As most of you are probably aware by now, I manage apartments. Probably the single thing I hate most about it is the company cell phone that I have to carry at all times. I am also supposed to answer it any time it rings, day or night. The primary reason is because it's the number residents can call 24/7 for maintenance emergencies. I don't mind that so much... those are few and far between, and I can see that as a necessary evil.
What I mind, however, is the fact that the same phone number is the number that people who view our Craigslist ad are directed to call for more information. So when the phone rings, it could be a resident calling with a maintenance emergency, but more often it's someone wanting to know how much it is for a two bedroom apartment. One of these groups of people I can safely ignore for the hour I'm in church, the other I can't. Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing which it is unless I answer the phone. I don't know whose idea this setup was, but I don't like it, and occasions like this morning are why.
This morning I decided to dye my hair, which I've been trying to find a chunk of time to do since I bought the dye a couple of weeks ago. This says something about my life... I can't find an uninterrupted hour in which to put goo on my head and wash it out. But I digress... my point is that I decided I was going to do it this morning, come hell or high water. So I was busily pouring black goo on my head when I hear the company cell phone ringing in on my bed where I left it.
ME: (inside my head) Crap... it's probably a sales call. I'll just ignore it and call them back if they leave a message.
And I go about my business, and I hear the missed call beep. Less than a minute later, it rings again. This usually means one of two things: 1) it's a resident with a maintenance emergency and they're mad that I didn't answer the phone, or 2) it's a sales caller who refuses to accept that the property might not be open for business at 8 AM. It was also possible that it could have been two separate callers. So I sighed, took off the gloves, and started racing down the hall to get the phone, splattering blue-black hair dye on the bathroom wall in the process. I missed the call, and when I looked at the missed calls it was the same number twice. And it wasn't one I recognized, but that doesn't mean it's not a resident... just means it's not a resident who calls often.
So I started carrying the phone back toward the bathroom and dialed the call I missed. Here's the entire course of the conversation:
ME: Hi, this is Meagan from ___________ Apartments. I just missed a call from this number.
HIM: Oh, yeah. I was looking at your ad on Craigslist for 2 bedroom 1 bathroom apartments and I had a question. What school district are you in?
ME: Centennial.
HIM: Okay, thanks ma'am. (hangs up)
Well, crap. Now to deal with the hair dye on the bathroom wall. At my old apartment in Molalla I had dealt with this before. Spray with Awesome, wipe, done. This is when I discovered that my employer apparently uses cheap paint... it took the paint right off the wall.
I guess it's fortunate that I'm the manager and have keys to the paint room. Is it Friday yet?
Showing posts with label Wednesday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wednesday. Show all posts
March 13, 2013
January 30, 2013
Mongolian Death Flu...
My household has been suffering the Mongolian Death Flu for almost two weeks now. (Please note, "Mongolian Death Flu" is just a name I made up and is not the name of an actual epidemic as far as I am aware. Please do not panic and/or call the CDC.) We're being a good family and taking turns with it, but at least one of us has been sick at all times since January 18th. It's a lovely virus that starts with fever/chills and lack of appetite/energy and then transitions seamlessly into coughing up various internal organs while not being able to breathe or speak. It's also a deceptive little virus, as we've recently learned, because just when we thought we were shaking it off, we all relapsed back to square one (fever/chills, etc.).
I'm planning on going to work today for the first time this week, and honestly I have no idea how good of an idea that is. I'm feeling about 60% of normal capacity today, which is the highest I've been since Friday evening (today is Wednesday, by the way). Sunday I was at about 10-15%. What that means is that I slept all night Saturday night, slept almost all of the day Sunday (I was awake maybe 5-6 hours total, but not all at once... my longest stretch of consciousness was 3 hours between 8 and 11 PM), and then slept all night Sunday night. I texted the Old Curmudgeon this morning to see how he's doing, and he told me he had given up on work today and was going home. Already. At 8:30 AM. Not encouraging.
So if anyone has been wondering why you haven't seen us out and about for the last couple of weeks, this is why. We're all over here trying not to die, with varying degrees of success. The Chamaco has been going to school, albeit with a bad cough, and he's doing the best so far. I'm going to leave and have a go at the going to work thing in about ten minutes here, so wish me luck...
Song o' the Day: "Sick" by Evanescence (relevant in title only, given that it's not actually about disease)
I'm planning on going to work today for the first time this week, and honestly I have no idea how good of an idea that is. I'm feeling about 60% of normal capacity today, which is the highest I've been since Friday evening (today is Wednesday, by the way). Sunday I was at about 10-15%. What that means is that I slept all night Saturday night, slept almost all of the day Sunday (I was awake maybe 5-6 hours total, but not all at once... my longest stretch of consciousness was 3 hours between 8 and 11 PM), and then slept all night Sunday night. I texted the Old Curmudgeon this morning to see how he's doing, and he told me he had given up on work today and was going home. Already. At 8:30 AM. Not encouraging.
So if anyone has been wondering why you haven't seen us out and about for the last couple of weeks, this is why. We're all over here trying not to die, with varying degrees of success. The Chamaco has been going to school, albeit with a bad cough, and he's doing the best so far. I'm going to leave and have a go at the going to work thing in about ten minutes here, so wish me luck...
Song o' the Day: "Sick" by Evanescence (relevant in title only, given that it's not actually about disease)
December 2, 2009
This morning....
I staggered out into the hallway toward the bathroom, still rubbing at my eyes and trying to get my brain to engage, and I happened to glance at the stairs. The Chamaco was sitting there on the stairs, playing his DS.
"What are you doing?" I asked him. (Though at that stage of morning it probably sounded more like "Whuttreyadooin?")
He looked me in the eye and said, "I decided I didn't want you to boss me around this morning, so I got up and got dressed and got my coat and shoes on. I didn't brush my teeth yet, though... you can tell me to do that."
I tried to make sense of this for a moment, then I asked, "Did you remember to get your snack for school?"
"Yep," he said. "I already told you... the only thing I didn't do is brush my teeth."
So I left him there on the stairs and went about my morning routine, issuing exactly zero orders for small people to get their shoes on or whatever. It was sort of oddly silent. Then came the point when I went downstairs and opened the blinds on the kitchen window to let some light in, and realized that everything was white out there (frost, not snow). A glance at the thermometer (33!) made me decide I wanted to go back to bed. Unfortunately that's a no-go on Wednesdays (and pretty much every other day of the week too). And then the Chamaco came downstairs ready to go out to the bus, and I looked at him and said, "Get a warmer coat. It's all icy out there."
"What?!" he demanded in that tone of derision that he has mastered so perfectly. This is his standard response anytime I tell him to do anything he doesn't want to do. He likes the flimsy little gray jacket, and he argued with me about whether or not he should have to put on a different coat for a few minutes. But I prevailed, got him into a warmer coat and gloves, and we headed out to the bus stop. As soon as we stepped out the door, he exclaimed, "Brr! It's cold out here!"
"Like I said," I reminded him. "See? Sometimes I still know stuff."
I don't know why, but it seems especially lately I'm on a quest to prove that I'm still relevant as a parent. Aside from cooking meals and washing clothes, he can now do pretty much everything else for himself. I even left him home by himself for 10 minutes the other night while I ran to the store to get some milk after I discovered that ours was more of a chewy solid than it was a liquid. He didn't die or burn the house down. In fact, when I got home he said, "I didn't even move the whole time you were gone." And indeed, he was sitting on the couch playing Wii right where I had left him ten minutes previous.
With his 8th birthday now a mere week away, I'm struggling to get my mind around the concept that the part of parenting where he is completely dependent on me for his every physical need is over. Now comes the hard part... it falls to me to try to guide him as he develops mentally, emotionally and socially, and to help him make good choices for himself until his brain matures. Yeah, he'll still grow, but his physical development is pretty much going to take care of itself from here on out provided I remember to feed him occasionally. I'm a whole 10 years away from being the parent of a legal adult (don't get me started on whether or not 18 year olds are mentally adult).
And no, that thought does not make me want to have another one, thank you for asking.
The first freeze of winter 09-10 this morning prompted deep ponderings of how much I despise Oregon weather. At one point in the planet's orbit you have to wrap yourself in multiple layers just to keep warm, and a mere six months later you find that your skin is bubbling. I am firmly opposed to all things cold and wet, and this includes rain, snow, and animal noses (especially dogs), which means I live in entirely the wrong state, and especially the wrong part of it. Every time I look out my window in the morning and see the ground is white, it prompts thoughts of hibernation... I could totally see crawling into bed and emerging sometime in late May or early June. I mentioned that this morning to the CTG and how ill-suited for Oregon life I consider myself to be. He shrugged and said, "Lots of animals here hibernate." Well fabulous... all I gotta do is get someone to pay my bills and excuse me from work for the next six months so I can crawl into a hole until the weather is nicer.
Or alternatively, I could move back to Cuernavaca where the weather is fabulous year-round and they have way more thunderstorms. (Did I mention that even the rain in Cuernavaca is generally warm? I had never experienced warm rain until living there.)
This was the view from our bedroom window in Cuernavaca. More of this, please!
"What are you doing?" I asked him. (Though at that stage of morning it probably sounded more like "Whuttreyadooin?")
He looked me in the eye and said, "I decided I didn't want you to boss me around this morning, so I got up and got dressed and got my coat and shoes on. I didn't brush my teeth yet, though... you can tell me to do that."
I tried to make sense of this for a moment, then I asked, "Did you remember to get your snack for school?"
"Yep," he said. "I already told you... the only thing I didn't do is brush my teeth."
So I left him there on the stairs and went about my morning routine, issuing exactly zero orders for small people to get their shoes on or whatever. It was sort of oddly silent. Then came the point when I went downstairs and opened the blinds on the kitchen window to let some light in, and realized that everything was white out there (frost, not snow). A glance at the thermometer (33!) made me decide I wanted to go back to bed. Unfortunately that's a no-go on Wednesdays (and pretty much every other day of the week too). And then the Chamaco came downstairs ready to go out to the bus, and I looked at him and said, "Get a warmer coat. It's all icy out there."
"What?!" he demanded in that tone of derision that he has mastered so perfectly. This is his standard response anytime I tell him to do anything he doesn't want to do. He likes the flimsy little gray jacket, and he argued with me about whether or not he should have to put on a different coat for a few minutes. But I prevailed, got him into a warmer coat and gloves, and we headed out to the bus stop. As soon as we stepped out the door, he exclaimed, "Brr! It's cold out here!"
"Like I said," I reminded him. "See? Sometimes I still know stuff."
I don't know why, but it seems especially lately I'm on a quest to prove that I'm still relevant as a parent. Aside from cooking meals and washing clothes, he can now do pretty much everything else for himself. I even left him home by himself for 10 minutes the other night while I ran to the store to get some milk after I discovered that ours was more of a chewy solid than it was a liquid. He didn't die or burn the house down. In fact, when I got home he said, "I didn't even move the whole time you were gone." And indeed, he was sitting on the couch playing Wii right where I had left him ten minutes previous.
With his 8th birthday now a mere week away, I'm struggling to get my mind around the concept that the part of parenting where he is completely dependent on me for his every physical need is over. Now comes the hard part... it falls to me to try to guide him as he develops mentally, emotionally and socially, and to help him make good choices for himself until his brain matures. Yeah, he'll still grow, but his physical development is pretty much going to take care of itself from here on out provided I remember to feed him occasionally. I'm a whole 10 years away from being the parent of a legal adult (don't get me started on whether or not 18 year olds are mentally adult).
And no, that thought does not make me want to have another one, thank you for asking.
The first freeze of winter 09-10 this morning prompted deep ponderings of how much I despise Oregon weather. At one point in the planet's orbit you have to wrap yourself in multiple layers just to keep warm, and a mere six months later you find that your skin is bubbling. I am firmly opposed to all things cold and wet, and this includes rain, snow, and animal noses (especially dogs), which means I live in entirely the wrong state, and especially the wrong part of it. Every time I look out my window in the morning and see the ground is white, it prompts thoughts of hibernation... I could totally see crawling into bed and emerging sometime in late May or early June. I mentioned that this morning to the CTG and how ill-suited for Oregon life I consider myself to be. He shrugged and said, "Lots of animals here hibernate." Well fabulous... all I gotta do is get someone to pay my bills and excuse me from work for the next six months so I can crawl into a hole until the weather is nicer.
Or alternatively, I could move back to Cuernavaca where the weather is fabulous year-round and they have way more thunderstorms. (Did I mention that even the rain in Cuernavaca is generally warm? I had never experienced warm rain until living there.)
November 4, 2009
It smells like Wednesday in here....
Of the people likely to read this blog, one - maybe two - actually understood the joke in the blog title and laughed. Or at least grinned a little. Inwardly. I don't know.
If I were more insecure, I'd think my jokes weren't funny.... nah.
But for the rest of you underprivileged souls, here's the joke. You know how sometimes when English-speaking adults are about to say 's---' and they stop themselves halfway through and say something lame to cover it up like 'shiitake mushrooms'. (Which was actually one of the only funny things in the movie Madagascar, by the way. That and 'Hoover Dam!') Well, they're not alone in that... their Spanish-speaking brethren do it too. The Spanish equivalent naughty word is 'miérda'.
If you giggled right there, incidentally, you're too young to read my blog. Go away. I can use that word, because it doesn't sound bad to me because I didn't grow up speaking Spanish. My Spanish professor had a similar problem... he could swear in English and it didn't faze him one bit, but let someone drop a Spanish F-bomb (which in Mexico starts with C, in case you wondered, though he was from Venezuela by way of Spain and they have all kids of crazy F and C and P and other consonants too words in those places) and he would blush bright red. I miss that guy. I oughta go visit him sometime.
Anyway, getting back to my original point, when Spanish-speaking adults get halfway through 'miér-' and stop and then add something lame to finish, they finish by saying '-coles'. Which makes the word 'miércoles', which means Wednesday. Which means a Spanish speaker could conceivably say something like "Aquí huele a mier... coles." Or, "It smells like.... Wednesday in here."
But the reason I was on about Wednesday... I don't like Wednesdays. Neither does the CTG. Though for me, Wednesday signifies that I am officially past the halfway point in my four-day Head Start workweek, I work enough on the other days that it means little. What it does mean is that I will be home for roughly 45 minutes after church, then I will leave again and not be home until after 9. CTG's reasons for hating Wednesday have more to do with being obliged to take classes where he's the least scary guy in the room. At least this is what I gather. So usually I wish him a happy Wednesday when I see him Wednesday mornings, and he laughs and says "Yeah, right," because he knows that neither of us is particularly fond of Wednesday.
Because is it any wonder, really, that 'miércoles' and 'miérda' are such similar words?
And really where I go on Wednesday night is to church, and overall I like that, but with Emo Steve being all pissy lately it hasn't been quite as fun. Also loads and loads of people have been out sick. Also I probably won't have time tonight to translate any more report cards, so grades 4 and 5 are going to be on hold until domani. (Which is 'mañana', to you English speakers.)
Domani... e per sempre domani
Domani... e per sempre domani
Ti prego toccami le mani, toccami le mani, toccami le mani, tocca mi le mani
Vai via... via le mani dagli occhi...
Sorry. Had a little Negramaro lapse there. (That was me singing in text form.)
Oh, spent some fabulous time on the floor with Ivan last night. Not only is the A7 chord pretty easy, but also I think I'm starting to suck at guitar less despite the fact that I never have time to play, much less build up finger strength. Good thing I'm just naturally tough. I'm thinking I'm going to make a special study of the songs "Sympathetic" and "Driven Under" by Seether (both of which I can already mostly play, 'cause they're cake, I just need to work on that playing and singing at the same time thing) and "Rain" by Breaking Benjamin, which is much harder than those first two. But hey, a girl's gotta have a goal.
If I were more insecure, I'd think my jokes weren't funny.... nah.
But for the rest of you underprivileged souls, here's the joke. You know how sometimes when English-speaking adults are about to say 's---' and they stop themselves halfway through and say something lame to cover it up like 'shiitake mushrooms'. (Which was actually one of the only funny things in the movie Madagascar, by the way. That and 'Hoover Dam!') Well, they're not alone in that... their Spanish-speaking brethren do it too. The Spanish equivalent naughty word is 'miérda'.
If you giggled right there, incidentally, you're too young to read my blog. Go away. I can use that word, because it doesn't sound bad to me because I didn't grow up speaking Spanish. My Spanish professor had a similar problem... he could swear in English and it didn't faze him one bit, but let someone drop a Spanish F-bomb (which in Mexico starts with C, in case you wondered, though he was from Venezuela by way of Spain and they have all kids of crazy F and C and P and other consonants too words in those places) and he would blush bright red. I miss that guy. I oughta go visit him sometime.
Anyway, getting back to my original point, when Spanish-speaking adults get halfway through 'miér-' and stop and then add something lame to finish, they finish by saying '-coles'. Which makes the word 'miércoles', which means Wednesday. Which means a Spanish speaker could conceivably say something like "Aquí huele a mier... coles." Or, "It smells like.... Wednesday in here."
But the reason I was on about Wednesday... I don't like Wednesdays. Neither does the CTG. Though for me, Wednesday signifies that I am officially past the halfway point in my four-day Head Start workweek, I work enough on the other days that it means little. What it does mean is that I will be home for roughly 45 minutes after church, then I will leave again and not be home until after 9. CTG's reasons for hating Wednesday have more to do with being obliged to take classes where he's the least scary guy in the room. At least this is what I gather. So usually I wish him a happy Wednesday when I see him Wednesday mornings, and he laughs and says "Yeah, right," because he knows that neither of us is particularly fond of Wednesday.
Because is it any wonder, really, that 'miércoles' and 'miérda' are such similar words?
And really where I go on Wednesday night is to church, and overall I like that, but with Emo Steve being all pissy lately it hasn't been quite as fun. Also loads and loads of people have been out sick. Also I probably won't have time tonight to translate any more report cards, so grades 4 and 5 are going to be on hold until domani. (Which is 'mañana', to you English speakers.)
Domani... e per sempre domani
Domani... e per sempre domani
Ti prego toccami le mani, toccami le mani, toccami le mani, tocca mi le mani
Vai via... via le mani dagli occhi...
Sorry. Had a little Negramaro lapse there. (That was me singing in text form.)
Oh, spent some fabulous time on the floor with Ivan last night. Not only is the A7 chord pretty easy, but also I think I'm starting to suck at guitar less despite the fact that I never have time to play, much less build up finger strength. Good thing I'm just naturally tough. I'm thinking I'm going to make a special study of the songs "Sympathetic" and "Driven Under" by Seether (both of which I can already mostly play, 'cause they're cake, I just need to work on that playing and singing at the same time thing) and "Rain" by Breaking Benjamin, which is much harder than those first two. But hey, a girl's gotta have a goal.
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