week in review
Apr. 25th, 2005 11:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fearlesstempI am happy to report that my stint housesitting did not end in death-by-hatchet as I'd feared. Why am I so insane about things like this? I watched a lot of Rescue 911 as a kid - could that be it? Or all that City Confidential on A&E in the years since? Whatever their cause, my irrational fears led to many a sleepless night out at my aunt's house, and I blame this sleeplessness for some, but not all, events of the week.
.i. the not liking dogs thing
Yesterday I was talking to my father about my trip to the Portrait Gallery in London, and went on and on about how there are all of these codes in paintings that I, as a person who has taken exactly zero art appreciation or art history courses in her life since high school, never really learned. Like how to recognize certain saints, or scenes from the Bible - all that jazz. I said to my father that it was kind of like how now, if you were making a movie and wanted to let the audience know immediately that a character (especially a female character) was bad, you would have them not like the cute dog.
And that's totally who I was by the end of the week. An evil person who doesn't like the cute dog! Oh God, I feel horrible even as I write this. My aunt and uncle have this totally adorable and sweet cocker spaniel, Frankie, who also happens to be very smelly and emotionally needy (sitting outside the bathroom whining every time I had to use the facilities, for example), not to mention not-quite-housebroken. But oh, so sweet and cute. He looks like a little bear cub. A bear cub! How can I not adore a dog that looks like a little bear cub and has a droopy sad pathetic face?
Somehow I can! By the end of the week I was ready to never spend time with another dog again. Enough poo-picking-up, enough talking down the frantic dog through the bathroom door, enough of being woken up at 3 in the morning by one of his barking fits (that last thing kept me up for the rest of the night because I was positive he was barking because of, you guessed it, an axe murder awaiting me in the kitchen). And somehow the sweetness worked against him - by the end of the week I was hating myself all the more for not loving him as much as I should, which caused me to resent the dog more, and overcompensate by giving him too many dog treats - a vicious cycle. I shudder at the thought of the dog's cholesterol levels.
.ii. the getting yelled at thing
I can generally function okay on relatively little sleep, but by Thursday I was operating at just above zombie level because of the dog waking me up in the middle of the night, stupid housesitting anxiety, and having to get up at the crack of dawn to let the dog out. The zombieness was not helped by my day-long task (stuffing envelopes while answering the phones) so I was not in top form when the representative from Realty USA called.
Realty USA Demon: I am at 4 Random Place in Generic Office Park! Where are you?
Fearless Temp: Uh, we're at 9 Boring Lane in Nondescript Office Park, twenty minutes away.
RUSAD: My office told me to go to 4 Random Place! Is your office involved in/handling the Yuppie Sale?
FT: . . . I'll have to check.
RUSAD: (huffy sigh) Does Katie Paralegal work there? She's working on it.
FT: Yes! Yes she does!
RUSAD: All right then, where are you again?
[Insert three minutes of testy conversation, involving directions-giving and all that jazz, during the course of which I never thought to ask Katie Paralegal what this could be regarding, or inquire whether she was expecting the Demon from Realty USA, or look into the calendars for the day to see if there is a closing scheduled at the office the Demon could be looking for.]
Twenty minutes later the Demon appears on the scene, all overdone makeup and too-blonde hair, just as I'm leaving for lunch so the reception area isn't empty except for me the way it is 95% of the time. No, the person covering lunch for me is there, and so is another random coworker.
RUSAD: Where is everyone else?
FT: I think you're the first one here.
RUSAD: First one here? This was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago!
[This is the point at which my stomach flipped over and I realized I'd messed up. I got on the phone with Katie Paralegal, who came out and said –]
Katie Paralegal: I'm sorry, the closing is actually at Mr. Other Attorney's Office at 4 Random Place.
RUSAD: This is BULLSHIT! That's where I was to START WITH and then SHE [Points at me] told me to come all the way out here.
FT: I'm so sorry –
RUSAD: BULLSHIT! [Storms out the door.]
[Silence]
FT: So I guess I'll take my lunch now?
It was terrible awful horrible bad. The worst. I apologized profusely and then went on my lunch and came very close to crying, but then remembered my solemn vow Not to Cry About Temp Jobs and instead bought myself a brownie to have with lunch. Chocolate is the best coping mechanism.
.iii. the cathunter
On Friday morning I got up to let the stupid dog out and stood there bleary-eyed in the early-morning sunlight, wondering if I was wearing the right shoes. After Frankie had done his business, I turned around to go back in the house and discovered that the back door, which I thought had shut behind me, had not and was now gaping open. I turned my head just in time to see Sprout the Incredible dart across the lawn towards freedom.
"Fuck!" I said, loudly. I threw some treats into the house to get Frankie to follow them inside, shut the door behind him, and turned to face my opponent: the tiny tan Sprout, who had finally tasted freedom after five years spent indoors. He hunched down next to the shed in the side yard, which has a nice crawlspace underneath perfect for cats.
I approached little Sprout as if he were a crazed felon wired with explosives (kind of like Sonny in that episode of General Hospital!), creeping slowly across the grass, talking in low tones, avoiding eye contact. He kept flinching with every step I took, though, and finally I just crouched down and used my generic high-pitched baby voice and said, "Come here, Sprouty! Get over here, cutie!"
He came right over to my outstretched hand. It was a stressful five minutes, though.
.iv. remember theresa
My grandfather died around this time three years ago. Every year my grandmother arranges a special mass for him, and we all go and then share a meal. It's nice. This year the mass was scheduled for Saturday morning, and when my family and I arrived (late, of course), the church seemed to look different than it should have for reasons I couldn't name at first.
I was about to ask about it when my aunt turned around and whispered to us, "It's a funeral!"
Yes, we totally crashed this strange woman's funeral. The family kept looking over at the big clump of us, wondering who in God's name we were. At the end one of the nuns came up to my mother and me, and expressed her deepest sympathy for us and our family.
We accepted, of course. Which might have been wrong. But she was such a cute, tiny nun, so sincere! And I get my allergy to awkwardness from my mother! We couldn't correct her!
At one point during the service, we were doing one of those Group Statement Things (I know there's a better word but my mind is gone tonight), like when we all say, "I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed" or something. Because the church was mostly empty, and because Roman Catholics are not known for their wildly enthusiastic participation in church, it tends to just sound like a low, indistinct murmuring.
Right near the end of the statement, Emma turned to look up at me and said, "It sounds like spirits!"
And you know, it really did.
.v. speaking of religious proclamations from the emster
A couple of weeks ago, before Benedict XVI was named, Emma heard an announcement on the radio about the search for a new Pope. She asked my aunt, all excited, whether a new Pope had been chosen yet, and then my aunt explained that no, no one had been chosen yet, the cardinals had to get together and decide who they thought would best lead the church.
Emma's response? "I hope Daddy wins."
.vi. fin
There was more, but I have to go to bed because I must adhere to my new strict bedtime. Look at me! Going to bed BEFORE MIDNIGHT! This deserves to be noted.
.i. the not liking dogs thing
Yesterday I was talking to my father about my trip to the Portrait Gallery in London, and went on and on about how there are all of these codes in paintings that I, as a person who has taken exactly zero art appreciation or art history courses in her life since high school, never really learned. Like how to recognize certain saints, or scenes from the Bible - all that jazz. I said to my father that it was kind of like how now, if you were making a movie and wanted to let the audience know immediately that a character (especially a female character) was bad, you would have them not like the cute dog.
And that's totally who I was by the end of the week. An evil person who doesn't like the cute dog! Oh God, I feel horrible even as I write this. My aunt and uncle have this totally adorable and sweet cocker spaniel, Frankie, who also happens to be very smelly and emotionally needy (sitting outside the bathroom whining every time I had to use the facilities, for example), not to mention not-quite-housebroken. But oh, so sweet and cute. He looks like a little bear cub. A bear cub! How can I not adore a dog that looks like a little bear cub and has a droopy sad pathetic face?
Somehow I can! By the end of the week I was ready to never spend time with another dog again. Enough poo-picking-up, enough talking down the frantic dog through the bathroom door, enough of being woken up at 3 in the morning by one of his barking fits (that last thing kept me up for the rest of the night because I was positive he was barking because of, you guessed it, an axe murder awaiting me in the kitchen). And somehow the sweetness worked against him - by the end of the week I was hating myself all the more for not loving him as much as I should, which caused me to resent the dog more, and overcompensate by giving him too many dog treats - a vicious cycle. I shudder at the thought of the dog's cholesterol levels.
.ii. the getting yelled at thing
I can generally function okay on relatively little sleep, but by Thursday I was operating at just above zombie level because of the dog waking me up in the middle of the night, stupid housesitting anxiety, and having to get up at the crack of dawn to let the dog out. The zombieness was not helped by my day-long task (stuffing envelopes while answering the phones) so I was not in top form when the representative from Realty USA called.
Realty USA Demon: I am at 4 Random Place in Generic Office Park! Where are you?
Fearless Temp: Uh, we're at 9 Boring Lane in Nondescript Office Park, twenty minutes away.
RUSAD: My office told me to go to 4 Random Place! Is your office involved in/handling the Yuppie Sale?
FT: . . . I'll have to check.
RUSAD: (huffy sigh) Does Katie Paralegal work there? She's working on it.
FT: Yes! Yes she does!
RUSAD: All right then, where are you again?
[Insert three minutes of testy conversation, involving directions-giving and all that jazz, during the course of which I never thought to ask Katie Paralegal what this could be regarding, or inquire whether she was expecting the Demon from Realty USA, or look into the calendars for the day to see if there is a closing scheduled at the office the Demon could be looking for.]
Twenty minutes later the Demon appears on the scene, all overdone makeup and too-blonde hair, just as I'm leaving for lunch so the reception area isn't empty except for me the way it is 95% of the time. No, the person covering lunch for me is there, and so is another random coworker.
RUSAD: Where is everyone else?
FT: I think you're the first one here.
RUSAD: First one here? This was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago!
[This is the point at which my stomach flipped over and I realized I'd messed up. I got on the phone with Katie Paralegal, who came out and said –]
Katie Paralegal: I'm sorry, the closing is actually at Mr. Other Attorney's Office at 4 Random Place.
RUSAD: This is BULLSHIT! That's where I was to START WITH and then SHE [Points at me] told me to come all the way out here.
FT: I'm so sorry –
RUSAD: BULLSHIT! [Storms out the door.]
[Silence]
FT: So I guess I'll take my lunch now?
It was terrible awful horrible bad. The worst. I apologized profusely and then went on my lunch and came very close to crying, but then remembered my solemn vow Not to Cry About Temp Jobs and instead bought myself a brownie to have with lunch. Chocolate is the best coping mechanism.
.iii. the cathunter
On Friday morning I got up to let the stupid dog out and stood there bleary-eyed in the early-morning sunlight, wondering if I was wearing the right shoes. After Frankie had done his business, I turned around to go back in the house and discovered that the back door, which I thought had shut behind me, had not and was now gaping open. I turned my head just in time to see Sprout the Incredible dart across the lawn towards freedom.
"Fuck!" I said, loudly. I threw some treats into the house to get Frankie to follow them inside, shut the door behind him, and turned to face my opponent: the tiny tan Sprout, who had finally tasted freedom after five years spent indoors. He hunched down next to the shed in the side yard, which has a nice crawlspace underneath perfect for cats.
I approached little Sprout as if he were a crazed felon wired with explosives (kind of like Sonny in that episode of General Hospital!), creeping slowly across the grass, talking in low tones, avoiding eye contact. He kept flinching with every step I took, though, and finally I just crouched down and used my generic high-pitched baby voice and said, "Come here, Sprouty! Get over here, cutie!"
He came right over to my outstretched hand. It was a stressful five minutes, though.
.iv. remember theresa
My grandfather died around this time three years ago. Every year my grandmother arranges a special mass for him, and we all go and then share a meal. It's nice. This year the mass was scheduled for Saturday morning, and when my family and I arrived (late, of course), the church seemed to look different than it should have for reasons I couldn't name at first.
I was about to ask about it when my aunt turned around and whispered to us, "It's a funeral!"
Yes, we totally crashed this strange woman's funeral. The family kept looking over at the big clump of us, wondering who in God's name we were. At the end one of the nuns came up to my mother and me, and expressed her deepest sympathy for us and our family.
We accepted, of course. Which might have been wrong. But she was such a cute, tiny nun, so sincere! And I get my allergy to awkwardness from my mother! We couldn't correct her!
At one point during the service, we were doing one of those Group Statement Things (I know there's a better word but my mind is gone tonight), like when we all say, "I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed" or something. Because the church was mostly empty, and because Roman Catholics are not known for their wildly enthusiastic participation in church, it tends to just sound like a low, indistinct murmuring.
Right near the end of the statement, Emma turned to look up at me and said, "It sounds like spirits!"
And you know, it really did.
.v. speaking of religious proclamations from the emster
A couple of weeks ago, before Benedict XVI was named, Emma heard an announcement on the radio about the search for a new Pope. She asked my aunt, all excited, whether a new Pope had been chosen yet, and then my aunt explained that no, no one had been chosen yet, the cardinals had to get together and decide who they thought would best lead the church.
Emma's response? "I hope Daddy wins."
.vi. fin
There was more, but I have to go to bed because I must adhere to my new strict bedtime. Look at me! Going to bed BEFORE MIDNIGHT! This deserves to be noted.
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no subject
Date: 2005-04-26 03:28 am (UTC)So I understand completely.
(PS: That's why you leave the bathroom door open. I know it sounds icky, but if you're the only one there, who cares?)
no subject
Date: 2005-04-30 03:36 am (UTC)I forgot to mention that one of Frankie's fun personality quirks is that he loves - LOVES - to eat paper products, including paper towels and toilet paper, and whenever he goes into the bathroom, he makes a bee line for the toilet paper holder. Which kind of makes the bathroom experience a little awkward - hence the locking him out an suffering through all the pathetic whining.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-26 04:38 am (UTC)My grandparents had a stinky (but really cute) cocker spaniel (no, really) named Amanda, who I always felt guilty about not liking because I was known for being an animal lover. Of all animals but the one my uncle's then girlfriend dubbed "the fart on four legs."
I also hated my (now-ex) boyfriend's stinky cat. Which I once accidentally shut in the bedroom, and it shit on my computer wires-- a situation not improved by my boyfriend, who I was living with, alerting me to the situation by screaming, "Look what you did!" To me, not the stinky cat.
When I broke up with him (the boyfriend... well, with the cat too) he (the boyfriend) accused me of breaking up with him just in order to get rid of the cat. I immediately said, "Oh no!" Because you're supposed to love cute, aged cats. Anyway, it was true-- the break up wasn't to get rid of the cat. Getting rid of the cat, though, was something I did view as a bonus.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-30 03:38 am (UTC)And as horrible as your boyfriend's behavior was, I laughed out loud at the "Look what you did!" comment. Crazy cat people! I can make comments about them because I count myself among them.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-26 12:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-30 04:09 am (UTC)