Coffeebration

I’m mad that my fan died last night. It was the middle of the night and I woke up, feeling HOT. Turned on my little metal super-powered not cheap fan. POP POP POP followed by SPARK FIRECRACKER, smoke, smell of burnt metal. It died. At least while I was awake. I’d hate to be woken by a flaming fan. Fire and electricity are two of my biggest fears. Combined together, I’m petrified. So I was awake forever after that, cringing at the thought of the fan coming to life to eat me. Tonight I was finally brave enough to touch it. I took it into the alley. I hope that some poor unsuspecting fanless soul doesn’t take it home, thinking it is a perfectly good discarded fan. It looks that way, but let me tell ya … its not.

Hair on my bathroom floor no matter how much I vacuum, swiffer, get down on my hands and knees and peel it off the floor. I’m shedding like a cat and I’m not so happy about it.

This smell that is becoming a frequent visitor of my apartment. Nasty poop sewage smell. What is it? Do I need to move, quick?

Buying the wrong plugin replacement for my air-freshener. I didn’t know that there was a difference between a Glade Plug-in and an Airwick plugin. Airwick replacements do not fit into the Glad plug-ins. I remedied that buy ripping them apart and dumping the new stuff into the old one that fits. I have more significant things to worry about than what the brand of my Airfreshener is. Refuse to waste $3. I won’t forget the brand next time.

Having a vacuum that doesn’t suck up all of my hair. No matter what I do, there is still hair. My vacuum contains nothing but hair. It makes me wonder if I will be bald soon.

Being lied to. My dad tells me when he is broke and can’t afford underwear ….that is being treated like a respected member of the human race although I wouldn’t even be mad if he lied about his underwear. It only takes one second to completely lose respect for someone for the rest of eternity.

Having to constantly readjust my volume on the television. VCR tapes suck.

Being too late to drink coffee. I’d really like a cup right now, but I’d also like to get some sleep tonight.

So after much controversy over how to spell our great-grandmother’s name, Julie ended up being correct. I verified this by calling my grandmother again today and she admitted that after talking to Jean, her sister-in law, Julie’s grandmother, that her name is spelled DOROTHA. The process of finding the truth to the spelling of her name has been quite tiring.

After Julie told me that it was spelled DOROTHA, I called my mom to get her take on the spelling. She first told me it was spelled “DOROTHEA”, then it was just “DORTHA”, then “DOROTHA”, and then there is “DORTHEA”. So basically she just made up every spelling she could think of and rambled on about a few things until my dad stole the phone from her to give me the news that the cats had fleas. This of course is horrible news and so I got situated with my bottle of diet pepsi and just listened. My dad is just a little bit insane. He hates sick people and follows them around with a bottle of lysol. He once yelled at our neighbor for having a bird-feeder with an ounce of stagnant water in it, and claimed that it was going to attract mosquitoes and give him the West Nile virus. A few years ago he was bitten by a tick and probably still thinks he has lyme disease. The list goes on and on. He is very paranoid so you can see where I get it from. I like to think that I am nowhere near as extreme as he is and I will hopefully never be that way. At least I know what genetics has in store for me. This is the second year in a row that the cats have gotten fleas, and nobody was really prepared for it last year since our oldest cat of the three is going on 12 years old and none of them have EVER had fleas before. So last year my dad nearly had a nervous breakdown because of the fleas. The dad who never calls me up on the phone unless he has a question or needs something, called me out of the blue, nearly in tears because he had lost his mind and had nowhere to turn to. He’d borrowed a pair of my grandmother’s pantyhose and was wearing them 24/7 because he claimed fleas were jumping on him all day. He bought industrial strength flea powder and spray from the agriculture store, and he had vaccumed the house 15 times, top to bottom, leaving no corner unvaccumed! My mother was not being emotionally supportive of his flea crisis because she ignores problems and said she didn’t care because she couldn’t see or feel any fleas on her. So she was just ignoring him. My parents are complete opposites. My dad thinks every little thing is the end of the world, whereas the world could literally be ending and my mom would still be watching her soap-operas, writing with her glitter pens, and happily drinking her happy little drink. My mother is a whole other story though. Still, even though I think they are the most neurotic people in the world, I still love them. Anyways, my dad seems a little bit more optimistic this year. I guess because he knows what to do this time around and isn’t wasting time on flea products that don’t work. They flea-bombed the house this morning, went shopping, came home and let the cats back in the house, gave the cats flea-dip baths and are now just hoping for the best.

So back to great-grandma. Her birthday is on September 8th and being the wonderful great-grandaughter I am, I am going to send her a birthday card, with this photo …. ya know just in case she forgets who I am. She is going to be 103 afterall. This is a picture of my great-grandma posing with her grandaughter (my mother), my brother, and ME! This was taken on Christmas 2004 and since I promised her I’d send her a picture and never did, I figured I better get on the ball. You know, Christmas 2005 is right around the corner. Time does fly, doesn’t it?

I can’t sleep. I had a converstion with Julie a while ago and somehow we got to talking about bugs that infest our living quarters. We discussed ants, spiders, cockroaches, and centipedes. My apartment has bugs and there is really not much I can do about it since 3/4 of my living space is underground (hence the reason I refer to it as a cave in many entries). There are spiders lurking around sometimes, and I’ve captured a few centipedes. I used to have an ant infestation but its under control now. My most recent addition to the family of bugs around here is the grasshopper. So in our discussion of bugs, Julie was talking about “slimy things” that used to be in her old apartment. Then the slimy things were actually “furry” like catepillars so I sent her a link with a picture of a centipede on it and she confirmed that it was indeed the bug she was talking about. After sending her the link, I actually read the centipede page and learned that centipedes can bite! Their venom can cause swelling and severe pain, but the pain is not much worse than a bee sting. Now all I can think about is centipedes crawling on me in my sleep, biting me all over.

Oh sleep, please happen soon. I have to be at work at 7:30 am which is in exactly six hours. However, if I don’t go insane with work that means that I’m leaving around 3:30. Woohoo. I took a nap earlier because I was mad and napping is what I do when I’m mad. While Julie suggested that I take a standard approach to anger like breaking things or drinking alcohol, I choose to take the less traveled path in my anger management. Breaking things would just make me angrier because after I have my fit of rage I would realize I just broke all my important stuff which would probably make me angry, so if not mad about the thing I was mad about, I’d still be mad that I broke my stuff. I don’t believe that layering problems is a good way to handle anger. And alcohol just makes me sad when I’m angry, so instead of wanting to punch some innocent bystander in the face, I would get sad and want hugs and kisses, which I won’t get unless I can hug and kiss myself.

I want to do something fun this weekend. Something involving getting really drunk or a picnic in the nice end of summer breeze would be nice. I hope I’m not still angry tomorrow but I think most of my anger has passed and I’m just starting to feel sad (see no need for alchohol, it comes naturally). Either I will become happy soon … or I could drown in the sea of depression and resume living on hot cheetos and diet pepsi, with some icecream mixed in. Hot cheetos and icecream are the perfect remedy for being sick, sad, or depressed. However, if you indulge in this remedy for more than a week straight your health will start to fail because all that red dye on those cheetos will start dying your organs, building up a layer of red dye that will ultimately cause them to stop functioning. Eventually I will probably die from eating hot cheetos.

And I have no choice. Sadness just automatically equals hot cheetos just like sadness brings on tears in most people. They are my ultimate comfort food when the thought of eating real food makes me sick to the stomach and when the thought of living another day in the state I am in makes me want to quit my job, leave Pittsburgh, and move to Madagascar with my cardboard box. And nobody needs a job in Madagascar because their economy is based on the barter system. I could make pretty things out of rocks and sticks and sell them at my little vendor stand on street in exchange for a hut to completment my cardboard box, a few soft cotton blankets, and some garments to cover my body with. That is all I really need. And I wouldn’t need hot cheetos because there is no sadness in Madagascar.

I recently read THIS on someone’s blog. Fittingly entitled “Layers”, it perfectly describes my relationship with Todd for the past three years. I guess I’m just a disgusting pig, unworthy of acknowledgement. In fact I must be a secret, carefully organized into a little hidden drawer, and the world will just cease to exist if my presence in his life is ever to become known by his family or friends. And now he has new secret friends that I do not know about too. And he lies. I’m currently accepting applications for new friends that do not think I’m an embarrassment to society and would enjoy my services for things other than sex, cleaning your house, or a free meal.