Monday, November 4, 2013
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!
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.
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.
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!
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!
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
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
.
.
.
.
.
"That stuff's a bitch to clean up, eh?"
Ba-dum ts.
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
.
.
.
.
.
"That stuff's a bitch to clean up, eh?"
Ba-dum ts.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)