Knocked Up

I don't feel like starting a whole new blog to chronicle the indignities and distinctly unglamorous situations one faces when one finds herself unexpectedly knocked up, so henceforth My Glamorous Adult Lifestyle is going to have a lot of pregnant talk. Oh well.

KURWA!

So here I am, sitting at my computer, chatting about baseball online, and there's a knock at my door. I open it, and it's my 86-year-old Polish upstairs neighbor Halina. Halina lives alone, and I'm not quite sure how she pays her rent, but I suspect she sells drugs of some sort, be they pharmaceutical or otherwise. Anyway, Halina's first line to me is, "Do you have a knife?" I look at her puzzled, and she explains to me in her best English (which isn't very good) that she has locked herself out of her apartment. Without waiting for a response, she walks into my apartment (which she's never been in before) and heads to the kitchen, where she grabs a paring knife, a screwdriver, and a corkscrew. "Can you help?" she asks. I shrug, always up for adventure, and follow her to her place, where she proceeds to ruin the paring knife, screwdriver and corkscrew trying to pick her lock and somehow jimmy open her door.

After about 15 minutes of swearing in English and Polish she suggests we go around back, where there are four windows, including one on the back door. she ruins yet another lock, while continuing to ruin the implements she has borrowed from me, while I just stand there trying not to laugh. She keeps saying, "You try! Could you try?" I tell her I will not be responsible for destruction of her property, but these words don't translate well.

After about 15 more minutes, I tell Halina that I need to go get ready for work, and to call the police. Oh, by the way, the landlord is out of town, and I don't have an emergency number to call a maintenance guy or something. Anyway, I leave her standing at her back door, looking utterly helpless.

About five minutes later, she knocks on my door one last time. To ask for a hammer. "Follow me," she says, and I'm kind of wondering whether she intends to brain me for not being able to break into her apartment.

We go upstairs, and I get the rare pleasure of watching an 86-year-old Polish woman break her own window and get showered in glass.

It was awesome.

I Have Seen the Face of the Devil

and his name is Premium Carpet Tack Strip.

Jack Black + CT = True Love 4-Evah

The grave of romance was officially dug up and peed on this weekend when I was informed by my dearest, darling husband (who was, I would very much like to point out, watching Nacho Libre in a hungover stupor whilst attired in a bright red union suit) that "You and Jack Black are like totally the same person. aha ha ha hahahahahahahaha. Wait, I mean, you don't LOOK like him. Oh shit."

According to Mr. Astute Observer, my SoulMate, Mr. Black, and I are both partial to fart sounds, random song singing, too much cursing, falling down frequently, physical buffoonery, and general loud behavior. Oh, and after he read this post, I was reminded to add "butt crackery".

The sad thing is, I can't deny it. DAMMIT. That jackass is totally right. And now I'm mad that the fat guy is famous and I'm not.


Though, that boy should really think twice before mocking me about anything. Seriously.

Adventures in Apartment Living

One day a young couple stumbles upon a big, beautiful, charming old apartment in a nice neighborhood. There are some slight blemishes, but it's a steal for the price. Thinking they've pulled off the ultimate rental coup, the couple signs the lease then and there.

The moment they move into the apartment, it falls apart. Starting with the constantly dripping bath faucet, to the absence of a shower head, to the clogged tub; graduating to the toilet leaking through to the neighbors down below, then not even working at all. Then there is the washing machine that floods the basement with every use, and might be the source of the frequent stinky backwash in the kitchen sink. And last but not least is the cranky old furnace that heads to kaputzville for the winter.

Finally, one sleepy Sunday morning a stranger appears at their door. He informs our troubled twosome that their dream home has gone into foreclosure because their unseen landlord has not been paying his bills. Might it be time to consider a new place to live, and an attorney.

Defeated, the couple retreats to their beloved abode, accepting their fate. Then the front door lock freezes shut and a water pipe bursts in the basement.

While I wish this was a synopsis for the remake of 'The Money Pit,' it is, in fact, my life.

My cat likes uneven surfaces

I figured it was time I made a post that wasn't about what comes out of the rear end.

I took this picture a few minutes ago. It's of one of my cats. For some reason, she LOVES to sleep on uneven surfaces. She'll sleep just about anywhere, but her favorite spots are on remote controls, on boxes and on top of a bookshelf. One time I rearranged the books on the bookshelf so as to give her a more even surface to sleep on, and she started knocking them off so as to create a bumpier bed. I've seen put them back in an uneven arrangement, and she's much happier now.

Anyway, here she is, in all her weirdo glory. I think this box is about 3 inches tall. And it's at about a 10-degree angle because there are two pairs of pants under one end. Perfect.

hee haw

maybe you heard about this in today's news. maybe not. apparently it was even discussed on the Howard Stern show this morning. it's a story about a man that tied up his son after he refused to wear a Green Bay Packers jersey during last week's playoff game. (http://www.channel3000.com/news/15063175/detail.html)

i grew up with this man. he is from my hometown.

what's that, you ask? why yes, yes i am trailer trash. now if you'll excuse me, there's a half gallon of unleaded and a dirty sock calling my name.