I loathe with the white hot heat of a thousand suns (or the flame of G.W. Bush's crack pipe; your pick) emails soliciting link trading.
19 August 2004
In Short: Tetchy
- I have been waking up at obscenely early hours lately. (read: before noon) Between work (insane) and the work going on at the flat (never ending. dear god make it stop.), I have been awake every bloody night for the past week and a half from 7am until at least 2am.
- I almost ended up with a carmine pink room. Apparently a batch of "red" was too difficult for the two Romanian workers to mix up. I spent Sunday and Monday on a rickety ladder repainting my room. Suffice to say I ended up with red paint in really bizarre places.
- Plaster dust sucks.
- The fridge currently holds nothing but limoncello, tequila, and Sambucca to help me forget the above three events.
- Shithead texted me today asking if I knew a Mr. Foo Bar and if Mr. Bar was the same as my ex, Mr. Boink Buddy. The pissed off response he got back outlined some key points.
1) I know several people with the same first name as Mr. BB, one of whom I don't know their last name.
1a) I might know Mr. Foo Bar
1b) Mr. Foo Bar is not the same person as Mr. Boink Buddy.
2) Stop fucking calling him my ex. "Ex" implies love where there wasn't any. He was a friend with privileges (still the former but without the latter now)
3) Christ on a popscicle stick, get over it. Mr. BB is not even in Rome any more.
- I almost ended up with a carmine pink room. Apparently a batch of "red" was too difficult for the two Romanian workers to mix up. I spent Sunday and Monday on a rickety ladder repainting my room. Suffice to say I ended up with red paint in really bizarre places.
- Plaster dust sucks.
- The fridge currently holds nothing but limoncello, tequila, and Sambucca to help me forget the above three events.
- Shithead texted me today asking if I knew a Mr. Foo Bar and if Mr. Bar was the same as my ex, Mr. Boink Buddy. The pissed off response he got back outlined some key points.
1) I know several people with the same first name as Mr. BB, one of whom I don't know their last name.
1a) I might know Mr. Foo Bar
1b) Mr. Foo Bar is not the same person as Mr. Boink Buddy.
2) Stop fucking calling him my ex. "Ex" implies love where there wasn't any. He was a friend with privileges (still the former but without the latter now)
3) Christ on a popscicle stick, get over it. Mr. BB is not even in Rome any more.
14 August 2004
The Joys of Moving: #364
Your period starts early and you can't remember where the fuck you packed the tampons.
10 August 2004
Files from Project New Apartment: Me versus the Electric Company
As the contract had been registered with the city the previous day, BG had called last Wednesday to get our electricity and gas turned on. This being August, the month where 99% of the country goes on holidays, we were given appointments for the following week. ItalGas we initially thought won the prize for being the biggest pain in the arse as they gave us an appointment for the 13th whereupon they are supposed to show up sometime between the hours of 8.00 and 15.30.
However, ACEA has heroically swiped that award as of yesterday. They had given up an appointment for yesterday from the hours of 10.30 to 13.30. As BG has gone on hols to Greece,* I arranged to come into work later, planning on scraping the previous tenants' grime from all possible surfaces while waiting for the tech to arrive.
Let me take the time to point out that our building has a doorwoman. She keeps the doors to the building open from 8.00 until 13.00 and then from 16.00 until at least 18.00. She's a nosy little bird and takes her jobas resident busybody very seriously. Also, not only does my doorbell and intercom work, but the little doorbell labels on the outside of the building are clearly numbered.
So I'm sweating my balls off (figuratively speaking obviously) scraping and scrubbing the grime from the kitchen. I find out that the kitchen sink is leaking when I rinse out the rags; at look under the sink shows no sign of leakage from the tubes nor from the entrance into the wall, which points to a leak inside the wall.
However, ACEA has heroically swiped that award as of yesterday. They had given up an appointment for yesterday from the hours of 10.30 to 13.30. As BG has gone on hols to Greece,* I arranged to come into work later, planning on scraping the previous tenants' grime from all possible surfaces while waiting for the tech to arrive.
Let me take the time to point out that our building has a doorwoman. She keeps the doors to the building open from 8.00 until 13.00 and then from 16.00 until at least 18.00. She's a nosy little bird and takes her job
So I'm sweating my balls off (figuratively speaking obviously) scraping and scrubbing the grime from the kitchen. I find out that the kitchen sink is leaking when I rinse out the rags; at look under the sink shows no sign of leakage from the tubes nor from the entrance into the wall, which points to a leak inside the wall.
07 August 2004
Thursday's Woes
10.00 - I go to my place of work to meet BG and Fucking Possessive Jealous French Canadian Leech from Hell so that we can trek off to IKEA as arranged the previous night. Fucking Possessive Jealous French Canadian Leech from Hell is tagging along because he will be driving the rental truck and we needed some testosterone to lug large objects around. Curly couldn't make it due to Larry being a cuntrag and refusing to switch shifts.
10.30 - They finally show up.
10.35 - mandatory cappuccino infusion.
10.45 - Our Really Cool Boss (Please Ignore His Family) pulls his world famous flapjack routine; one minute he's going to give us the company credit card, the next a second party check, the next a second party company check.
11.00 - We call IKEA's info line to double check on requirements for second party checks. The operator informs us that we need a copy of ORCB(PIHF)'s identification, his tax number, and a signed statement of consent. He hands us a blank check.
11.10 - BG asks me "So how are we getting there?" Apparently the battery in her car is shot to shit. Public transport it is.
11.15 - We purchase metro tickets and hop onto the humid, foetid Linea A, settling in for a long ride to the last stop at Anagnina.
11.16 - I immediately kick myself for not having a camera on me to document the first time (and last, I suspect) I have ever seen BG riding public transportation in Rome.
11.40 - We arrive at Anagnina and bumble about looking for the fecking IKEA shuttle bus. Upon asking a public bus driver where the pick-up point is, he informs us we just missed one, but we could take the 507.
11.45 - We get off the 507 at the rear of IKEA and realise that we have to walk all the way around to the front as they have a fucking fence surrounding everything. The good news is that there's a nice brisk wind blowing. The bad news is that it's blow sand from a construction site into our eyes, despite the sunglasses.
12.00 - We enter IKEA. First stop: another cappuccino. And something to eat.
12.05 - Second stop: bathroom
10.30 - They finally show up.
10.35 - mandatory cappuccino infusion.
10.45 - Our Really Cool Boss (Please Ignore His Family) pulls his world famous flapjack routine; one minute he's going to give us the company credit card, the next a second party check, the next a second party company check.
11.00 - We call IKEA's info line to double check on requirements for second party checks. The operator informs us that we need a copy of ORCB(PIHF)'s identification, his tax number, and a signed statement of consent. He hands us a blank check.
11.10 - BG asks me "So how are we getting there?" Apparently the battery in her car is shot to shit. Public transport it is.
11.15 - We purchase metro tickets and hop onto the humid, foetid Linea A, settling in for a long ride to the last stop at Anagnina.
11.16 - I immediately kick myself for not having a camera on me to document the first time (and last, I suspect) I have ever seen BG riding public transportation in Rome.
11.40 - We arrive at Anagnina and bumble about looking for the fecking IKEA shuttle bus. Upon asking a public bus driver where the pick-up point is, he informs us we just missed one, but we could take the 507.
11.45 - We get off the 507 at the rear of IKEA and realise that we have to walk all the way around to the front as they have a fucking fence surrounding everything. The good news is that there's a nice brisk wind blowing. The bad news is that it's blow sand from a construction site into our eyes, despite the sunglasses.
12.00 - We enter IKEA. First stop: another cappuccino. And something to eat.
12.05 - Second stop: bathroom
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)