.

Ahem. Let's see if I can recall any of this, but I doubt it, since it's always stream-of-consciousness and I never remember what I say. Or what anyone else says for that matter. It's not because I don't listen to folks, it's just my retention has waned considerably over the past 10 years. I don't know why. I can't really blame drugs, unless it's the over-the-counter kind like Sleepinal. But I haven't had any lately so who knows. Anyhoo.

--------
I used to love the movie Xanadu back in the day. I don't know if it's because I saw it for free--my best friend's family owned/managed movie theaters--or if it was during my "I heart Olivia Newton-John" phase (thank you Grease) or if it was the soundtrack.

The soundtrack, at least the ELO part of it, was awesome. I remember buying the album at Heck's, a local discount house somewhat like K-Mart, only much better in my opinion. Heck's used to have a snack bar that served the best cheeseburgers ever. I loved those cheeseburgers. What a treat it was to order one, watch it fry on the grill, then hold it snug in its little wax-paper wrapper and savor each delicious bite. You could also buy a cup of ice for a nickel, too. Why bother buying a soda when you could chomp on ice for cheaper, right? Heck's closed many years ago, but before they did, they took out the snack bar. A little part of me died that day, and it wasn't as much fun to shop there anymore. I still can't drive by there without feeling sad. I think there's some stupid sporting goods store there now, but who knows.

So I saw Xanadu on ABC Family the other night. I hate ABC Family because they just canceled Kyle XY, and are populating the schedule with a bunch of crap that doesn't deserve to be on the airwaves, in my biased opinion. So fuck them.

If you haven't seen Xanadu, you may be better off for it. As a child, I loved the flick, and I could even bear watching it as recently as 11 or 12 years ago. But last night, as I got sucked in, I found myself wondering WTF was going on. The plot, if there is one, could be summed up as: Muse (Olivia Newton-John) drops down to Los Angeles to inspire suffering artist (Michael Beck) and help him realize another man's (Gene Kelly) dream of opening a club. She sort of falls in love with Michael Beck's Sonny (not sure why, he's kind of a jerk) but they can't be together because, well, she's a muse.

The movie is basically a musical that makes no sense. Or is that redundant. There's even a wacked-out scene where the Michael Beck and Olivia characters suddenly morph into crappy animated figures to the tune of "Don't Walk Away" (ELO). WTF? Seriously? Why?

Because it's 1980, there is a lot of roller skating, too. In fact, everyone roller skates, even Gene Kelly. (I have to admit he's better than I ever was.) The club Xanadu ends up being some weird place where people just roller-skate around a small stage. There's a bar, but I don't know if they serve food. They don't delve into those types of particulars. They don't really delve into anything. And heinous outfits abound.

Mainly, I feel bad for Gene Kelly. Sure, he's danced with cartoons before, but making the man endure this is just horrific. Try not to cringe when you watch it.

I'm usually fine with cheesetastic stuff--sometimes you gotta revel in cheese--but this movie is beyond craptastic. I don't really understand the ending of it, and I can't believe it even got greenlit. I wonder if the person responsible lost his job. (I also can't believe they recently staged a musical of it, either.)

Kenny Ortega, one of the choreographers, went on to better things, if High School Musical is any indication. I've never seen any of those HSM movies, but they can't possibly be as bad as Xanadu. A pleasure dome it ain't.

Be still my heart

Just a quick post to express my dismay, annoyance, and sadness at hearing that The Greenbrier is filing for bankruptcy.

It has long been my dream to go to the Greenbrier. Not only because it's in West Virginia and looks very pretty surrounded by rolling green hills, but also because it's darned fancy, has an interesting history, and used to be the hidey place of important government folks. When I think of the Greenbrier, I think of pleasant summer afternoons, cool breezes, lemonade, and cool marbled hallways. I think of ladies in hats holding parasols and gentlemen checking their pocketwatches. I think of times gone by and croquet and badminton. And sometimes I even think of what it might be like to get married there.

If the Greenbrier is sold to the Marriott Corporation, who's to say what will change, if anything. Maybe nothing will. But it won't seem independent, and it may be a while before I can let my pipedream go.

The Greenbrier: Defining Luxury Since 1778.

The so not Write Stuff

So, I just read this headline on Yahoo! -- my homepage of choice, so get off it, Googlefolk, you'll never convert me, never I say! -- that says learning cursive handwriting in schools is losing importance.

Now, I didn't read further than that -- mostly cos it was actually a video link, and if you think I'm going to tax my poor ol' computer trying to open that effer, well, you're just plain outta luck, but also becos, I don't need to read that damned story to know it's probably gonna say something like, "Yeah, cos kiddies are learning computer skillz at a way earlier age."

I could be wrong, but in the event I'm not, I'm going to continue my rant.

First of all, WTF. I'm sorry, but learning handwriting is a fucking -- oops, there's a form of fuck, which as you know = ire of Flapjam -- basic skill that every goddanged person needs to know. I mean, sure, we're all turning into 'bots and everything, but what about the day when we're all plunged into some kind of nuclear holocaust (ok, not nuclear, too extreme, but you get the idea) and we revert back to the days before the digital age was upon us? When we had to scrawl our math homework on the back of a shovel with a piece of chalk or talc or something? Or (gasp) use a number 2 pencil to color in a blob on a standardized test? What then? If all our kiddies know is how to get carpal tunnel syndrome by banging away on a fricking keyboard, whatever will they do?

Which brings me to point number 2, which, as you probably surmised, is personal.

My name is Flapjam, and I have carpal tunnel syndrome. We're not getting into the specifics of just how this occurred, but I gotta say, when I know that kiddies are being trained on computers uber-early, it irks me. Sure, sure, they're going to have to know how to use them at some point, but do we really want to send them down that road so soon? Well maybe we do. I dunno.

But the point is, all this fricking typing on keyboards is bad for everyone's health. I've said it before...sitting at a computer all day, staring at a monitor and typing away is going to cause some bumps in our evolution.

First off, we're paving the way to the compound eye. I mean, I never saw "The Fly" (not a bug fan), but I don't think any of us wants our descendants to look so damned wacky. How will they romance each other? It won't be, "Baby, I am losing myself in your blue eyes." It'll be more like, "Baby, I can't look deep into your soul, but damned if my reflection(s) ain't fiiiiiine!" Plus, can you imagine the glasses they'll have to wear?

Next, folks will have shortened torsos and realllly long arms, a la Plastic Man. (Or is that Plasticman.) Or Dhalsim from Street Fighter. (Except his torso didn't look that short to me and he was awesome at giving noogies.) Actually being like Dhalsim would rock. Beats Blanka, anyway.

I seem to have drifted away from my original thought. Hm.

Well, you get the idea. Teach the kids to write, goddammit. I'm miffed that I can barely hold a pen, and I am especially miffed that it hurts to write a note by hand. I used to enjoy scrawling notes and letters, and now it's painful. My hands cramp up and my handwriting, which was never *that* great, deteriorates the more I write. I know that some cultures don't even have written languages, so everything's passed down orally, but that ain't what we're talking about here. We're talking about my fear that handwriting is going bye-bye, and I just ain't down with that.

I could rant more about computers and spellcheck and shite like that, but why bother. And just cos I'm ranting doesn't mean I don't use computers. So don't call me a hypocrite.

Now, wouldn't it be funny if that video said they were straying from cursive to focus more on print lettering? :D This is what happens when you only read headlines. I don't recommend it, but it's not like I'm writing a thesis here. Besides, I need to take a nap. I will dream of classrooms where the Aa Bb Cc still frame the blackboard, and kiddies learn how to connect one letter to the next. I'll also ponder why the capital G and Z cursive letters are so weird (but kinda fun to make)!

Thoughts? It's ok if you type 'em. After all, we are blogging here...

George Washington Carver would not be pleased...

The Peanut Corp. is a dirty, dirty company, in all senses of the word. Read about salmonella, how the company shipped tainted products knowingly, and other things that will make you gasp. Shameful.

Don't recall much about George Washington Carver (or as I like to call him, The Original Mr. Peanut)? Get some learnin' here!

Mr. Peanut says, "Don't blame me, this isn't my company. I belong to Kraft, and I'm still safe to eat!"

^{Image courtesy of Wikipedia.}

Caveat Emptor or This post brought to you by...

It's Superbowl Sunday. I hate football, and am not going to watch the game (Go Steelers!), but I'm reminded that this is the time of the year when the best commercials debut. I mean, really, isn't this when the Budweiser frogs came to light? And the Taco Bell lions? Let's take a peek, then, at some of my fave commercials, the kind that make me "shh!" folks because I want to see and hear them uninterrupted. (These may or may not have debuted during the football frenzy, but they're still fab.)

Taco Bell
Taco Bell rules. I mean, when I was younger, I was not a huge fan of Mexican food (yes, yes, it's Mexican), and I still enjoy tacos sans lettuce, but I gotta give Taco Bell its props when it comes to advertising. They have almost always come up with snappy ad campaigns, whether it's the little chihuahua proclaiming, "Yo quiero Taco Bell!" or the Taco Bell lions (a la Ricardo Montalban), or even the original song about Taco Bell. Check out these memorable spots:

From 2007:


From 1997:


McDonald's also scored big with me for their "Mac Tonight" commercials in the mid-80s. Granted, I am not a Big Mac person--I'll take a double cheese, plain, that way you know it's made fresh--but any ad that riffs off a Bobby Darin song and has a likely blind moon pianist gets my vote. The following is a compilation of a bunch of Mac Tonight ads. (I didn't watch them all, but the 2nd and 3rd ones are particularly enjoyable.) Those huge burgers are making me hungry for Mickey D's! (Ok, I just watched them all. Apparently the last one is a special ad for Singapore Mickey D's..they're open 24 hours, awesome!!)



You know, it seems to me that the most creative, fun ads are for beer, drinks, and food. Eat, drink, be merry and all that. Which brings me to my next faves for Dos Equis beer.

I don't drink beer, but I am a sucker for a hilarious ad with great voiceover. "The Most Interesting Man in the World" series gets a thumbs-up from me. I particularly enjoy what the guy says by way of promoting the beer. Now that's an endorsement.





And there are even more to be found, too, not to mention a nifty website.

That's my shortlist, mostly because I'm still sick and need to lie down. :(

In the meantime, do you have any fave ads? Let's hear about 'em!

Back by popular demand!
(One request = popular demand in my book, k?)

VW Jetta's ad "Synchronicity" - supercoolio, right?

Rebirth of the Deathblog: Kim Manners

I had some other tidbits to share, but when I learned of producer/director Kim Manners' passing (Sunday, January 25), I thought it took precedence.

You may not have heard of Kim Manners, but if you've ever seen X-Files or Supernatural (and scads of other shows), you've likely seen and enjoyed his work. (I mean, he even directed the pilot of 21 Jump Street. That one's not my bag, but it shows his range.) I have been a fan of Kim's for years, and was shocked to learn of his demise. He was only 58, after all, and I hadn't even known he was sick.

Read more about the life and works of Kim Manners here:

• TV Guy's Blog


• Variety.com


• TVGuide.com

RIP, Mr. Manners. Your life's work will continue to inspire and entertain. (But I'm still very sad we've lost you.)

(Un)pack your troubles (come on, get flappy)

I fricking hate packing. I don't know why, but I pretty much almost always wait until the last minute to do it. Maybe I just work better under pressure. I mean, I've tried to pack beforehand (like the night before), but I always get bored or annoyed or something's on tv or I need to investigate which neighbor is driving me batty or whatever. Anyhoo the point is, I loathe packing.

I used to hate unpacking too, but I was quickly cured of that. Said cure took place in my sweltering New Orleans apartment in June of 1994. I'd just gotten back from Finland/Sweden -- the only time I've ever been out of the country, btw -- and dumped my one huge suitcase on the floor, thinking, "I'll just unpack this when I get home from work tomorrow." Yeah. However, had I remembered that I'd packed some fancy delicious European chocolates to bring home, sort of a little souvenir, then maybe I would have just bitten the bullet, unpacked everything, and blah blah blah.

But I didn't.

Because I'm stoopid.

Because you know what happens when chocolate is in a sweltering New Orleans apartment?

It sort of undergoes this chemical reaction whereby it changes from solid form to liquid.

Yep, that's right.

It fricking melts.

Which maybe wouldn't have been so bad, except melted chocolate + heat + New Orleans + my apartment = onslaught of hymenopteran creatures. (Because I just can't bring myself to type the word aunts minus the u.)

I am not really going to go into it, but...I really don't like bugs. They creep me out, okay? ESPECIALLY ones that look like a freaking huge organism, when there are soooo many of them being all social or whatever that they look like one big gigantic unworldly ungodly being. YAAAGH!

Ahem. So that's what cured me of my "Gee, I shore do hate unpacking" problem. Now when I get home or wherever the heck my bag has taken me? I unpack right away.

Anyhoo, the other week I was prepping for a jaunt back to the motherland -- that's the land where my mother lives -- or WV in case you didn't know. I took the suitcasey thing out the night before, and the next morning before the flight, I packed.

It is hard packing these days because you have to have a little baggie for your stupid liquid things, you know, ever since that shoe bomber guy and everything happened. So I always have my little Hefty bag ready to go. Its contents usually include:

• a tiny Purell for those sanitizing moments


• a blue pot of Blistex lip balm


• Afrin -- for use before takeoff if you're prone to sinus and headache probs. (Thanks for the tip, Dr. W.!)


• Saline nasal spray -- for use inflight, but truthfully, I never use it.


• eye drops -- is it just me or is everyone experiencing dry eye? I blame computers. And overheated buildings.


• Lipstick -- maybe a tube, maybe not.

Anyhoo, I packed, got a cab, and went to the airport. It's one of the world's busiest airports, but I have to say, it wasn't all that bad the day I was there. Now maybe that's cos it was the Monday of Thanksgiving week, and people don't usually fly until the next day or even later. But in any case, when I went through Security, there was no line. I mean no one was behind me, and maybe there was one person in front of me. Yay!

For some reason, the A-hole who waves you to walk through the scanner held his hand up at me and told me stand aside, I would need to be patted down.

I was confused. I mean, sure, I've been picked for the random frisk before, but this time I was worried that there was something about me or on my person that had caused me to be singled out.

They told me to step inside this cordoned-off area and wait for a lady to get there to frisk me. Meanwhile, I saw my carry-on bag, my purse, and my little Hefty baggy going through the X-ray thing.

The lady finally got there and told me to hold my arms out and keep looking at my bags.

It disconcerted me.

It also tickled me. I mean she wasn't using a wand, people. She was actually patting me down with her hands. It was rather unpleasant. I asked her if I had been picked because maybe there was a bobby pin in my pocket, but she said no.

When she was done, I was told I could leave and get my crap. Blah blah blah. Disconcerted, discombobulated, and distressed, I gathered my stuff and went to my concourse.

I bought some water for the trip -- Dr. W. says you lose a lot of water when you fly, so you gotta keep drinking it to stay hydrated or whatever -- and checked out the bookstore. I had my iPod but didn't feel like listening to music. I ended up buying The Bell Jar because I've never read it before, not because the patdown set me off or anything.

Then I went to Mickey D's. It smelled really bad there. Like burning meat, and not in a good way. It was noxious and there was lots of smoke, but apparently I'm stoopid so I stood in line anyway and ordered a double cheeseburger plain and a small Coke.

When I finally got my victuals, I went to my favorite place to sit down in the airport. It's like this little secret place that few people know about, and so I can't tell you exactly where it is, sorry.

I sat down and prepped to eat my delicious burger. But when I went to grab my Purell from the Hefty baggie, I noticed it wasn't there.

Panicked, I rummaged through the carry-on a few times, then took everything out --there wasn't much...some puzzle books, The Bell Jar, and my iPod -- and nope, the baggie was still missing.

Perhaps I left it at the bookstore, or it fell out or something, I thought. So I ran back there and poked around and asked the clerk if he'd seen it, but alas, no dice.

Maybe you never picked it up after the frisk! It could still be at Security!

So I hauled myself all the way back to Security -- damn these huge airports, they're sure not like Yeager Airport in Charleston, where going back to Security is like less than 50 feet in some cases -- and asked this lady if anyone had found my baggie. She shrugged and went over to this group of scary-looking women who were all standing around laffing and chit-chatting and basically not doing their jobs. I mean I probably shouldn't cast stones or whatever because I do the occasional goofing off myself, but then again, my job isn't to ensure the safety of all the fricking passengers and flight crews and stuff, you know?

So she went over and timidly asked them (not in any great detail) about the baggie and they basically looked at her like, "If we were in high school, you would so be shoved into a locker," and said no.

Fuck.

I ran back to my hidey-spot but didn't much feel like eating the burger, so I went to this store and bought more Afrin, eye drops, and Purell. A big fat Purell, cos they didn't have any little ones.

The whole shebang cost me like 35 or 40 bucks.

On the upside, the flight was on time, early even, and the rest of the trip was uneventful.

I am fibbing.

The flight was on time, but the rest of the trip...well...let's see...

When mom and I got home from dinner that first night--a delicious repast at Long John Slithers--we noticed that the light over the garage was burned out. Bummer.

Except it wasn't burned out, there was no electricity. That's right. A power outage. Yay! A power outage in the winter is a lot of fun. Especially when it's raining like a mofo. Which it was.

When I got out of the car, I forgot my purse was unzipped and my glasses case went flying.

I found it easily enough (thank you cellphone flashlight) and went into the house.

But when I went to put on said glasses...they weren't in the case.

Which meant they were still outside.

In the downpour.

This is the sort of thing that happens to me. I mean, I wasn't wearing my specs because I didn't want them to get wet, and now...

I went back outside in the rain with a bigger flashlight and looked in the car, around the car, under the car. I was a little scared. I mean these are my GLASSES!

Finally, I saw them, nestled right in front of the right rear wheel. Which would have meant Crunch City had mom decided to pull up a bit more or put the car in the garage the next day or whatever.

I rescued the glasses and mom and I spent the evening in the cold dark house singing spirituals (Swing Low, Sweet Charrrriooooot) and playing dopey things like "The Geography Game" - you know, where I might say "Denmark" and then she has to say something like "Kentucky" and then I can say "Ypsilanti" and so on. We also went through the alphabet doing names and things. This must be what people did for fun before the advent of electricity or whatever.

Power was restored the following morning. Yay!

You know, I seem to have gotten away from the whole point of the post, which was to narrate my Thanksgiving tale. Well, here's the short version.

1. Frisking at airport
2. Loss of personal hygiene and health items
3. Loss of electricity
4. My bro's entire family got sick (w/the barfing flu) so we didn't see them at all,
5. Nor did we go up to his in-laws' place in Ohio for Thanksgiving.
6. Mom's basement was the equivalent of a swimming pool that refuses to be drained,
7. And much shop vac'ing was involved. But at least I got to meet the guy who comes over and does that sort of thing for her. (Plus I just found out that he thought I was cute, so that was nice to hear.)
8. My return flight back to the big city was cancelled, so I was stuck in WV for one more day.

On the upside...my new return flight wasn't full, which meant I could move away from my tuna-smelling seatmate and have a whole row to myself. I even sat near the window, which I don't usually like to do. (The aisle seat is important in terms of restroom usage and deplaning.)

I got a good cab driver on the way back to my place (translation: no radio, no weird smells, and no chitchat), and I unpacked right away. I even had the second pepperoni roll I'd purchased in Charleston for dinner.

All in all...an interesting trip.

Btw, I head back to Charleston later this month for a decent amount of time. I don't really know what to expect or what might transpire, so I remain hopeful.

Sort of.

:}

Sung in the key of Gah!

Ohhh...the neighbors next door are yelling,
Their noise I don't see quelling...
And since I've no place to go ^{(for another 11 hours)},
What a woe, what a woe, what a woe.

-----
Let's change it up a bit, shall we? See if you can guess the tune to this little (seasonal) ditty.
-----

Oh my head is aching now...
Can't my migraine take a bow?

Pain that sears into my brain...
Seems to make me (more) insane.

Neither meds nor the shower took...
My eyes won't let me read my book. :(

F*ck! The harried Flapjam thinks...
This damned migraine really stinks.
F*ck - why does the weather suck?
Guess I'm just plain out of luck.

------------
In case you haven't gleaned it, I'm feeling rather ugh. I had started an entry today about something stupid, like which cat do you prefer, Heathcliff or Garfield, but didn't get around to posting it. I also have a tale about my Thanksgiving sojourn (such as it was). One of these days, I will get around to writing it. Hope you enjoyed the xmas songs above. (I'm not xmasy myself, and I prefer cartoon songs like Heat Miser. Never heard Heat Miser? Why, have yourself a listen! Consider it an early (and only) gift from me to you.)



Another Rankin-Bass classic! (The Year without a Santa Claus)

Heat Miser is second in the video. Snappy, aren't they? :D

I need to post more because

That's how my bro is now arranging his links. Dammit, Donutbuzz, why must you call us lazy posters out like dat?

Ya gotta be cruel to be kind, or what?

:)

How to get "Life in a Northern Town" out of your head

Listen to "Positively Fourth Street" on your iPod. (It shuffled up, how 'bout dat?)

Been outta town on a work experience. Will post more later about it, oh you know I will. It involves a resort, a United Mini Meal snack box, and oh so much more.

Your non-posting pal,
Flapjam

For want of a title, Surprise!!

So it's raining like a freak up here cos of Hurricane Ike (no I'm not in Texas but rain travels don't you know) and I'm sitting here listening to the whirrrr of my a/c and various sirens charging throughout the city. But what I just heard in the hallway is a tad more disturbing than that.

Apparently, one of my neighbors is having a problem, cos he just said this on his cell phone:

"Dude, my apartment smells like burning plastic. Like something is going on with the tv, the tv is melting or something, it's hot, and the place smells like burning plastic.....I don't know. My whole apartment smells like it. It's the worst smell ever, burning plastic. I don't think I'll be able to watch the game...oh, the elevator's here, lemme call you back."

Okay. So I'm sitting here listening to this thinking, "Oh sh*t, is he next door? Am *I* going to smell the burning plastic? Did he turn off his tv? I hope he did, there could be a fire. Oh sh*t. Actually I think burning flesh probably smells worse, but...okay, wait, what am I thinking?! Wait. He's worried about missing the game? He's leaving his apartment? Please let him have unplugged the tv!"

**Btw, everything after that paragraph above was lost and goddammed if I can remember any of what I wrote, so I have to redo it and I HATE rewriting shite, especially if I can't remember it in the first place. So the second offering below, I apologize for, and blame everyone for. Ahem.**

Whew. So I was wondering if it was my next-door neighbor who was having this problem, but then figured it probably wasn't, because there's a girl there too, I know because I heard them having a screaming match before work the other week. He called her dumb and yelled at her about money, she cried she wasn't dumb and said that he was rude, and then obscenities flew and he sounded like the kind of guy who could beat the sh*t out of someone and it made me glad I was single. I mean I may be alone but at least no one is going to call me dumb or beat the shit out of me.

Anyhoo, so you know how my building got a new media room? I think I mentioned it when last I blogged about my refrigerator(s). Anyhoo, we now have a new courtyard. Building Manager Lady has been harassing folks about coming to this barbecue to celebrate our new courtyard. She's been pestering everyone all the time whenever she sees them, to "come to our party on Friday." I mean I haven't seen anyone push that hard for anything in a long time, and I used to live down the street from some Jehovah's Witnesses church.

Apparently our new courtyard is at the back right of the building, past the fitness room, which I've never set foot in before, and probably wouldn't ever see if I didn't have to go to this barbecue thing. I think BML said they've been cleaning out the junk and stuff from the alley or whatnot, and getting plants and soil for it and she's really excited about it. Besides her verbal promotions, there have also been signs with different colored balloons on them in the elevators, and invitations with fancy script shoved under everyone's door, reminding us that all the food and beverages will be provided. I don't know, I mean I guess free food is always a draw, but maybe when you're out of college, it's less so.

On Friday after work, I was greeted by BML at the door. She let me and this other guy in so we didn't have to use our security fob things and she took the opportunity to say, "So after you get settled, you are coming back down for the party, right?" To which we both said we would. Other Guy sounded non-committal, but I felt like I owed it to Building Manager Lady to show up. Plus I was curious to see what the hell the courtyard looked like. It also looked like Building Manager Lady maybe had her hair done for the occasion, and it looked pretty good. I think the ash blonde color suits her better than the reddish brown did.

After I dropped off my crap at the apartment, I kept on my turquoise rainjacket with the porpoise (dolphin?) on it because I didn't want to be standing out in the rain. I mean I was sick last week and the last thing I need is a relapse. When I got off the elevator, I followed the balloons along the wall and the signs with the arrows that said "Party this way" and the smoke in the hallway. I went through the fitness room (Hmm...weights, a tv, some machine thing) and stepped through the door and found myself outside. They really had gone all out. There was some blue tarpy thing, tent-style, so we wouldn't get wet, but I kept my jacket on anyway. I mean I ordered it from the National Wildlife Federation and you can't get them anymore but that's another story for another post I guess.

There were long tables set up banquet-style/smorgasbordy, and some lady I didn't recognize was manning the meats. Her job was to ask party-goers, "Hot dog, hamburger, chicken, veggie burger?" and she did her job well. I was overwhelmed. Partly by all the choices, and partly from all the smoke coming from the grills a few yards away. The tables had buns, silver warming dishes, condiments, watermelon slices, other fruit stuff I wasn't interested in, and two big cakes, one of which was chocolate with little red round cherries on top. Next to the table was a metal tub of soda cans. I noticed they had both Coke and Pepsi, and wondered if they took them from the machine in the laundry room. Now that I think about it, they probably didn't.

There was a little radio boom box thing playing some music, this really annoying song that I couldn't get out of my head the other week but would be hard pressed to tell you what it was. I think they used it in an episode of "How I Met Your Mother."

I walked the length of the courtyard (it's not that long) and went to say hi to Miguel (a maintenance guy whose English could be better, but then, so could my Spanish) who was grilling. I didn't see Building Manager Lady yet and I knew I needed her to see me before I could leave.

There were chairs lined against a stone planter wall thing and a few groups of folks were chatting. I figured they already knew each other. Another few folks were sitting alone, chomping their fare, hunched over, avoiding eye contact. I planned to emulate them if it came to that.

It came to that. I couldn't just stand there idly, and I don't feel right busting up someone's chomp-alone time, so I went back to the table and let the lady ask me, "Hot dog, hamburger, chicken, or veggie burger?"

"Wow! That's a lot of choices." I thought I heard someone say steak back there near the grill, but... "Um....hot dog, I guess."

"Pick a bun."

"These tongs require some skills. Skills I don't have." Yep, I can be counted on to make mundane comments in almost any given situation, but I still maintain that those tongs were slippery.

She opened the silver warming dish thing and I saw humongous hot dogs. I don't think they were really hot dogs, they were probably brats or something. Humongous they were, and my heart sank because I really didn't think I'd be able to eat the whole thing. Oh well.

I sat down a chair away from this girl who looked about as out of place as I felt, and took a bite of the link. No condiments, but I did manage to grab a Coke. After a moment, I saw BML coming through a door with a plate of cheese singles (yum) and some other crap. I debated my next move, then ultimately went with it.

"Hi, BML, everything looks great, you guys did an awesome job!"

"Oh thank you for coming! Thank you for stopping by!"

"I'm still feeling kinda sick so is it okay if I go up? I just wanted to pop in to see how it looks..."

"Oh sure, feel better, thank you for coming!"

On my way out, I saw a trash can, but didn't feel right about tossing the dog, so I manuevered my way back through the fitness room, plate and Coke in hand. I'd forgotten to get my mail earlier, so I had to balance that stuff while I opened my mailbox. It totally wasn't worth it--no magazines or even a catalog to read. I ran into some girl and asked her if she was going to the bbq. She said that if she didn't, BML would never stop harassing her about it. I said that's pretty much why I went myself.

Upstairs in my apartment, I could hear the strains of laughter and unintelligible chatter for a few hours. I guess the party was a success. And I even ended up reheating that ginormous hot dog in the microwave, and you know what? It was pretty tasty.

And I guess by now you've realized that I still haven't bought a condo and that I re-signed my lease here. In the end, it just seemed like what I needed to do for right now. And I swear it has nothing to do with the fact that I had an interesting conversation with BML one Sunday afternoon in late July, the Sunday before the Friday that the lease was due.

I had been kibbitzing outside my building, chatting with some guy for a while, while BML was loading and unloading this big van. I waved to her, and then when the guy left, I helped her bring in the heavy potted plants she keeps outside the main entrance. Apparently they bring them in every night because the security cameras once caught a resident doing some bad shite to them. I don't know if the plants were pissed in, or just flipped over, or the pots were broken, but it's also the reason we don't have the four screens on the closed-camera channel anymore. Instead of being able to see the vestibule (to see who wants to gain entrance to the building) and the main desk lobby area, and the laundry room, and the elevators/mail area, now we only get to see the laundry area and the vestibule, and worse still, it's no longer split-screen, so it keeps jumping back and forth every few seconds. It's really annoying but I guess I shouldn't complain...I mean at least I can still see the laundry room to know when it's free.

Anyhoo I was helping her bring in these heavy potted plants (translation: I held the door open for her while she dragged them) and she said she had a surprise for me. A surprise? Usually when someone says 'surprise' my first thought is: something bad! I don't know why.

She said I would get it when I returned the signed lease.

That's dirty pool, don't you think?

I wondered what it could be. Maybe the surprise would be they'd lower the rent. I didn't dare to hope it might be something else....

Later that week, I dropped off the signed lease.

"Thank you!"

Pause.

"Um..you said you had something for me? A surprise?"

"Oh. Well, I was going to arrange something nice for you, I thought you'd be signing on again, and I wanted to do something nice for you. But it isn't ready yet."

"Oh. Is it still a surprise or can you tell me what it is?"

"It's something nice. I think you'll like it. It's for your apartment."

"Oh...okay. Well how will I know what it is, so I can say thank you? Will I notice it?"

"Unintelligible stuff I don't remember."

I left the office that day hoping they wouldn't be repainting, or that she wouldn't give me a basket of incense or something.

About a week later, I came home from work and noticed the surprise. It was hard to miss. Its angelic whiteness lit up the place and I felt aglow.

It was a BRAND-NEW white Frigidaire. That's right, not a fucking HotPoint, a Frigidaire! That means frigid as in cold, air. Not HOT as in why is my frozen food hot!

It was big and beautiful and I fucking loved it. I also kind of thought that's what the surprise would be, especially since on the way to work that morning, I'd seen some weird truck and a guy rolling a fridge off of it, but hey you never know.

I went downstairs to thank Building Manager Lady for it. My grin was so wide I felt like I had the mumps. I thanked her and she said I deserved it and blah blah blah, totally awesome. It's cold. It's beautiful. It's roomy. And it's BRAND-SPANKING-NEW!

So, you can see why I had to go to the barbecue. And I just want to say, I totally would've blogged about getting the new fridge, I even had a title picked out. "A Tale of Two (or Three) Fridges." Or was it Fridgies?

So there you have it. The Summer of Flapjam ends better than it started, and I gotta say, now *that's* what I call a surprise!

:)

Flapjam on the Case!

So I just got a call at work from my Building Manager Lady. I was a little frightened when I saw it pop up on the caller I.D. My first thoughts were:

Oh crap, did I leave something on, like the water? Is something happening to my apartment?

Hm..I hope maintenance doesn't have to come in, because the apt. could be more tidy.

Trepidation and panic rising within me, I answered the phone. Here's the convo that transpired:

"(Standard phone greeting), this is Flapjam."

"Hello, Flapjam, this is Building Manager Lady at Building You Live In. How are you?"

"I'm okay, is everything alright?? What's going on??"

"Everything is fine..."

Audible sigh of relief

"but I had a question for you."

"Oh. Okay. What is it?" Is someone going to complain about me?? Was my tv too loud last night?

"Well, we have a new tenant up on the fifth floor, and he heard a horrible noise last night that scared him, so I know since you're sensitive about these things-"

Hey, I've got a rep in the building for being sensitive to noise! Awesome! I feel kind of proud. Sort of.

"--I thought I would check with you to see if you heard it too."

"Okay..when was it?"

"It was around 2:20 a.m. last night, and it was a loud noise."

"Hm. Well, I actually couldn't sleep last night, so I was up until about 2:00, then I took Nyquil"--Why did I just tell her that??--"but I don't recall hearing anything. Does he live near me, where is his apartment?"

"He is straight down the hall."

"Towards the fire door?"

"Yes."

"Well, you know, the past few nights when I've gotten home from work, I've noticed that door's been open..."--Way to work that fact in, maybe she'll circulate a note about keeping it shut--"and I've gone and closed it because it makes the hallway hot and I know it's supposed to be closed at all times, so the only thing I can think of is either someone had the door open and then they slammed it shut, or maybe it was noise from the back alley. But I really don't recall hearing anything, I'm sorry. I know I usually would."

"Yes, that's why I figured you'd be a good person to call. Well, thank you."

"Sorry I couldn't help..."

"Thank you, bye-bye."

"Bye."

Well. Isn't that interesting? I can totally be thought of as a witness in the building, or a helpful private eye (or ear). Except for this time.

Oh and I totally need to update you on the appliance saga...I just haven't had time to do it yet. But stay tuned.

Until then, keep your eyes open, your nose clean, and your hands to yourself.

(Sorry...been watching too much film noir!) :D

Molly Ringwald said it best...

I loathe the bus.


^{Baffled? See the quote list.}

The Icebox Man Cometh....maybe

So I've been meaning to post this for a while, but have gotten caught up in...well, nothing much really, I've just been kinda lazy. But whatever. The problem is, when things aren't so fresh in my mind, I can get a little rambly. You've been warned.

So I've lived in my apt. for, oh I don't know, maybe 8 years, maybe 9 years, and I moved into it because my old apartment building decided to "go condo." So basically you either had to buy your place or move the heck out. Fortunately, they gave us lots of notice. (Not.) But I was lucky enough to find a place in the same neighborhood, on the same street even--creature of habit, what can I say--so I was happy.

My old place was a tad more spacious, but the problems outweighed the benefits. For instance:

It was always pretty cold in there in winter. So much so that once (or twice) I turned on the oven and sat near it for a few minutes. (I realize this was stupid, but hey, it's not like I climbed in it, or even left it on for more than 5 minutes, so leave me alone.) Since then, I've either become accustomed to the cold, or this global warming thing and other environmental changes have managed to make it seem warmer here than it used to.

So the old place--bigger, yet colder. Compare this to the new place--smaller, yet hotter. That's right. Instead of the weird baseboard heating thing in the old place, this apartment came equipped with a good ol'-fashioned radiator.

Heat, glorious heat, the kind that makes you want cold air.
Heat, glorious heat, sucking out moisture everywhere.

Blah blah blah.

The new building also has on-site management, which means a real live person is almost always down there during business hours, PLUS they have an answering service for those toilet emergencies that sometimes happen at inopportune moments. (Not that there are opportune moments for toilet emergencies, but you know what I mean.)

When I first moved in, there was a guy who worked in the office, and he kind of gave me the creeps. He was one of those guys who thinks he's a natty dresser, stylish, and too cool for school. He also looked like your basic swarthy megarapist. Well, he didn't really, but for some reason I just thought of him as the rapist. (Which reminds me of that Three's Company episode where they think Teri or someone is dating a rapist or something. His business card says therapist, hee hee, and for those of you into trivia and crap, he was played by Jeffrey Tambor. Jeffrey actually appeared on the show as three different characters, I think. But I really am digressing, aren't I.)

Anyhoo, the Rapist did not stay long, and then we had other management folks. I would get used to someone, and then they'd be transferred to a different building. Blah blah blah. The latest lady has been here over a year and a half, and I have taken it upon myself to maintain a good relationship with her.

What the hell was I posting about?

Oh yes. Anyhoo, I'd been in the new building a few years when I noticed that my stupid freezer kind of sucked. It would always form ice crystals on everything, and sometimes the boxes would feel damp, and things would be melty. Then the next day they'd be frozen solid. It was always a crapshoot, and it was kind of annoying. I mean, a freezer is not supposed to make your food boxes wet and flimsy, right? Your food is supposed to be FROZEN, not kinda mushy.

I checked the rubber seal thing around the door, and it seemed fine to me. I opened and closed the door and pressed it, and it didn't feel ajar.

So I told the manager at the time, an eastern European lady (not a rapist), and she said she'd take care of it. I went to work all la-dee-dah, yay.

But when I came home and inquired about it afterwards, she told me that I had packed the freezer wrong, and that they had just moved my boxes around, and that was the problem.

Ok.

I know I was in my 20s then, but I had lived on my own before. Had had freezers/iceboxes before, even.

I'd bought food before.

I'd taken said food home and put it in the appropriate compartment.

I was pretty sure I knew how to open and close the appliance doors.

But damned if I didn't feel like a goddammed fool when she said this to me! I was mortified, embarrassed and horrified.

It didn't occur to me until a bit later to be pissed off.

I'm sorry, correct me if I'm wrong, but is there really a proper way to "pack your freezer" so things don't melt? And if there is, how had I managed to survive until now, when I was supposedly doing it wrong all these years?

Sigh.

So I did what I could to make sure I packed the fucking thing properly so my food wouldn't melt. But it's kinda hard to do when the back of the freezer has a little curvy part to it, so you can't actually put things right up against it. They always slide away from it, leaving a little gap. So you have to get creative.

I got creative.

Lather, rinse, repeat, over and over, add on a few more years. La la. La frickin la.

Cut to April/May of this year.

I'd noticed that my refrigerator's motor was sounding kind of funky, and by funky I mean, it took a fricking long time to cycle. Like there would be NO NOISE from it at all, for a really long time, and then the fan or motor or whatever would start all creaky-like and hum for a little bit, and I felt better. Because if there's humming, something is happening. If there's not humming...I get worried.

I know these appliances have cycles, and it's not always going to be noisy. But it's eerily quiet when your things are silent, when machines are supposed to make noise, and they don't. It's really rather unnerving.

I hate being unnerved by appliances.

Well, I checked the freezer one fateful day in May and lordy lordy, things were as soft as I had ever witnessed them.

Particularly upsetting was the fact that I had just purchased a box of small ice cream sandwiches from Walgreens that day, and now they were just piles of liquid goo.

I had only gotten to eat one of them before the tragedy, too.

:(

Well, as luck would it have it, it was a Sunday night, so I waited until the next morning to report it. (I mean, it's sort of an emergency, but not really, it could wait a few more hours...I guess.) In preparation, I took off all my magnets and bills and put them in a pile.

When I told the lady downstairs (also eastern European, also not a rapist), she said she'd get a fridge in there for me right away, she didn't want me to be without one. She said she'd give me the one she has in the office, that she just uses for milk or a beverage every now and again.

I said okay and went to work.

While at work, I received a gift basket o' food from someone. Oh yummers.

It had mustardy-pretzel things, and a beef stick, and camembert cheese, and chocolate things, like truffles, and nut things, and more chocolate things, and a little serving dish for cheese, and a little cheese knife, and some yummy cookies, and oh my gosh it could not have been any better if I'd asked for ambrosia from the gods myself.

The timing of its arrival was very fortuitous, as I basically had nothing but "dry goods" at home. For dinner, I chowed down on that basket like I've never chowed down before. I'm not sure I even like camembert, but darned if it didn't hit the spot.

Anyhoo, when I got home, the lady told me they'd put the fridge in and for me to go check it out. I went in and saw...

an exact replica of the piece of sh*t I'd just gotten rid of.

It too was a white Hotpoint--and wtf is up with that brand name, btw? Isn't the point of an icebox to keep things cold, not hot? Irony or whatever does not belong in the marketplace.--refrigerator, although it was slightly whiter than my other one.

I opened the fridge and saw that my food had been placed inside of it. I noticed that it wasn't cold, but figured maybe it would take a while for it to get cool. I wasn't sure though. I also checked the freezer.

I went downstairs and told the lady that it wasn't cool, and when did they put it in, because I wasn't sure how long it should take before it was cold. (I mean, no harm in checking, right?) She came up with me and showed me where the air comes out of the fridge part, and said it would take a little while to get cold, and if it wasn't cold tomorrow morning, to let her know.

I said okay. Because it would be just like me to get a worse refrigerator to 'temporarily' replace my own piece of crap.

I should totally be a psychic, because that's exactly what happened.

Within a month's time or so, I noticed the same problems with the freezer. Only this time it was worse, because this time, the icebox part was freaking out too. I mean, the old one used to sometimes freeze my milk, but it was never to the point of being FROZEN SOLID! The old fridge would make what I liked to call 'frozen milk crunchies.' That's when bits of the milk are a little icy and you can chomp on them. I wasn't quite sure why the milk was frozen solid this time because I did not have the setting that high.

My milk was so solid it wouldn't even sloosh around if I shook the bottle. It was just a hard clunky object or weapon now. (You know, in case the swarthy rapist ever came back.)

I went to get some water from my Brita dispenser thing, but when I pulled the blue tab, nothing happened. It was then that I noticed that my water, too, had turned into ice.

Dang.

So I turned the fridge setting down some to see if that would help. The milk never did melt. I took the water dispenser out and cracked the ice. That was actually kind of fun.

But still annoying.

Meanwhile, the freezer had another meltdown, not as bad as the first, though, because I didn't have ice cream sandwiches in it. In fact, I really didn't have a whole lot in there (call me paranoid) but what I did have was soppin' foppin' wet. For a while I thought maybe I'd left the door ajar.

But I hadn't.

Oh and the fridge also started dripping. Like from the area where the "cold air" comes out. It was dripping onto the top of my Kool Aid pitcher. Granted, that pitcher has been in my fridge for a longass time, and I never actually drink it, I think I must just have it in there to liven up the place with its bright red color, but still. A small pool of water had collected on the lid and I was unnerved.

I tried to figure out a way to stop the dripping, but the best I could do was stick a pot in there to collect it for posterity and turn the fridge up more.

The next morning, the water in the pot was frozen, and I was boiling mad.

I went downstairs to tell the lady about my problem. She said she would get me a temporary replacement (refrigerator shuffle, anyone?) because she didn't want me to be without a refrigerator. She said she'd get the fridge guy to look at it in a couple of days. I said okay and went to work.

But while I was at work, something was nagging at me. She had said this thing about the fridge guy (or Icebox Man) before. I never learned what happened. For all I knew, it was fixed and sitting in someone else's apartment by now. I wondered if I would get it back as my next replacement. I wondered why I couldn't just have a fricking new refrigerator. I mean, I've lived there a long time and I'm a good tenant (if not suspicious of my neighbors) and I deserve a fricking appliance that works. I'm tired of not being able to stock up on items for fear that they're going to melt or freeze or whatever. I'm tired of it, I say! I deserve a new fridge!!

So I mustered up some courage and called Manager Lady. Here's basically how the convo went:

"---- Apartments, Manager Lady speaking."

"Hi Manager Lady. This is Flapjam. I was just wondering, would it be at all possible to get a new refrigerator? I mean I'm on my second replacement and I'm just a little nervous about having another temporary one, so I just thought I would ask."

"It is not my decision to make."

"Oh."

"We have a contract with the Icebox Man. He has to take a look at it, see if it can be fixed, and then we'll go from there. We have a contract with Icebox Man. He won't be able to look at it for a few days but that is the process. We must go through Icebox Man."

"Oh, okay, I was just wondering. Thank you."

"Goodbye," she chirped as she hung up on my dreams.

Well. That settled that. I wasn't getting a new refrigerator, who knows if there's really an Icebox Man, and fuckity fuck fuck, I could look forward to another new old refrigerator aka temporary replacement. Yay.

I came home and there was another fucking white Hotpoint fridge staring me in the face. I opened the icebox. The air was very cool, unlike the first replacement when it was brought up. That seemed to be a good sign. Maybe we could make this work.

I put some of my magnets back on the fridge. The good Ande Rooney magnets that I like so much.

I went about my life and waited for the fridge to fail. It's had its moments and it certainly sounds weird, so I'm quite prepared for another round of Refrigerator Roulette.

In the meantime, I got my lease renewal last Friday. Looks like they'll be raising the rent 30 bucks or so. (The building has recently installed a media room where you can use a computer or fax machine for free, and it has wireless. They've also replaced the carpeting in the laundry area hallway, and are repainting the bike room and making an update to the tiny workout room.) They can do all this, but they can't give me a [new] fucking fridge that works.

The letter said they have enjoyed having me as a tenant and would like me to stay. I need to give them 60 days written notice if I want to leave, and my lease is up September 30th.

This offer expires on August 1. So basically I have less than 2 weeks to let them know whether I'm staying or leaving. (I mean, not really, but kind of, you know?) It pissed me off. Like, thanks for letting me have time to make up my mind, maybe find a new place, blah blah blah. Peachy! Oh but I can't have a fridge! Sign me up for that shite! YEAH!!

So I looked at a condo the other night, and am thinking about making the transition from renting to owning. It may be a long haul, and as Karen Carpenter said, I've (okay we've) only just begun. So don't start sending any housewarming gifts my way.

Yet.

In the meantime, feel free to send me good kitchen karma. I fricking need it.

To Tell The Truth...

So, I guess I'm one of these people who tells the truth when exchanging pleasantries. I mean, if someone at work greets me and asks how I am, I'm going to say any of the following, whichever is applicable at the moment:

1. Pretty good, thanks! And you? (This option rarely used.)
2. I'm hungry.
3. I've got a headache.
4. I'm tired.

Etc.

Sometimes I expound on it, too, if there's been a follow-up question. Believe it or not, sometimes there is.

Anyhoo, today I ran into a lady in el bano, and she asked how I was. We chat once in a while since we work on the same floor, and I like her. Anyhoo...I'm still not sure whether I should appreciate the candidness of this convo or marvel at the lack of decorum. (I think I'm going with appreciate, but you be the judge.)

"Hey, Flapjam, how're you?"

"I've got a headache."

Both enter stalls.

"Oh no! Is it another sinus thing?"

"I don't know, I don't think so... You know, I always tell the truth when people ask me these questions. I should really just say I'm fine, you know? Anyway, how're you?"

"You want the truth, I'm bleeding like a pig!"

"Well, you know, I appreciate the truth...."

I don't remember what was said after that, my mind was still in a whirl, but I think I said something about how at least the weekend was coming up. I sort of wanted to laugh--because, you know, other folks had entered the bathroom and I'm sure it sounded like a weird thing to be listening to--but I didn't. I wasn't exactly shocked, but I guess I was a little surprised.

It was kind of refreshing to hear it laid out like that, but then again, workplace, but then again, bathroom, so, who knows.

Anyhoo...how're you?