Monday, December 10, 2007
Penguins Deployed and a Wandering Ladder
The tree is not actually up yet. I need to acquire new strings of lights before I can decorate the thing.
I also have to put up the wreaths and will need to employ Brian to help with some window festoonery. I have some additional items I would like to put in the kitchen, but since we are planning to strip the butt-ugly paisley wallpaper and paint over the holiday break, it might not be a good idea to totally deck that room out.
On a related note, Brian observed that our ladder, the one which looks rather like the ladder sitting against the wall in the new neighbor's garage space, was missing. We are going to need that ladder for the aforementioned stripping and painting. Brian chose a moment during which my butt was about to be kicked by Ursula the Sea Witch in Kingdom Hearts to inform me of the wayward ladder, and so I was not all that helpful or cooperative at the time. Once my game was saved, I double checked the basement, fruitlessly as it turns out. Brian says he remembers specifically putting the ladder in the garage behind the shovels.
Is there a good way to ask a neighbor if they've stolen your ladder?
Today I checked the ladder against the wall for telltale paint spatters. Paint that exactly matches the blue of Brian's office and the pine needle green of our bedroom was clearly evident. I moved the ladder over to our parking space.
We'll see what happens next.
I also have to put up the wreaths and will need to employ Brian to help with some window festoonery. I have some additional items I would like to put in the kitchen, but since we are planning to strip the butt-ugly paisley wallpaper and paint over the holiday break, it might not be a good idea to totally deck that room out.
On a related note, Brian observed that our ladder, the one which looks rather like the ladder sitting against the wall in the new neighbor's garage space, was missing. We are going to need that ladder for the aforementioned stripping and painting. Brian chose a moment during which my butt was about to be kicked by Ursula the Sea Witch in Kingdom Hearts to inform me of the wayward ladder, and so I was not all that helpful or cooperative at the time. Once my game was saved, I double checked the basement, fruitlessly as it turns out. Brian says he remembers specifically putting the ladder in the garage behind the shovels.
Is there a good way to ask a neighbor if they've stolen your ladder?
Today I checked the ladder against the wall for telltale paint spatters. Paint that exactly matches the blue of Brian's office and the pine needle green of our bedroom was clearly evident. I moved the ladder over to our parking space.
We'll see what happens next.
Labels: Brian, Christmas, Christmas tree, condominium, neighbor
Friday, August 31, 2007
My Baldness--and Lax Gardening--Explained
I don't care for Robert Frost, personally, but he did at least speak truly when he said, "good fences make good neighbors." Maybe he meant it ironically, but as a new condo owner, I think one can certainly have an overabundance of the neighborly influence.
One day the neighborly condo association president invited herself over to bring me the new folder of contact information and bylaws. That's fine, but it happened to be a day on which I was feeling quite icky. I was in pajamas, had no hair or makeup on, and felt kind of ill. She wanted to invite herself in to sit on my sofa and go over the contents of the folder.
"Now isn't really a good time," I told her, "But I'd be happy to look at it later." I had grabbed a hat to put on my bald head which was lined with faux fur and too hot to be wearing that day. I started to sweat. Instead of handing me the folder, the old lady insisted on standing in my open doorway, reading verbatim the contents of the folder as flies buzzed in and out the door.
She later saw fit to let Brian know that the sticker on his license plate was expired (it was; the expiration date is my mom's birthday so it totally slipped my mind, and the Secretary of State did not send us the renewal notice) because he had to park in a spot kitty-corner to her building. Brian initially tried to park under the trees close to our garage, but one of our neighbors informed him that it was a fire lane and parking wasn't allowed there. So now Brian parks where the condo association president lady can inspect his expired sticker (and suggest if it's not taken care of, the police will be notified), and our neighbor can park in the fire lane under the trees.
Those same neighbors on one side have taken to heart the whole fence issue and have constructed a Wall of Doomtm in the communal garage. What started as a pile of gardening crap, shelves, wagons, boxes, bags, and who knows what else, has been fortified by means of plywood, additional shelving units, poster board, and clips into something that is immovable and comes right up to the scored line in the pavement.
Technically, the space on that side of the scored line is theirs, but it means when I pull my car into the garage, I can't open the car door all the way. It's difficult under the best of circumstances to haul my gimpy carcass out of the car (which is rather sporty and low to the ground), but if I have to squeeze out of a door that is trying to slam shut on me it's especially hard.
The space over there is also filled with a hanging hockey net, several bikes with layers upon layers of dust, and a crazy assortment of shoes, bags, candy canes hanging off of the hockey net.
Our neighbor on the other side has a tidier garage space. She used to apologize for her dog's barking, but since Brian brought his Harley over from my mom's and has started riding it to work on nice days, the neighbor no longer apologizes about the noise her dog makes. According to the condo association bylaws, motorcycles must be kept parked in the garage. In order to do so, Brian has to park sideways in front of my car--he found a cute little flashing signal that lets me know when to stop pulling forward so I don't knock the bike over. The neighbor has since put a brand-new carpet runner in the garage in the area on her side of the scored pavement line, where Brian needs to wheel his bike in order to turn it around. I told him to take a carpet remnant from when we had the master bedroom carpet replaced to put over her carpet runner so she wouldn't be able to complain that his bike messed it up.
What kind of passive-aggressive doofus puts a carpet runner in the garage?
Evidently, both neighbors are dissatisfied at the condition in which our front garden space is kept. I enjoy gardening and meant to do some planting this year, but was more tired from the chemo than I thought I would be. I was also unexpectedly ill several times. I'm still pretty stiff, too. So I didn't do planting, and the weeds started to pop up.
I hoped the condo association would deal with the dead bush soon. It was there when we moved in, and I hated that wretched eyesore.
At my mom's condo, the association maintains the lawns, trees, and shrubberies. I expected it to be the same at my condo. After all, we have to get special permission to put in shrubs or do landscaping. When were they going to take out that hideous bush?
A day before Brian and I were to leave for a Fourth of July weekend vacation, we got a letter from the association informing us that we had seven days to remove the offending plant, or we would be assessed a fine of a hundred-something dollars. I was utterly flummoxed--why wouldn't anybody say anything HELPFUL about the bush before contacting the association about penalties? Where on earth were we going to find somebody to remove the shrub before leaving the next day? Brian had to get out there with a hacksaw to chop the thing down, then since there was no trash pickup that evening (and putting whole dead shrubs into the trash pickup pile isn't allowed, I'm sure), he had to jam the thing into his car--which is now full of brown needles--and sneak it into the dumpster at our old apartment.
Brian and I also spent some time pulling out the obvious weeds from the remaining (somewhat slug-eaten) violets, when the neighbor with the dog came out to pick at imaginary weeds in her own garden space.
"Pulling weeds, eh?" she asked us as she picked maple seeds out of her garden's gravel. She then proceeded to tell us about a neighbor who never weeded and about what a horrible eyesore it was. Somewhere over there--she waved indistinctly. I didn't listen closely. Our neighbors could have said something helpful about the plant problem before getting us threatened with monetary penalties.
About two weeks ago I came home from work and arrived only slightly after Brian. I heard him talking with someone outside (he had taken Baxter outside) and tried to listen from the window as I had already taken my hair off. I couldn't hear anything, so I grabbed a baseball cap and went outside to say hello.
Brian was talking to the neighbor with the Wall of Doomtm, who immediately said to me, "Brian told me about your condition--I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do--if you need a ride somewhere, or just want some company, let me know." I thanked her.
She said she and the other neighbor had been talking about me. "We thought you had that, what's it called--when you lose your hair..."
"Alopecia?" I said.
"That's right. We thought maybe you had alopecia."
Of course. The reason I'm a crappy gardener and have weeds and let the license tags expire and don't remove dead bushes, and come to the door in my pajamas and don't let people in is that I'm LAZY and have alopecia.
I'm glad that's all cleared up.
One day the neighborly condo association president invited herself over to bring me the new folder of contact information and bylaws. That's fine, but it happened to be a day on which I was feeling quite icky. I was in pajamas, had no hair or makeup on, and felt kind of ill. She wanted to invite herself in to sit on my sofa and go over the contents of the folder.
"Now isn't really a good time," I told her, "But I'd be happy to look at it later." I had grabbed a hat to put on my bald head which was lined with faux fur and too hot to be wearing that day. I started to sweat. Instead of handing me the folder, the old lady insisted on standing in my open doorway, reading verbatim the contents of the folder as flies buzzed in and out the door.
She later saw fit to let Brian know that the sticker on his license plate was expired (it was; the expiration date is my mom's birthday so it totally slipped my mind, and the Secretary of State did not send us the renewal notice) because he had to park in a spot kitty-corner to her building. Brian initially tried to park under the trees close to our garage, but one of our neighbors informed him that it was a fire lane and parking wasn't allowed there. So now Brian parks where the condo association president lady can inspect his expired sticker (and suggest if it's not taken care of, the police will be notified), and our neighbor can park in the fire lane under the trees.
Those same neighbors on one side have taken to heart the whole fence issue and have constructed a Wall of Doomtm in the communal garage. What started as a pile of gardening crap, shelves, wagons, boxes, bags, and who knows what else, has been fortified by means of plywood, additional shelving units, poster board, and clips into something that is immovable and comes right up to the scored line in the pavement.
Technically, the space on that side of the scored line is theirs, but it means when I pull my car into the garage, I can't open the car door all the way. It's difficult under the best of circumstances to haul my gimpy carcass out of the car (which is rather sporty and low to the ground), but if I have to squeeze out of a door that is trying to slam shut on me it's especially hard.
The space over there is also filled with a hanging hockey net, several bikes with layers upon layers of dust, and a crazy assortment of shoes, bags, candy canes hanging off of the hockey net.
Our neighbor on the other side has a tidier garage space. She used to apologize for her dog's barking, but since Brian brought his Harley over from my mom's and has started riding it to work on nice days, the neighbor no longer apologizes about the noise her dog makes. According to the condo association bylaws, motorcycles must be kept parked in the garage. In order to do so, Brian has to park sideways in front of my car--he found a cute little flashing signal that lets me know when to stop pulling forward so I don't knock the bike over. The neighbor has since put a brand-new carpet runner in the garage in the area on her side of the scored pavement line, where Brian needs to wheel his bike in order to turn it around. I told him to take a carpet remnant from when we had the master bedroom carpet replaced to put over her carpet runner so she wouldn't be able to complain that his bike messed it up.
What kind of passive-aggressive doofus puts a carpet runner in the garage?
Evidently, both neighbors are dissatisfied at the condition in which our front garden space is kept. I enjoy gardening and meant to do some planting this year, but was more tired from the chemo than I thought I would be. I was also unexpectedly ill several times. I'm still pretty stiff, too. So I didn't do planting, and the weeds started to pop up.
I hoped the condo association would deal with the dead bush soon. It was there when we moved in, and I hated that wretched eyesore.
At my mom's condo, the association maintains the lawns, trees, and shrubberies. I expected it to be the same at my condo. After all, we have to get special permission to put in shrubs or do landscaping. When were they going to take out that hideous bush?
A day before Brian and I were to leave for a Fourth of July weekend vacation, we got a letter from the association informing us that we had seven days to remove the offending plant, or we would be assessed a fine of a hundred-something dollars. I was utterly flummoxed--why wouldn't anybody say anything HELPFUL about the bush before contacting the association about penalties? Where on earth were we going to find somebody to remove the shrub before leaving the next day? Brian had to get out there with a hacksaw to chop the thing down, then since there was no trash pickup that evening (and putting whole dead shrubs into the trash pickup pile isn't allowed, I'm sure), he had to jam the thing into his car--which is now full of brown needles--and sneak it into the dumpster at our old apartment.
Brian and I also spent some time pulling out the obvious weeds from the remaining (somewhat slug-eaten) violets, when the neighbor with the dog came out to pick at imaginary weeds in her own garden space.
"Pulling weeds, eh?" she asked us as she picked maple seeds out of her garden's gravel. She then proceeded to tell us about a neighbor who never weeded and about what a horrible eyesore it was. Somewhere over there--she waved indistinctly. I didn't listen closely. Our neighbors could have said something helpful about the plant problem before getting us threatened with monetary penalties.
About two weeks ago I came home from work and arrived only slightly after Brian. I heard him talking with someone outside (he had taken Baxter outside) and tried to listen from the window as I had already taken my hair off. I couldn't hear anything, so I grabbed a baseball cap and went outside to say hello.
Brian was talking to the neighbor with the Wall of Doomtm, who immediately said to me, "Brian told me about your condition--I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do--if you need a ride somewhere, or just want some company, let me know." I thanked her.
She said she and the other neighbor had been talking about me. "We thought you had that, what's it called--when you lose your hair..."
"Alopecia?" I said.
"That's right. We thought maybe you had alopecia."
Of course. The reason I'm a crappy gardener and have weeds and let the license tags expire and don't remove dead bushes, and come to the door in my pajamas and don't let people in is that I'm LAZY and have alopecia.
I'm glad that's all cleared up.
Labels: baldness, Brian, chemo, condominium, neighbor
Friday, December 15, 2006
The Joys of Home Ownership
Brian and I are now the proud owners of a three-bedroom condo practically across the street from where we live now. We have already:
I am thrilled to have a home that is not a rental property. I am very happy that we can paint and replace carpet and fixtures. I'm very psyched about the prospect of crown molding, and am hoping that it's not too difficult to install. A year ago I honestly did not think that signing a thirty-year mortgage and moving into a two-story home with a basement would ever be within my reach.
I have never been more happy to be wrong.
- Removed the crappy spindles on the half-wall between the dining area and the kitchen.
- Removed wallpaper and put a first coat of paint on the walls in the master bedroom, engendering some achy backs and knees; I am never doing edging along the floor again.
- Gotten the Christmas tree over to the new condo. I feel like putting it up will be an important milestone.
- Had the carpets and ducts cleaned.
- Ordered new carpeting (berber) for the master bedroom to replace the existing crappy worn stuff.
- Recruited some people to help us move on the 26th (although anyone else is welcome to come).
- Acquired puppy gates (YES!).
- Picked out paint color which will go up when the rest of the crappy wallpaper comes down. There's some serious ugly on the walls right now--pics are coming soon.
- Anticipated conflict with the one neighbor who deems the area outside our new dining room as his/her garden--just wait until we inform them we would like to build a deck there.
I am thrilled to have a home that is not a rental property. I am very happy that we can paint and replace carpet and fixtures. I'm very psyched about the prospect of crown molding, and am hoping that it's not too difficult to install. A year ago I honestly did not think that signing a thirty-year mortgage and moving into a two-story home with a basement would ever be within my reach.
I have never been more happy to be wrong.
Labels: Brian, carpet, Christmas, Christmas tree, condominium, mortgage, neighbor, paint, pug, wallpaper
