Friday, May 22, 2009

So it's been beautiful weather here, That time of year when the dirty smelly usually drunk homeless guys get up from their hibernation on the sidewalk and sit around in park benches staring down the women with lustful looks on their hideous faces. It's awesome.

So awesome, in fact, I decided to get the hell off that street filled with horny lice ridden men and go shopping. Like mall shopping. I don't usually do that because (a) I hate the mall. There is a pressure I get in my head when I go into a mall. It's kind of like the pressure I get in my head when I go into antique stores. I think there's just way too many people in the mall and way too many spirits hanging out at antique stores. Oh, and (b) it drives me crazy to see so many clothes that I love but are too young for me to wear now. Yes, it's pearls and shell/sweater sets for me. Elastic waist pants. Velcro running shoes.

Anyway, the point is, I went to the mall. And I once thought - but I am now rethinking the whole thing - that you might be interested in hearing this news. It's ok, I understand, but you should try to stick around because something interesting might have happened, or I'll change the subject without warning to a more interesting one or not, and besides - if you don't read this you'll be left without nothing else to do except maybe take your kid on a play date and make smalltalk with a bunch of women who join groups on and will try to talk you into hostessing a home party of some sort. Most likely cookware or home decor. Sometimes it's lingerie but most of the time it isn't. At least it isn't plastic containers anymore. Gladware put a stop to that thank the sacred bleeding heart of the baby jesus.

Anyway, you can leave, or you can stay. You decide. It's your call. I'm not going to beg you.

So there I was standing in line for the dressing room in like the only somewhat discount store in the whole country of Canada. Again, back in the day I didn't need to try everything on. This getting old thing is really cramping my style.

I was behind these two girls, one was a tiny Asian girl and the other was a not so tiny kind of Celtic girl. The TA (that's tiny Asian - you know something like the Elton John song but not really anything like it at all) was trying on three dresses, one red, one white and one blue. She made a comment as she had them laid across her arm something on the lines of - hey this looks like the American flag. Then she said, "but I need yellow, right?" Her friend looked confused. "There's yellow in the American flag right?"

Yeah, Younger body or Bigger Brain? Body or brain. Body or brain. This is tough. Ok. Brain.


AIR CONDITIONER UPDATE: see? I told you this would get good.

I'd like to take a moment to talk about the man who arms the front desk at our condo building. I'm going to call him Stan, because he looks like a Stan and he's just one letter short of anagramming Satan. See, for some outrageous reason, I thought that one might be able to ask rather general questions of the front desk man (which by the way is not to be confused with the back door man) questions such as

"Do you know the date they turn the AC on in this building?"

Yes, this was the question I asked about a week ago. I asked this because um yeah. I had no AC and it's like the end of May.

Stan said, "You'll have to call and ask Marlene."

Yes, let's call her Marlene because I heard her voice for the first time the other day and it kind of sounded like what I expected The Bloggess' s voice to sound like, but apparently according to all reports, The Bloggess sounds like a sweet little angel and Marlene sounds Jewish, exactly how The Bloggess sounds in her own head (no it's true. I read it on Twitter.)

Anyway, Marlene it is.

I replied to Stan "I've tried to call Marlene, but I only get her voicemail and I was just wondering, I mean do you know what date they are supposed to put the AC on?" (I figured I'd trick him by posing the question just a little differently, but ole' Stan isn't as dumbass as he looks. )

"You'll have to call and ask Marlene" he said over and over and over with his coil arms flailing, his red light up eyes flashing and smoke starting to come out of the top of his head.

"Alright, alright. Why don't you have a fit about it?" I said and walked out and then said "Geez" as I walked down the street careful to avoid cracks.

Anyway, then there was the other day when the guys came to replace the filters and saw me with my ratty robe and overflowing recycle bin o'wine. To cover up for the fact I was a lazy wino, I tried to make smalltalk and told them (because by this point I'll tell anyone who'll even pretend to listen) that my AC didn't work. I said it in a way that inferred So I don't know why the hell you interrupted my wine induced coma to replace filters in a unit that doesn't even work. Geez.

But you know what's infuriating about Canadians? No matter how bitchy you are they still act nice to you. I think it' s cuz they're afeared. So the man checks it out and says something like Yep you have a broken part and I'll report it. I didn't believe him so I told Dave to report it and the rest is history - the repairmen came and fixed the parts and I still had no AC but that was because (according to the repairmen) the building hadn't turned it on yet.

The next day (a day after they were supposed to turn it on) I still didn't have AC yet. So I go see my buddy Stan again. For the last few days, Stan had been avoiding me knowing that I'd try to ask him the question again. So I started to walk by him and then I quickly came back, acting like I had JUST remembered to ask him something. And you know what that something was don't you? I said, and I quote "Stan, can you tell me if they turned on the AC in the building yet?"

He said "That's what I'm told. But you'll have to call Marlene."

Now, I'm well aware that the people who told him could possibly be the same ones that live in his head, but I seriously do not know when to give up.

"Well, I've had my AC unit repaired and I still have no AC and so I don't know whether it's that the unit wasn't fixed properly or if they haven't turned on the AC yet."

"I've been told that they have turned it on, but you'll have to call Marlene."

"I did. I got her voicemail."

"You'll have to talk to Marlene."

I have never in my entire life (well, maybe once or twice) wanted to stab anyone so repeatedly in so many places, places where it would hurt really bad or render a person ugly enough to go on Style by Jury, as I did at that very moment people I'm not kidding.

But I didn't. I went shopping instead. And then all the things in the first 8 paragraphs of this blog entry happened and then I got a call from Marlene who confirmed the AC was on but that there was a problem with the system, not with my unit she said in a voice that sounded exactly like the voice inside the Bloggess's head.

And so, yeah. We're cool.

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