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[Sunday Obligations and Such]
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March came, and it's almost gone. Another full month living in my house. Another full month without a finished kitchen. It'll come together soon, I hope. Eating out gets old and expensive, and I can only do the eat sandwiches and microwaved food for so long. Yesterday, the walls were sanded and joint cemented. More sanding will follow. This will be followed by a coat of primer and, last but not least, wallpaper and cabinets and a sink and dishwasher. My stove, currently dwelling in the detached garage, is begging to be let into the house. I just know it.
Spring is summoning the tulips, irises, rosebushes, daffodils, hydrangea, and that other unidentifiable tree in the back yard that Irene must have planted in the 40 plus years that she and Ulysses lived here. Every once in a while, I still get a piece of mail for her. Something from the pest control, a random correspondence card from an old friend. The oak tree in the front should fill out soon. And hopefully, the squarely-cut bushes will soak in the recent rain, come out of their winter rest and grow free from the unnatural corners and angles that, no offense, only men really like. They remind me of my old apartment manager. Always wielding that electric saw, early in mornings through the spring and summer, to ensure no branch went uncut. God forbid the front bushes look like anything but unused erasers, sharp and dense.
This Easter morn was spent having brunch at Hamburger Mary's with my fam. The Easter Bunny Your Mom Warned You About was our waiter. A couple (two men) popped into the restaurant around 11:30 or so and asked the host where the nearest Catholic church was. They were given directions to Saint Peter in Chains, I think, which was appropriate...
I think I'll spend the rest of the day working a few hours, mopping the downstairs floors (they are covered in dust after yesterday's work), and bemoaning the grey sky. Oh the serotonin levels are low! Unfortunately, I was unable to get a bloody mary at brunch due to liquor-sale-law bullshit. We'll have to do brunch later in the day next time, so I can get my a.m. swerve on. |
[Burned-over region of raids and counterraids]
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Oi vey. Since I technically lived in two cities during the months of November, December, and January, I have to file, yet another, tax form. It never ends, does it?
And, that means I'll be shellin' out some cash, I'm sure. 'Cause the Dial-a-Ride isn't going to pay for itself, ya know. I hope they don't get rid of it altogether. I'm all for paying fifty cents to get a ride down to the shopping center, or to the bars. I can't wait for T-rex and Seamus to come to town. We can call up the short bus and ride down to Crosley's for a mean game of pool, dart throwin', and PBR on tap in a frosty mug! Yahoo for the midwest, I tell ya!
In other news, I took my Robert Fabe watercolour to Browning's today to get rematted and reframed. To our surprise, there was another painting on the back, and the watercolour was confirmed to be a genuine Robert Fabe [Fabe was a famous local artist and teacher, who lived in my parents' neighborhood.]. And, since the man has died, the art is worth much more than the fifty dollars that was paid for it years ago at the Reading Road Unitarian Church auction. It will look divine in my dining room, yes.
Just a few moments ago, I got a call for "Tracy" -- one of the debtors who previously owned one my three phone numbers. Since February, I have gotten calls from mortgage companies, collection agencies, student loan nazis, credit cards, all for three women, this Tracy chick, and a Cora Reed and Felicia Barnes. Apparently, the people in Parma who are looking for Tracy do not believe that I am not her, as they keep calling and calling and I keep telling them that my number is no longer hers. One more call, and I'm filing a report. Yup, you tell someone to stop calling and they don't, and that's a crime, assholio!
Oh, but this tax form is staring me in the face. And I really ought to do some work tonight. Before I know it, the mortgage will be due and having the extra cash from my part-time jobs is always a plus. And who knows when I'll get my first check from the U. That's right, I'm working for the univerSITY OF CINcinnati again. This time, however, as an independent contractor: a writing tutor for the College of Law. If only I could make twenty-five dollars an hour ALL the time, and earn what someone with two fucking Master's degrees SHOULD earn. I'd be quite the happy gal! |
[Gettin' hit with a smoothie]
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This weekend has been eventful, yes. Friday afternoon following work, to avoid putting in over forty hours, I walked over to Kaldi's to wait for Laura, who arrived fifteen after five and took me to Carol's, where we met Joe, Mayleesa, and Jamie, who was in town for the weekend. Of course, we got to hear all about her life in Augusta, Georgia: her husband's residency and related trauma center stories ("I was tryin' to get some stank on my hanglow, and bitch hit me wif a smoothie!" has nothing to do with a fruity beverage, apparently), Jamie's homophobic boss and prudish, Bible-thumping coworkers, and of course, the ways in which Jamie has gotten the sexism of the south to work in her favor.
Saturday, I worked on the kitchen for a bit, chiseling the remnants of the circa-1920s paneling and glue from the walls. It wasn't pleasant. Particularly, when missing the chisel and smashing the thumb or wrist or knuckle that happened to be in the way. I could only take a couple hours of that shit. Really.
Saturday night, I attended an auction at my mom's place of employment and purchased a new piece of artwork, which is now hanging downstairs. And I drank more than my fair share of wine and champagne, which could account for my overspending that evening. But who cares? It's for a good cause.
Today, I did the laundry thing, and had a couple beers at Crosley's, which is slowly but surely becoming my new casual hangout. The PBR on tap is key. As is the good menu. And the fact that it doesn't smell like a toilet like most Clifton bars.
Oh, and I almost forgot. I was conned out of ten bucks by two gradeschoolers and their dad. While petting Faustino in the living room window, the threesome spotted me and proceeded to walk up my driveway (Ha! I own a driveway) and to my porch (and a porch!). I was caught. The front door was open, and they had seen my through the window. And five minutes later, I was emptying my pockets and quarter jar for a ten-dollar Larosa's Buddy Card. Next thing you know I'll have a fridge full of Girl Scout cookies. I'm such a softie when it comes to kids selling stuff. It's a sickness.
I think it's time for a facial. |
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