Tag Archives: my crappy apartment

Things Emmy Has Said/Done This Week

WHILE WATCHING AMERICA’S TEST KITCHEN: “Not the tasting noises! Oh, this is so gross. I can’t listen. It’s like a porn. What if they made a porn? It would be called ‘America’s Fuck Kitchen.’ I can’t believe no one’s done that yet. Wait, maybe they have. Should I google it? No. Ew, no. I can’t google that. It’s too horrible.”

IN REGARDS TO THE UPSTAIRS NEIGHBORS: “Did the kid just fall down? Or are they boning?”

SENT VIA TEXT MESSAGE: “Where are yoooouuuuuu? I am getting drunk.”

SHOPPING AT OLD NAVY: “Should I get this argyle sweater? I mean, I’m not really an argyle sweater person. I mean…well, I guess I am. Shut up. Also it’s pink and purple and goes with my hiking boots.”

IN REGARDS TO THE UPSTAIRS NEIGHBORS, AGAIN GODDAMN IT: “Seriously. Get the broom.”

LISTENING TO THE RADIO: “Sometimes when I hear this Death Cab for Cutie intro, I think of Keyboard Cat. Like, playing the keyboard. It’s very pretty. They should team up. They could be ‘Death Cab for Keyboard Cat.’ Omigod, tell that to the internet.”

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I Like Butts And Stuff.

October is NaBloWriMo,

also known as the month of frivolous blog posts. So while I am a huge procrastinator and was all, “Oh! One of my favorite blogs, Use Real Butter, is updating EVERY SINGLE DAY. Huzzah!”, my sister and dispenser of common sense Yean dropped a little “why are you reading other people’s blogs instead of updating yours?” on me. DAMN HER SHE IS RIGHT.

Actually a lot has been going on here at my Crappy Apartment. First of all, I no longer live in it! Yean and I have moved to a bigger, fuglier place in a less cute neighborhood but on a cuter block. The thing it really has going for it is that it has two bedrooms, which is an improvement, let me tell you. I thought I would miss the nice hardwood floors of my one-bedroom, the apartment that represented freedom and possibly an optimistic estimate of my take home pay when I first got it. But you know what I don’t miss? Hearing someone CLOMP ALL OVER THE FUCKING PLACE every damn morning. I am a very light sleeper. Very.

Also I have a new and somewhat confusing work schedule, and between that and the moving I’ve spent the past week running errands, worrying about an errand I have to run, or lying awake at night thinking about all the errands I ran that day.

And I have not been cooking because we didn’t want to buy a bunch of food just to have to pack it all up in a week. So it’s been take out and tuna melts round these parts, and while those things are tasty to me they are not necessarily compelling reading. And the new place, and the moving and the work…crap’s going down, is what I’m saying. So obviously I would not have time to do something like NaBloWriMo! Besides it is already the fourth! And haven’t I done NaNoWriMo in years past, starting with strong intentions only to fail miserably by week two?

So I am not doing that, but I am writing more. I’m writing very, very small and silly things, but I am writing them. And that’s that. Today I bring you no great thoughts, but I do bring a picture. Of Goliath.

Goliath is a very large…I want to say goose, because he’s always hanging with the geese. Here you can see his mighty ‘tocks. I want to emphasize his sheer size, here. Have you seen a goose, like a normal goose? They’re pretty big, huh? Could give a small child a run for their money? Goliath dwarfs them. He lords over them. They are the Danny DeVito th his Arnold Schwarzenegger. Somehow Goliath won the genetic lottery, and he was granted superior size and a neck waddle to attract only the finest ladies.

When the geese are in town he’s usually hanging with his bitches at the Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden, so the $3 admission fee is worth it even when the flowers stop blooming. The first time Yean and I saw him he was nearly blocking a path to a nice little bridge, in a big group of geese and ducks around this old lady throwing seed. We were all, “bitch, don’t throw that shit in the path! People gotta walk through!” Or at least that’s what we tried to convey with our eyes.

I think the best part about Goliath, aside from his massive size, is that about a week after I put that picture on my Flickr page I got this comment:

Excellent !

This would be great for the
Birds & Animals Butt Shots the Animal Bums the Animal Bums from around the World and the Animal Butts

Check us out

THERE ARE FOUR SEPARATE GROUPS FOR BUTTS.

I shit you not.

(ba-dum-ching!)

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What is Going On Here?

jank window

Is it:

a) A drunk window

b) The result of my rage-induced smashing rampage

c) A sign that you should always open all windows and blinds when doing a move-in walkthrough, even if it’s December and oh god why is it snowing this is fucking Portland

I’ll also note that his is as far as that window opens. On days of extreme melting heat I’ve had good results with propping it up with a big plastic spoon. Also the blind slats don’t open; if you want light you’ve gotta pull the whole dang thing up.

Anyway, my lapse in blogging can be (mostly) blamed on a series of house-related mishaps. First my sewing machine broke down spectacularly and couldn’t be resuscitated, despite half an hour of me fiddling with it while shouting passive aggressive remarks at my poor sister. Finally I wandered into the kitchen, knees bruised from kneeling in front of the bobbin case. “The sewing machine fucked me.” I announced. The next day we bought a new one, which you can see in the picture. It works amazingly, though I’m still getting used to the idea of not having to stop every five minutes to untangle the bobbin.

Also there was an incident regarding ink stains in the tub which is still too painful to talk about. And then there were the ants. So many ants. I think ants get poo-pooed when it comes to pest control horror stories. Sure they’re easy to kill and they don’t carry the plague, but it’s still pretty creepy to realize there are hundreds of tiny creatures wandering around my house. First they came one or two, under the front door or through my bedroom window. It’s fine, every apartment has a couple ants.

Then one night I came home from work and they were THERE. In the kitchen. “ANTS!” I yelled, pointing at the floor. They were making a little march up and down the front of the stove, aka “crumb central.” Yean started yanking them up with a wad of duct tape. It was bad. Every time we’d clear the floor, ten minutes later there’d be more.  Eventually we ran duct tape sticky side up around the stove and the entrance of the kitchen to try and keep them from escaping. Yean took a picture for posterity:

taped off stovetaped kitchen

Other things the ants tried to eat include my gross bakery shoes and my laundry pile. Also they were definitely coming from the front door, which Yean discovered one day when she went to vacuum up some spiderwebs behind the TV and found a little pile of ant carcasses. Those spiders were fat and happy.

Anyway, what all this has taught me is that I’m a disgusting human and I live in a shit hole, hardwood floors notwithstanding. We finally killed the ants using the one-two punch of ant traps and delicious poisonous spray. And cleaning. So much cleaning. But look! Look at the results of my ant paranoia!

cleankitchen0002

It smells nice too.

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