Saturday, November 30, 2013

I like to know why things do what they do. Why? Because if I know why, I can work with them. Because my brain gives me chemical rewards when I understand things. Because I was educated by Jesuits and then got a science degree.

I know why I don't date. What I want to know now is, why do people want me to date? My pastor, my roommate, a manager at work, Facebook friends, people who don't know me from a hole in the ground... WHY? How does anyone get a reward from this? How would it affect anyone, ever? Why does it matter?

It's just so WEIRD.

Ioana: It's all about conformity. You not dating means you are different from the rest. People don't like different. Hence they are trying to get you in line with the norm, i.e. what they believe is good for you.

Me: Generally speaking, yes, they would have to assume that dating is good for me, but that doesn't explain how determined they are. They don't try to change any of my other idiosyncracies, such as wearing hijab or being a socialist. Maybe they just want to see my trademark sarcastic commentary applied to the context of a relationship.

Rob: I like both those theories. It would definitely be entertaining to me to hear all the antics of you in a relationship on Facebook.

Me: Somehow I don't think it would be very entertaining to me.

Friday, November 29, 2013

Of course the ONE DAY that I really need the internet because I promised the landlord I'd email him the money the roommate owes him as soon as I got home from work... our internet is not working. Fuck........ I had to go to McDonald's. Which cost me time and MORE money. >8(

Thursday, November 28, 2013

I'm pretty sure Tim Horton's is the worst-managed company I know.
The roommates and I unanimously agree to have a house-warming party.

Female Roomate: I've got lots of friends I can introduce you to! You gotta put yourself out there!

Me: No thanks.

Roommate: Come on! You never know when the love of your life could walk into the room!

My dog walks into the room.

Me, pointing at the dog: Looks like it just did.

Roommate: The two-legged love of your life!

Me: Ah, you mean the penis of my life.

Roommate: You never know when a guy could walk in the room and you'll just know that's the love of your life.

Me: I'm pretty sure that wouldn't happen.

Roommate: You never know when a guy could take one look at you and know you're the love of his life!

Yeah. I call that one "Slimey".


Asad and Diana like this.

Facebook comment stream:

Tatelena: Do it! This is coming from me! Do it!

Diana: Ever cheeky! But hey what have you got to lose, your dog will still be there at the end of the day.

Asad: I want to be there

Me: You people crack me up. But unless Imran Khan is coming to this party, I'm pretty sure there won't be anyone there I'd want to have coffee with.

Tatelena: Well well well Ms.Negative please just put yourself out there this Time and you may be pleasantly surprised !! If not u still win by having some coffee. Win win.

Me: Clearly you haven't heard the sordid tale of Me and the Handsome One... and Slimey.

Tatelena: Fuck them I haven't heard the story of you going to a party ever!

Asad: I want hv time with u coffee+dance

Me: I was invited to ONE party in the nine years I lived in Hay River. And zero dudes bothered to call me and ask me out. So if all the guys who knew me for nine years couldn't be bothered to ask me out, I'm not gonna waste my time on the ones who fall in lust with me at first sight.

Tatelena: Sigh* not ALL men are the same gf

Asad: Its my bad luck i dont know u from nine years

Me: (To Asad:) Well we'll see what you think of that when you've known me for nine years. (To Tatelena:) I agree. Imran Khan is definitely unlike any dude I know.

N.Ed.: I wouldn't date Imran Khan. He's too entitled.

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

In the news today: my roommate, who collects the rent and (supposedly) remits it to the landlord, let the November cheque bounce (after collecting everyone's rent) on purpose so she could send in a lower amount. Cost: $149 in charges and a pissed-off landlord. Also, no-sugar-added jam tastes incredibly good compared to regular jam.

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Monday, November 25, 2013

I got a new phone. And a new phone number. And a new network. And a new plan. And it took over an hour and cost me money. And the new phone STILL WON'T LET ME INSTALL RINGTONES. Cunt. >8(

Allen: A woman that's not afraid to use the "C" word!

Me: I'm having a problem with swear inflation. The more I swear, the more the swears devalue. Then I need more and more brutal swears to keep up with it.
Sometimes you can't bring yourself to go to bed because when you wake up it will be Monday...

Sunday, November 24, 2013

The "think before you click" meme

This meme is simple. If you "like" this status, I give you a random number, and you get to tell us that many things about yourself. So I got 10 from Sandra and 15 from Diana, and then I realized, I don't have 25 things to say about myself. Zut alors.

So the point is, you could just "like" now and I'll give you a number, or refrain from clicking because it's not as fun as you think. Optionally, you could read my 25 things.

There are broadly two categories of things I could say about myself: a) trivia, which is boring, and b) momentous reflections on my self-image, which you will either ignore, argue with, treat as self-deprecating cognitions, or revile me for. I've done memes enough times to know that. Too bad I didn't remember it before I clicked. So I'm gonna try to hit a middle ground of things that are not irrelevant enough to bore me, but irrelevant enough that you won't bother harassing me for them. Here goes.

1) One therapist told me I have "trust issues". I agree: I'm way too trusting.

2) I lack the ability to pander to someone's ego.

3) And that's exactly why I can't keep a job. They should make that an official disability.

4) I like insults better than compliments. Neither one tells me anything about myself but at least insults are more likely to be sincere.

5) My number one reason for ending a friendship is when someone doesn't value my time.

6) And my number two reason for ending a friendship is when someone buys into absurd propaganda like, say, the anti-hijab hysteria.

7) I don't date.

8. I don't see any reason ever to change that.

9) If I had to live my life over again, I'd never date in the first place.

10) I also don't make personal phone calls. Ever.

11) And I don't see any reason ever to change that, either.

12) I can observe fluctuations in two important neurotransmitters by the changes in my dreams. Now I need to figure out how all the other neurotransmitters show up in dreams, too.

13) I played piano for 17 years, yet I'm a much better singer than pianist.

14) I have difficulty applying any gender-specific language to myself.

15) I've been a Lutheran for almost four years and I still tend to say "Hell's yeah" instead of "amen".

16) I had insomnia from the time I was in the womb until 31 May 2008. Strangely, I was cured by being assaulted at work.

17) So far I've caused people to spend a total of 75 days of prison. And I'd be happy to do it again.

18) I still want to go to Antarctica.

19) If only with the supply ship. Crewing an ocean-going transport is one job I'd really like to try.

20) One of my current coworkers used to and I'm at least as smart as he is.

21) I'm highly responsible and a good problem-solver, so people mistake me for codependent. The difference between the two is, I don't give a fuck about other people's problems.

22) I quit codependence cold-turkey on 6 September 2005.

23) I also quit coffee once. Worst six weeks of my life.

24) I don't even like coffee.

25) I wish there was caffeine in cheese. Cheese is tasty.
And by the way the "Windy City" is Chicago. Not Winnipeg, Chicago. Google "Windy City", Winnipeg doesn't even come up. Fucking Hay River illiterati...
Well that was the lamest Christ the King service ever. Followed by the lamest talk on war photography ever at the WAG. I need a do-over on this weekend, it's been ruined. >8(
I don't even want to go to church. I never liked the music there from day 1, and I've since learned it's the same crap every week. Repetitive songs, played several times in a row, and repeated week after week. So... dull......

Saturday, November 23, 2013

Last night at work I put away 26 skids in 8 hours. All the other guys together put away 121 in 60 man-hours (assuming they finished all their freight, which I don't know for a fact). Therefore my productivity is at least 61% greater than the team average. And I also had zero safety violations, put everything in its actual place, made lists of where everything is that doesn't have an assigned place, and fixed three shelf labels.

Meanwhile, my boss avoided me all night in the hope (I'm assuming) that I wouldn't finish and he could write me up for it.

Hmmmmm... That's just not gonna help him beat the harassment complaint. Oh no it isn't.
Voici venu le temps des rires et des chants
Dans l'Ile aux Enfants, c'est tous les jours le printemps
C'est le pays joyeux des enfants heureux
Des monstres gentils, oui c'est un paradis

(Winnipeg theme song)
More of The Brain's Freudian reading: "In visit to Auschwitz Museum this week, Ban Ki-moon affirmed the vague dignity of each human life".
We arrived at work last night and found that the day shift had had cake. They always have cake and don't leave us any. Strangely, the remains of icing were blue instead of orange. All the cakes are always orange because that's our company colour. Hmmmmm... Even more suspicious, there was a note saying a whole other cake was there for us, the night shift.

WHY? Why did they get a cake for the night shift? Is it poisoned?

Hmmmm...

At first coffee break, we got the cake. It was white with blue icing around the edge, a picture of the earth in blue and green, and the inscription "Diversity!".

HA! See, we knew it had to have been a trap. They wouldn't just give us a cake without some ulterior motive. Then someone made a comment about all that diversity being "hard to swallow" sometimes and that turned into a lot of "hard to swallow" jokes. After all, we still have the Gay Pride diversity poster in our lunch room. That's bound to give people joke ideas.

Finally someone gets around to cutting the cake, and inside it has an unsightly gunky whitish filling. Ew... Predictably, it was a marble cake, instead of carrot cake like we usually get (you know, on account of our orange theme - apparently bakers can't figure out how to put orange icing on anything but carrot cake). We all dutifully ate our Diversity Cake. It was insipid yet cloyingly sweet, it really was hard to swallow after a few bites, it left a bad taste in my mouth, and several of us felt like throwing up afterwards. Further jokes ensued on what an excellent metaphor that was, if only that had been the message management intended.

Then someone hit on the idea of calling it an Aryan Supremacy Cake. After all, it was white with blue eyes-ing, right?

If we weren't capable of turning just about anything into endless hilarity like this, all of us would have quit a long time ago.

Friday, November 22, 2013

Me: blah blah blah blah Send.

Gmail: Your email contains the words "are attached" but no files are attached. Proceed?


Ok: helpful, yet also totally creepy.

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Me, after difference of opinion with a coworker: Google.

Google: Yes, Dave.

Me: was

Google: ?

Me: e

Google: ?

Me: l

Google: ?

Me: i

Google: Was Elizabeth I a man.

I never get tired of this game.
A thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters would ultimately type out the complete works of Shakespeare. However, it would only take two monkeys throwing feces at each other to manage better than my boss. We like to save on our monkey costs, you see.
Just when I thought my day would get less angry when I got home... drone strike kills six in Pakistan.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

I'm awake. Someone's going to pay dearly for this.
I arrive at church to serve the Lord.

My pastor: assalamu aleikum, sister.

Me: Waleikum assalam.

Pastor: How are you?

Me (making a long story short): Well... The Lord is merciful and compassionate.

Pastor: Bismillah ir-Rahman ir-Rahim.

Me: Exactly.


People sometimes ask me whether I'm a Lutheran or a Muslim, but there is no reason you can't be both. And I'm also a Franciscan and a Methodist. There is no god but God.
All night I was careful not to lose my rescue inhaler at work. I must have picked up the damn thing eight times because my pant pockets are badly cut and it kept falling. I make it home still breathing and still with the inhaler... put it down in my room and can't find it again. Well, with any luck, when I run out of oxygen Scumbag Brain will be the first braincells to die. Then I'd be free! FREE!!

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Me at my voice lesson: I'm not very musical on the piano, because I tend to get really tense and obsessive.

Voice teacher: . . .
Roommate, talking about next door neighbour: He's way younger than me. Than both of us, really.

Me: What? No way he's younger than me.

Roommate: You're 42, right?

Me: No, I SAY I'm 42. I've been saying that since I was 26.

Roommate: So how old are you really?

Me: How old is he?

Roommate: 45.

Me: So he IS older than me.

Roommate: Oh, ok.


Hmmmmm... Does anyone else find fault with her reasoning here?
K. I get that you have kids. I get that you think they're fabulous. I get that you think this is due to all the things you did differently from all the other parents whose kids, let's face it, are degenerate brats. I GET IT. But still you're not the only parent ever to raise kids so you don't need to tell everybody else why they should be doing it YOUR way. Almost everyone does the best they can for their kids. Not everyone gets smug about it.

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Sometimes my brain reads funny. I just read a headline as "Pakistan to try Musharraf for some reason." Which is not as bad as the time it thought McDonald's had "salauds" on the menu.
I bought new "winter" boots today. They're not Baffins. They have an 8" shank, a 1" heel, and no removable liner to dry on the woodstove. In fact if you had a huge crush on me, you could almost tell yourself they're "cute". Man, I feel like a city slicker now... (Also I bought them at Target for $27. Neener neener.)

Megan: Winter boots with a heel are not winter boots.

Me: Exactly. "Winter" boots.
The Canadian Stomp: that thing we all do when we walk into a public building in winter.
Among his many fine qualities, New Roommate is lactose intolerant. That means he won't be stealing my milk! The perfect roommate.
"Some, if not all of the friars, indulged in flagellation ceremonies concerned with mortification of the flesh."

Hmmmm... Either you don't know what flagellation is, or you don't know what indulging is.

Megan: I suppose mortification is SOME folks' idea of indulging.

Me: Maybe the "indulgent" part is that good feeling you get (I assume) when you stop.

Megan: If you're Catholic, it could lead to indulgences.

Me: If you still need indulgences after indulging in mortification of the flesh, you're not very good at mortification.
Look at my horse, my horse is amazing!

Saturday, November 16, 2013

Look, phone company. I don't want a "smart" phone. I don't want a Blackberry. I don't want a "superphone", whatever the FUCK that is. I don't need a 1.5 GHz quad-core processor or a qHD screen or a 5 megapixel camera or 16 GB of memory. I don't care if it's preloaded with Android. I don't ever plan to "create, capture, share and stream content like never before". I don't give a tupenny fuck about the blazing-fast speeds on Canada's largest LTE network. I just need something that wakes me up on time for work and doesn't break when dropped. Just like phones used to do 10 years ago when I first had one. Why does THAT cost $130 while all the other crap is free?
I think my phone is trying to tell me I need a new phone.
Normally I ignore Xmas mania on the grounds that it doesn't do me any harm and stimulates the economy. But that was before the city closed down Portage Avenue for the Santa Claus parade... on November 16... for NINE HOURS. Are you fucking insane? NINE HOURS?????? Dafuq??? I'm so disappointed in you, Winnipeg.
Getting up with three hours of sleep on a Saturday to attend a master class. Tell me again why I love music?
When I'm overtired and I dream, I can't tell the difference between the dream and actual memories when I wake up. It's awkward. Luckily I know for a fact that I've never been to Pakistan so I can't have memories thereof.

Friday, November 15, 2013

This week I'm finally back to singing in full voice after three whole weeks off with strep throat. To my surprise, I've actually made good progress in those three weeks. And the concert I attended last Sunday seems to have made a difference, too, which is somewhat odd. But then, if I've learned one thing about singing, it's that you sing with your ears and your body, not with your voice. Strange but true.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

The good news is, our boss is getting reassigned. The bad news is, it's the WRONG boss. My boss's boss, who's ok except for... well, not managing his managers at all. Oh well. Maybe the new guy will get rid of the actual boss.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

How the fuck is it not Friday yet? I've worked a whole day and I'm tired.

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

I've said "cunt" at least 12 times already today and it's not even work time yet.
You know who I'd want to meet in heaven? Beria. Just to show how infinite God's mercy is.
The roommate stole all my Earl Grey tea except ONE teabag. I don't understand what kind of cuntish mental process makes her do this repeatedly instead of a) asking for some or b) letting me know she took some or c) just taking the whole fucking thing instead of always leaving you with one last spoonful of whatever in the previously full container. And now I have to spend yet more fucking money to put a lock on the cupboard. People are cunts all of them and I hate everything. Except my dog. Everyone else can fuck off and not fucking talk to me anymore. Cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt.
Oh I see... It's about the hijab. Bitch, you're lucky I wasn't getting off at your stop or you'd learn the meaning of fear. IA.
Un gars dans le bus me bouscule chaque fois que des gens montent ou descendent!
Gasp! My library materials are due! I'll be sure to run on down and get more then! Thank you, Winnipeg Public Library, for reminding me I need more reading materials. Be right there.
The dog is holding both ears at the same angle again. That's got to be a good sign. Or something.
It's World Pneumonia Day! Not sure what the celebrations entail, really, but hey, Happy World Pneumonia Day!
People who don't know how to conjugate "how dare you"... shouldn't.

Monday, November 11, 2013

‘S ist mal bei mir so Sitte,
Chacun à son gout!
I hate when people are constantly posting hyperbolic updates on Facebook about how amazing their new relationship is. Not because they're in a new relationship and I'm not... just because I know that in just a few weeks or months they'll be constantly posting hyperbolic updates about how hellish their breakup is.

Caroline: Bah, c'est intéressant sur le plan scientifique, du coup. Ça permet de vérifier une loi.

Me: Une fois ou deux, oui, mais on s'en lasse vite.

Megan: I think it's unseemly. I barely correspond with my partner on Facebook. We have plenty of in-person opportunities to tell each other how we feel.

Me: Me too. In fact my dog doesn't even read my Facebook.
I look up Boston Pizza on the map because I'd like some spaghetti. There is one a short walk away. And on the map between here and there, it shows "Manitoba Electrical Museum." Hmmmmmm... I must go see this.
For three months, the door locks were giving us trouble, until last week I doused them in WD-40. Now they work. Hence:

Me: Well the locks sure work better now.

Roommate: I never had a problem with them.

Me: What? You bent your key last week.

Roommate: Oh yeah that's right! I forgot about that.

Right. About that AND three months of everyone fighting with the door locks. I'm mesmerized by the mental processes of people like her who can rearrange reality in their heads at the drop of a hat.
Unless you care about Omar Khadr, I don't care what you care about. Fair is fair.

Sunday, November 10, 2013

You know why rock concerts are more popular than baroque concerts? Because at a baroque concert it's customary to be completely sober, sit still, and shut up.
Unbeknownst to me, I was sitting right in front of Elroy Friesen. Winnipeg is actually a surprisingly small place.
Not to mention that these pews are hard on the arse. And I don't have any coffee.
They should have some kind of uniform hairstyle. The wide variety of hideous hairstyles is distracting.
The average age at this concert looks like 83 or so.
There are so many concerts going on, I can't even remember which one I'm going to tonight. I just know where and when to show up and expect awesomeness. Y'all just wish you were in Winnipeg.

Saturday, November 9, 2013

I accidentally saw some pictures of the wives of the royal family of England today. Whereupon it occurred to me that one huge perk of not marrying a prince, charming or otherwise, is that I don't get told how to dress by royal taylors and/or stylists. Only the Queen can rock that style.
So far today: filed my harassment complaint against my boss; took my last dose of penicilin. The weekend is off to a promising start!

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

The dog has some kind of ear infection / ear mites / ear something. Maybe that's why she's been so surly lately.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Email from RWB to me. Subject: "we'd like to say thanks." Text: "We hope you enjoyed our ballet adaptation of Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale. Your continuous support makes world premieres like this possible! Help us continue to present new and exciting works like The Handmaid's Tale by donating to Canada's Royal Winnipeg Ballet."

Er.... Since when does "thanks" sound so much like "give me money"?
I sure hope this rash is a side-effect of penicillin and not shingles AGAIN.

Monday, November 4, 2013

Wait... tomorrow is Guy Fawkes day.
Hey, it's Guy Fawkes Night! Sounds like an auspiscious time to have a huge blowout with my boss. Buhahaha!
Heated bus benches to keep your ass warm while you wait. Thank you, Winnipeg.
"Ducks at risk of attack by predators are able to balance the need for sleep and survival, keeping one half of the brain awake while the other slips into sleep mode." DAMN DUCKS! I wanted that feature.
Can't breathe lying down. Can't sleep sitting up. (Not cause I can't, really, but because The Brain likes excuses to stay awake.)

You can live 11 days without sleep, but why would you want to?
Apparently, a guy is trying to get to the South Pole... on a bicycle. Dafuq? Should I assume a) the Axel Heiberg route or b) I'm hallucinating after several nights of nocturnal asthma instead of sleep?
I CAN SING! I CAN SING! At the octave and not in full voice, but I can actually sing "Hear Ye Israel" again. After 12 days. MashaAllah! (Ok, sceptics will tell me it was the penicillin and not the Lord. But penicillin is a gift of the Lord so maybe subhanAllah, but either way the Lord is gracious and compassionate.)

Sunday, November 3, 2013

Email message:

Dear (e) client (e)

We inform you that your account is about to expire in less than 48 hours, it is imperative to conduct an audit
prform an audit of your information now, otherwise your account will be deleted.
Just click the link below and log in wth your Apple ID and password.

Check here

Why you email he sent ?
The sending of this email applies when the expiration date of your account expires.
For more information, see

thank you,
Assistance to Apple customers

©2013 Apple Inc.All rights reserved.
AppleCare is a service mark of Apple Inc.

=======
Hmmmmm... I wonder if it's a scam? If only there were a way to tell!
By the way here is something funny. The roommate and I had BOTH put ads on Kijiji to find a new roommate. Everyone who replied to MY ad was a construction worker, even though I did say the other inhabitants are two women and nowhere did I swear or even mention my work experience. The woman who replied to the roommate's ad (after I had given the room to New Roommate) was... in a panic to get out of her current situation because she's scared of her schizophrenic roommate... just as Roommate was when we lived in said schizophrenic roommate's house. Apparently we each attracted people who are much like ourselves. Mine are just better.

Oh yeah, and it's nice to know that any time we want a new roommate, we can just poach refugees from our crazy schizophrenic ex-roommate's house.

Megan: Wait, the other applicant was Old Roommate's current roommate?

Me: EXACTLY. That's why it's so hilarious.

Megan: Geez. Yes, I guess you can be sure you'll always have a back-up roommate.

Me: Unless of course Old Roommate gives up trying to find a roommate who will put up with him.
From my Twitter feed: "esti" is now trending in Montreal.

Ouch...
Remember the "heavy" desk that I had to move for the Little Princess because he couldn't budge it? And then he and the other roommate dragged it into his room, scratching the hardwood floor?

New Roommate can lift it by himself. And not scratch anything.

And he did a great job on the doorknob. And I can borrow his tools. BOOYA.

Dana: OOOOOOOHHHH... and how old is he???

Me: Who cares???? He lives in my house and lets me borrow his tools. The perfect man.

Dana: ROFL!!! You crack me up!
The first three emperors of China ruled on average 246,000 years each. I think we can rule out murder in their case.
Winnipeg bylaws specify that if renting a separate room in a dwelling, you have to put a lock on it. So I had bought a keyed-entry doorknob and borrowed the neighbour's drill to install it but... the drill's battery was dead. So New Roommate shows up and his room has no doorknob at all.

So

he

.

.

.

.

.

pulls out a Makita drill and installs his own doorknob.

HA! Finally picked a winner!
The roommate describes herself as "a clean freak". In practice what this means is: I clean everything, then I leave (my) Swiffer pointedly out in the hallway, and she equally pointedly puts it back in the broom closet. Also she keeps folding Her Majesty's blanky, which is dumb because a) if Her Majesty liked her blanky folded, I would obviously keep it folded for her and b) Her Majesty pisses on the blanky, so you don't want to touch it, really.

Anyway. Today, New Roommate is moving in, so the incumbent roommate decided to do some cleaning. GASP!! We should get a new roommate every week, then I wouldn't have to do all the chores.

Ok. So first, the roommate used the last Swiffer dry cloth. And threw it out. And left the empty box in the broom closet. Now there are no Swiffer dry cloths. Then, she used a wet cloth, and left the wet cloth box open (so they'll dry out) and resting at an angle in the basket on the back of the closet door (so it leaked all over me when I opened said door).

All this wouldn't be so bad if she had at least made the effort to scrub off the Nutella stains her son left all over the kitchen floor...

Donna: So now your wet Swiffer cloths are your new dry cloths!

Me: Maybe she planned it that way. Cause, you know, she's good at planning.
Today I have strep throat AND a migraine. The Lord is gracious and compassionate.
Every time you try to google causes of death in Chinese emperors, all you get is Qin Shi Huangdi.
Somewhere on my feed: "(someone) had severe side effects from Gardasil. Trying to prove that it was caused by Gardasil is extremely difficult." Hmmmmmm... I admire your ability to continue in life despite this complete lack of logic.

Megan: Severe symptoms after taking, perhaps. Not side effects, necessarily.

Me: The proof is made more complicated by the facts that a) the alleged side-effects happened five months later and b) there is no conceivable mechanism by which Gardasil could cause such side-effects.
Actual line in my reading notes:

? → what?

This has Scumbag Brain's fingerprints all over it.

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Me: Google.

Google: Yes, Dave.

Me: 5...

Google:

Me: 2...

Google:

Me: 5...

Google: 525,600 minutes.

Me: Bingo!

I actually do that on purpose. Type something really slowly into Google to see how many keystrokes it will take to guess what I'm trying to say.
Little-known home improvement tip: you have to paint UNDER door hardware, not OVER. If you want a white doorknob then just buy a white doorknob.

Deirdre: That's little known?

Me: Must be, because everyone seems to just paint over everything.
Roommate walks by as I'm putting a second coat of paint on the New Roommate's door. "Hey, if there's any paint left, I'd like to do my bedroom door. And the bathroom."

.

.

.

.

.

.

Dafuq?

Well, I'll let y'all know in 12 weeks or so what kind of insane Jackson Pollock job she makes of it.
All right, by popular demand, a roommate story.

As you may recall, on moving day, the various people who attempted to get the roommate's couch into the house succeeded in putting a quite nasty hole in the drywall. But then, the roommate's 80-something father used to be a drywaller, so he patched the drywall. The repair is about... hmmmm... eyeballing it, let's say 24" by 16". Or so. And then, since he taught his daughter all she knows about drywalling, he left it to her to tape and mud.

Right.

So the roommate taped (I'm assuming) and then mudded. With a backhoe, by the look of it. She actually covered the ENTIRE PATCH in joint compound, plus the original wall to a distance varying from 6 to 18".

Then...

she put on another coat!!!

The second coat is just as rough as the first, nor did she sand between coats. WTF?? This isn't paint, you know. You have to sand mud between coats. How the fuck do you not know that?

And then...

Nothing. For the next 11 weeks, despite repeated references to the drywall cleverly inserted by me in conversation, she did nothing. Though every time I mentioned it, she mentioned she had done a second coat of mud.

RIGHT. Because I was likely to forget why the wall in the hallway looks like the surface of Mars.

Recently, I went so far as to include the drywall repair as part of a To-Do List I was making for myself, aloud, in front of her. "No, no," said the roommate, "I'll do it." And then she added...

"I did a second coat."

RIGHT.

Ok, so then yesterday, I was prepping the door of the new roommate's room for the new (keyed-entry) doorknob. Therefore I needed to paint the door, therefore I needed to sand the door. And while I had the palm sander out, I decided to sand the psycho mud job as well.

R. I. G. H. T.

First of all, good news! She DIDN'T cover the entire surface of the patch. She missed a few spots. While others are at least 1/4" deep in mud. Great, that's gonna be easy to smooth...

That was the good news. The bad news is, because she mudded way too fast (well duh), there are air pockets EVERYWHERE. The more you sand, the more it looks like the wall has smallpox. FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

And then, of course, like any lousy finisher, she heaped concealer on the parts she was trying to conceal, thus making huge humps everywhere there is tape.

Sigh... Seriously, never before have I considered taking the BELT SANDER to drywall.

So, after 20 minutes with the palm sander, I had the wall down to where...

the tape is starting to show.

Great! I guess I got most of the crap off of it then. It's still full of air bubbles, streaks, dings and gouges, but at least it's almost all off. Enough that I could now FINALLY put on the next coat of mud. But first, time to go to work.

So I start sweeping the dust. "20 minutes of high-speed sanding" worth of drywall dust. Is there a lot of dust? Yes. Yes, there certainly is. Then the dog walked through the dust, for good measure, and tracked evil little white paw prints all over the house. And in the middle of cleaning up all this douchebaggery, the roommate comes downstairs and says to me

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.

.

.

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"That stuff's a bitch to clean up, eh?"

Ba-dum ts.
So many stories, so little time. Would you guys rather hear the one about the roommate or the one about my boss?

Jane: Roommate!

Friday, November 1, 2013

The establishment is decorating buildings for Xmas. Must be November 1.
A bus ride on Pembina is like a massage chair with a view.