Don't fence me in

Last Wednesday--not yesterday; the one before--I left for work and everything at Frau Gardens looked as it should.  When I arrived home that evening, this happened.

A fence that had heretofore not been there suddenly appeared.  Well, not suddenly like "BAM! Here's your fence!" but suddenly as in sometime in the past eight hours, a fence has been erected.  I puzzled over this addition longer than I should have.  I stood on the sidewalk, head cocked to the side like a dog looking at a ceiling fan, wondering "why now?"  I've lived at Frau Gardens for 14 years now and we have never had a fence, nor any need for one that I could see.  Since the fence is only about two and a half feet high, one can only assume its sole purpose is to keep dogs from crapping on our lush, green lawn.

Here's what really confused me and chapped my hide:  notice in the above photo, there is a gate at the first sidewalk, and another one farther down at the middle sidewalk.  However....

the lush green lawn

The Frau was too damned cheap to install a gate at the third sidewalk, the one in front of my front stoop. And while that is not really a big deal--I mean, the yard isn't that big--it is still annoying that I can't just enter in front of my own porch and have to walk along the dreaded uneven cracked sidewalk, the site of my horrible fall last year that left me bruised and sprained for months, and that I can no longer sneak past Latina Gladys Kravitz, as I am required now to walk right in front of her apartment.  In defiance, I've been walking right across the grass, because I'm a rebel, Dotty.   

Another awesome side effect of the new fence:  when my downstairs neighbor comes home from the bars at 3am, I not only get to hear him slam his screen door, I now get the added bonus of hearing him slam the gate as well.  Last Friday he had a party, which from what I could hear was attended by the girl you wish you hadn't started a conversation with at a party, and I was treated to the lovely sound of every single guest slamming the gate as they left.  Yes, I'm old and cranky.  Now get off my lush, green lawn.  

The nearly full moon brings it

I had one of those days at work, so I was not surprised that Jamie decided to act up on the way to the Farmer's Market tonight. Actually, she was fine until I pulled into the parking lot, when she thought it was a good idea to scream, "OIL!" Tell me something, folks. Does it make sense for the oil light to come on when the oil tank is COMPLETELY EMPTY? Wouldn't it be much more helpful if it gave you a warning before you were in danger of your engine seizing? Or, is it just Volkswagens that do that? Rather than take a chance, I left Jamie in the lot and walked up to the Chevron on Fairfax and Beverly where I had to count pretty much every penny in my purse to pay for two quarts of oil. $6 per quart!! Holy Crap! Anyway, Jamie is now two quarts happier and I'll be eating bread and butter for the next week.

But on a lighter note, Natalie brought this awesome book to show us tonight. I must knit all of these toys right away (or have someone else knit them because seriously, I haven't even finished all the hat orders and it's damn near summer). It's the Knitted Odd-bod Bunch by Donna Wilson. It has the cutest oddball knitted toys you've ever seen. There's this one with a giant head and the funniest teeth--oh my Lord, I couldn't stop laughing. I told Natalie about my Ugly Bunny, which I love and only partially because it was a gift from a special boy. So, here he is in all his oddball glory.I do have a soft spot for the odd, the outcasts, the quirky and the just plain weird.

Netflix, You Bastards!!

You can't see me, but I'm totally shaking my fist angrily in the direction of Santa Ana, California, the location of the nearest Netflix hub. As I mentioned a few days ago, the three movies queued up from Netflix were kind of a theme and I didn't want to break up the set, so I forced myself to watch "Orlando," even though I wasn't really into it. I sent all three DVDs in on Monday and awaited my next three. Meghan asked what theme. It was set to be a mini Shiathon--Transformers and Battle of Shaker Heights, with a little Joey Gordon-Levitt thrown in because I have a soft spot for that boy (he became my surrogate nephew when I first moved here and missed The Roy something fierce). With much anticipation I opened my mailbox yesterday to find two, not three, movies waiting. "It's okay," I consoled myself. "You can't watch them all tonight anyway and the third will arrive tomorrow. I'm sure of it."

I opened the DVD packages to find (a) a movie I don't remember putting on my queue and (b) The Lookout (Joey's movie). I watched movie A because I didn't need to really pay attention and I was blogging while watching. Movie A blows, by the way. Maybe if you didn't live that life back in Pennsyltucky you might find it interesting, but that was just a chapter from my 20's with thicker accents. Sighing heavily, I tossed that in the mail today hoping to have my Shiathon this weekend. Then I got this email from Netflix:
Oh, did you? Did you receive Transformers? That's funny. BECAUSE I DIDN'T!!! I'd love to "Rate this title" but I haven't seen it yet, because you didn't send it to ME.
Don't get me wrong, I love Netflix. I love the convenience of not having to go to a video store and look for something and having all the good titles picked already and having the ever-s0-helpful staff recommend horrendous films (for kicks*), etc, etc, etc. I love that I can have them as long as I want and not have to pay late fees. I love that I can pick a slew of movies for my queue and rearrange it at will. Really, I'm holding a first class ticket for the Netflix Love Train--All Aboard! But, man, when they screw up, it just gets my panties in a knot. No Shia for Laurie Ann. But at least I have Joey. And, you know, my weekend is pretty busy anyway.

On a completely unrelated note, please take the time to follow this link and vote for The Airborne Toxic Event. Here's a note with instructions from lovely band member Anna:

"Scroll down to where it says “Users’ Choice” and click on our box to vote (it’s the first one). To watch the video, click on the little TV icon. The timing here is crucial. Whichever video gets the most votes during the next 48 hours wins the contest gets and featured on Yahoo! Music for a month. We’re up against some stiff competition, so whatever you can do to support the band will be rewarded handsomely with kind thoughts and witty banter. Vote as many times as the mood strikes you. (Just refresh the page after each vote.)"

The video is worth a gander, as it features a great song, Spaceland in Silverlake and the hottest drummer ever to sleep on my sofa.

*I know folks at Tower (and you know who you are) who did that to unsuspecting Soccer Mom types. Naughty boys.

I really wanted noodles

Wilshire Boulevard in Koreatown is a sucking hole of bad drivers, a million buses, no parking and not a Bank of America in sight. (I know! There's always a B of A)

I had to go to another furniture store in my quest for three bids on office furniture and said store was allegedly at 3530 Wilshire Blvd. , which is around Wilshire and Normandie/ Irolo. Now 3540 is the home of that finger printing place I visited a few weeks back and damn if I didn't work up a hunger for some Noodle Time beef chow mein. mmm...noodles. But first I had to find a freakin' B of A to deposit my check and get some cash for the parking and the noodles. I took a cursory drive by and 3530 is a high rise. I think. You can't really be reading numbers on buildings on Wilshire in Koreatown. I continued up Wilshire looking for the familiar blue and red sign that would lead me to cash in pocket, but none was to be found. I went around the block at Western (no easy feat, that) and down 6th. Still no bank. Oh, that's not true. There were plenty of Korean banks, a Wells Fargo, a Bank of The West and a Citicorp, but not MY bank. What gives?

I finally ended up scraping together enough with change and the few bills I did have on my person to park in a structure and found the furniture place. I picked up a catalog from the less-than-helpful staff, which I will peruse and give them a list to price out for me on Saturday.

But, alas, I had no money for the noodles. Miso sad.
(Noodle Time serves all types of Asian foods, so I'm using that in proper context...just so no one thinks I'm ignorant, you know, being in Koreatown and all)

So Angry...Must Not Kill...Arrrggghh!!!!

Last night when I came home, I was ambushed by Frau Piss-me-off and Latina Gladys Kravitz the second I parked my car. The drippy bathroom faucet was worse than I thought and was leaking inside the cabinet, through the floor, and eventually into Gladys's kitchen. Frau told me she would call a plumber and hope to get one out today. If not, maybe she could look at it; it might just need a washer.
Today, after a bad day and even worse traffic, I came home to the sure signs that someone had been in my apartment. And this:
THAT'S MY TOWEL!!!
My formerly-clean, pretty pink towel that was hanging here when I finshed drying my hair this morning:

Note the empty hook where my towel used to be.

Now, one would assume that a plumber would anticipate a large amount of water as part of his regular work day and therefore come prepared for it. A plumber, unless he was hired this morning outside of the Home Depot, should NOT use the tenants clean towel to mop up water and then leave it in a filthy wet heap in the tub. THAT'S UNACCEPTABLE!!!!!
Even if the Frau was the one who fixed the sink , it's still unacceptable. Now my towel smells and it's so dirty I don't want to touch it.

And guess what? There's still a leak.

On a happy note, I have four bottles of wine to choose from and the trees are gone. See?I'm think Chardonnay.

Things that make me go " Arrgh!"

When I got home from my appointment downtown, I promptly ditched the dressy duds and called my sister. As I was gabbing away, I heard a gush of water outside my house. It wasn't raining. Huh? Turns out Frau Piss-me-off hired pressure washers to wash the filthy outside of our house. Naturally, she didn't feel the need to inform the tenants and neither did the pressure washers. My bathroom, sunroom, and kitchen windows were open. Fortunately, the sunroom blinds were down and caught most of the water, but in the bathroom, the water sprayed dirty water and muck all over the wall opposite the window, not to mention the stream that ran down from the sill. I hurried to the kitchen, still on the phone with Katie, and slammed the window shut in the face of the pressure washer dude...forgetting that I had no pants on. Pressure washer dude got a good shot of my fat ass as I walked away. Apparently, he liked what he saw because he kept calling to me, but I was too mortified to go back into the kitchen. The results of their washing excursion was a less dirty house and paint chips all over my porch, mailbox, sidewalk and yard.

Today, the team is back. This time they are scraping old paint (what's left, anyway) off the house in order to paint it. They started at 8:00am. They started on the front of the house right outside my bedroom window. Now, there are even more paint chips on my porch and mailbox.

This is mean. I know it's mean. I'm a mean person. That said, I was walking to the corner mailbox yesterday near school when I saw a man hunkered down next to a wheelchair behind a waist-high wall (by the bank, for my school friends). He appeared to be, um, relieving himself. I must have startled him, even though, as detailed in the Rules For Angelenos handbook, I didn't look directly at him. He lost is balance, which must have been precarious at best given his use of a wheelchair, and landed on his butt. That alone is enough to make me titter, but then I realized that he most likely fell in a pile of poop. Those who know me know what I did next.
I know, I should have helped him up, but remember the poop? and the smell? ew.

Okay, so this doesn't make me go "Arrgh," but it's worth mentioning. Guess who works at my school. Go ahead. Guess. Carla! She's the new English teacher, who I knew was named Carla, but never figured it was our Carla. Isn't that funny? It's a small world after all, it's a small world after all...you can thank me later for having that song stuck in your head. I'm off to class now.

The Jerk who parked behind me last night.

Park up my ass next time!

and he did damage too!

Dent & scratch!

He's pretty dumb, too...

Parked in the wrong district!

...so, I'm callling him out. Veteran indeed.

Damn you, Troll

A while ago, while on the phone with Troll (You know Troll. You met him back here.) and he started singing The Chicken Dance while searching for something. I said, "Oh Great! Now I have The Chicken Dance in my head." He laughed maniacally, as he is wont to do. From that point on, at the end of every email, he would write, "PS. Chicken Dance," or "na na na na na na na." The effect had worn thin, and I told him so. He eventually stopped the reference.

Today, I received a package from Troll's store through interoffice mail. This is what it was:

Bastard!