See, what my parents fail to understand is I am not Bob Villa. I'm not mechanically inclined. If shit breaks, I am more inclined to let it stay broken, or pay someone to fix whatever it is in order to have it in working condition again. Living in a house that Charles "Little House on the Prairie" Ingalls would say, "damn, that shit is old and busted" makes me want to commit ritualistic homicide. However the rent is right and for that reason and that reason alone, I will stay here until I am done with grad school, which, Allah be praised, I am starting in September.
So...for the past six months, I have spent my days off either doing shit around the house or waiting for workmen to show up to do shit beyond my lack of home repair knowledge. Today, I was waiting for the fucking electric company to show up. They were going to turn the power in the apartment next door, back on. Whats even more effed up is that in order for them to do this, they needed to have the power in the apartment shut down. So, being the awesome handy-man-esque, Schneider from One Day at a Time wanna-be, I am, I go and pull down the lever to shut the Death Star down. What I didn't realize was that my electricity, for whatever reason, is tied into the box for the apt. next door. So while ragin', mangry, lectric-lesbian was doing whatever she needed to do with the meter, I was able to sit in my house and watch my life flash before my eyes from heatstroke.
Yeah, an afternoon of heat stroke was awesome. Now I'm on my way to Home Depot to pick up a 5 gallon bucket of spackle, so I can pull down 200 years worth of wallpaper and then respackle the walls. After that's good and dry, when I get home from work on Saturday, I get to start painting before I go on vacation next week. Color me postal. I am trying to find someone to guest blog while I'm gone but I can't make any promises.
I hope you are all well.