Damn it, even Slate is getting into the damn Harry Potter spoilers! Don’t click if you haven’t read! I didn’t actually read the article to know if there are real, actual spoilers in it, but it LOOKS like the kind of article that would have spoilers, even under the context of some sort of social commentary.
Gah! Damn them, damn them all! No more news for me this week!!!
To my great surprise, I have actually been working pretty hard today. Trying to get things off my desk so I can contemplate whether a small box will be sufficient for the things I will be taking home with me.
I give my official notice in two days. That’s exciting.
One good thing about my new commute is that I am getting used to carrying my new bookbag around. I’ve been bringing my laptop with me, since my transfer stop is Wireless Mecca. I can get online while I wait for the bus.
So I’ve noticed two things about my bag—one, it’s not too bad to carry, even full of stuff (computer, current big fat novel, lots of cables and cords, camera, wallet, keys, CDs, some papers and files, etc.), and two, I really need a few accessories before school starts.
Big accessory 1: a strap pad, and possibly a shorter strap. This bag was not made for someone my height and, even with the strap shortened as much as it will go, it’s still not resting on my back, it’s resting on my butt. Also, the securing strap my bag came with was a WAIST strap, not a cross strap, and I’m thinking I want the cross strap for the added stability. The waist strap does me almost no good because, again, the bag doesn’t quite sit on my body in the right place.
Big accessory 2: a coffee cup that will fit in my bottle pockets. I’m thinking of something like this. I’m a little bothered by the name “briefcase bottle” but hey, it’s just a name, right?
So I am getting a little nervous about carrying everything in my bad for school—namely casebooks plus notebooks, etc. Still, I am planning to use E. Spat’s cut-book-method, where I can carry one binder with the week’s readings in it. And I won’t be living so far from campus that getting home to get something I forgot will be a problem (or vice versa, going back to campus). Still, it’s been a long time since I was a student, and I am a little worried about my bag load being more than I have planned for. I guess we’ll see in a month.
Car is fixable. Mechanic is starting work on it today.
FYI, the most expensive single part of the repair will be fixing that pried-out door handle. What with four hours of labor to take it apart, fix it, then repaint and redo the stripes, and all the hazardous waste that results, blah blah blah.
As far as they can tell, the only things missing are the sparkplugs, wires, and distributor. Once they get those parts in, they’ll see if it starts and runs.
One week for the repair. I don’t have rental reimbursement for comprehensive coverage (only for uninsured motorist).
My ten minute commute home has become an hour on the bus. Phooey on crappy public transportation.
So I’ve been writing at divine angst for a year now. I think that’s a milestone to mark. So here are some things that happened and that I’ve written about in the last year:
What else? Along the way, I’ve found a lovely blogging community, learned more about law school and law practice than I ever could have hoped for, and written a hell of a lot of words.
So thanks. It’s the readers that make this whole endeavor worthwhile and I’m glad I’ve kept it up.
The common refrain from victims of theft is how violated they feel. And that’s accurate. When I was in high school, our house was broken into, and I was the one to come home and find the mess. Shattered glass in the master bedroom, back door still ajar, drawers pulled out and their contents strewn everywhere—it was horrifying.
Even though the thieves didn’t take any of the important stuff in my car (my prayerbook/hymnal, my music folder, the Brooklyn poster that was a gift from a friend, even my hole-in-the-elbow sweater), I still feel that violation. It’s my car! My baby! It’s the only car I’ve ever owned. I love my car—it’s reliable and safe and, even if the air conditioner doesn’t work anymore, it’s a good vehicle. And it’s mine. Except now someone jacked it up. I would almost rather they had just taken the whole car! Instead, my little red Civic is crippled and God only knows when I’ll get to drive it again.
The worst part about being stolen from is coming down. First, you have to call the police and the insurance; then you do some research, trying to figure out the whys (why me, why my car, why did they only seem to take my spark plugs); and then you just cope with the rest of your day. But when you go to bed, it comes back. The anger. The frustration. The helplessness. The feeling that, at any time, someone could come back and do worse. So I didn’t sleep well last night. And I was up before the alarm (though I stayed in bed until it went off, hoping for a few more winks).
Just in case anyone thinks my week hasn’t been bad enough, I got home from the grocery store after church today to discover that my car had been broken into. Sometime between last night and two hours ago.
Oddly, whoever decided to smash in my passenger side window (after being unable to slim-jim the driver’s side door or figure out how to get into the driver’s side back door by PULLING OUT THE DOOR HANDLE) didn’t decide to take any stuff INSIDE the car.
Instead, they took stuff from my engine. My car was chopped, while right outside our apartment. I don’t know what they took exactly, but my car doesn’t start now. There are wires that don’t end anywhere, and there are holes in my engine where it looks like stuff used to live. I wish I knew more about cars, so I could tell you all exactly what they took, but I don’t.
Everyone has been very nice; the lady at the police department who took my statement was very sweet to me, and seemed at least AS incredulous as I was at the “missing parts of the engine” thing. Ditto for the very nice lady at my insurance company.
We’ll see if what they did to my car will be enough to total it out after the body shop comes and gets it tomorrow. Until then, I have no car. Which sucks. It’s a good thing I am mostly an optimist, because this kind of crap could really flatten me if I weren’t.
By the way, if anyone spoils Harry Potter for me before my copy arrives from overseas, I will be VERY MAD.
I might vomit. Mr. Angst just had to kill the biggest, most disgusting cockroach I’ve ever seen. He told me not too look, but I did and it was FOUL. My stomach hurts and I’m a little dizzy.
Last night we bowled. Today I went to a baby shower. Tonight we’re eating out at an Italian place here in town that’s supposed to be one of the better restaurants here. We figure since we’re moving in a few weeks, we should eat at all these local gems. That is, if I can eat.
Tell me how bass-ackwards THIS is:
Our future management company sends out lease renewals to tenants. If the current tenant doesn’t renew, the company assumes they’re moving out and RELETS their apartment. But what if the tenant decides, oh, TWO WEEKS before they’re supposed to move out, that they don’t WANT to move out? THEY DON’T HAVE TO. The company just “accomodates” the people moving in by putting them in a similar or better apartment, with rent discounts if necessary.
OK. Hold on. Isn’t the proper way to manage tenants completely OPPOSITE of the above method? Every apartment I’ve EVER lived in assumes the tenant is staying unless the tenant gives written notice that they’re leaving! That would seem to be the logical way to manage tenants, at least to my mind. But hey, what do I know about property management?
So we’re working on a solution.
The building has already reserved a different unit for us—same floor plan, five floors lower in the building. (We were supposed to be on the top floor, with no one above us.) I have two big issues with this: (1) there is an increased likelihood of noise, having an apartment above us, (2) the laundry and exercise room would have been ONE flight of stairs up for us; now they’ll be either FIVE flights up or a VERY SLOW elevator trip up. (The elevators are ridiculously slow.) I was hoping to avoid the elevators except when going OUT; now we’ll have to use them to go UP also, for laundry and exercise. (Mr. Angst suggests that the five flight trek will be a good warm-up for working out. I am not convinced. That also doesn’t improve the laundry situation.)
Our leasing agent is meeting with the regional manager this afternoon to find out what sort of additional “accomodations” they’ll offer us, since we’re getting an apartment that’s equal on a floor that’s not as good. In other words, what kind of monetary discount are we going to get? And then, I suppose, we’ll have to sign a new lease, or a lease addendum, since our current lease is INVALID.
After all of this is worked out, the apartment locator we worked with is getting a negative review from me about this building and management company. I hope they will refuse to work with them in the future. They specialize in helping graduate students find housing and I imagine this kind of crap is just what they’d like to avoid as they grow this portion of their business.
From the BTQ boys.
1. What time do you go to bed? What time do you wake up?
I usually turn off the light around 11 pm. Sometimes earlier, sometimes later, but generally, around 11. I wake up at 7:30 during the week. On the weekend, it depends on whether or not I have choir or plan to go to the pool or something fun like that. If I sleep in, I might stay in bed as late as 11:00, but I’d say 9:30 or 10:00 is more the average.
2. What do you want done to/with your body after you die?
Haven’t really thought about it, thanks. But I’m not keen on the idea of embalming or of sticking my embalmed body in a hyperbaric chamber under the ground. I do like the idea of cremation; I also like the idea of a green burial.
3. Describe your dream house.
Space for everything without being empty. Cozy without being cluttered. Other than that, I don’t have a lot of requirements. Hardwood floors are nice. So is central air. And a good neighborhood with good schools, but I think that’s a given.
4. Are you an excellent driver? Do you speed, or drive the speed limit? Ever been ticketed?
I’m a pretty good driver. Right after I got my car (after college), I had a string of accidents—fender-bender type accidencts—but it’s been years since I hit another car. I have had two speeding tickets ever; the first was fair, the second was not (I was following traffic AND I was on the way to pick up my wedding dress. Cop didn’t care. Totally uncool). In general, I speed a little—maybe three-to-five miles over the limit on city streets, and no more than 10 over on the highway. I’m not a patient person, remember? Also, if I have any sort of expired sticker—inspection, registration—I don’t speed at all.
5. What is your favorite animal, mineral, and vegetable?
Animal: puppy, Mr. Angst
Mineral: Is iron a mineral? How about the minerals in our tap water that make my hair so frizzy?
Vegetable: Broccoli, summer squash, asparagus, tomato (I say it’s a veggie, so there), avocado, snow peas, sweet peas….I could go on.
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince has shipped to me from the UK! I know, it’s not nearly as exciting as getting it tonight at midnight, but at least I’ll have the British edition in five to seven days. The rest of you suckers will have to be happy with the American edition.
Phbbt!
In other news, no return call from the leasing agent.
OK, it seems comments are down again. Sorry folks. Last time this happened, they came back in about an hour. I think there might be some throttling going on, so just sit on your hands for a bit and try later.
I’m assuming there are people out there who want to comment. But maybe I’m just having delusions of grandeur.
Update: Comments still down as of 7:45 pm. Don’t know when they’ll come back. Email me if what you want to say won’t wait. This post will remain at the top until things are back to normal.
Update 2: Many thanks to our good friend mowabb of ambivalent imbroglio, the keeper of the blawgcoop, for implementing a successful fix. Comments should be working again; if you find a link to a comment that is broken, let me know and I’ll update it.
This day is just not ending well.
I called our soon-to-be new apartment to reserve the freight elevator and was told by the building manager that our unit—or the unit we signed a lease for—is not really our unit. She said she knows for a fact that resident in our unit “is definitely not moving out.” And then she told me, somewhat rudely, to call the leasing agent we worked with last month and not to bother her about reserving the freight elevetor until I know what apartment we’re living in. I have a message into the leasing agent, and, by God, if she’s known about this and just didn’t call us, there will be hell to pay. I’m not moving down five floors because of someone’s mistake—at least not without a discount on the rent.
While waiting for a phone call from our leasing agent, my phone rang. I immediately answered without looking to see who it was, because I thought it would be the leasing agent. Instead, it was an obscene caller that I’ve been dealing with off and on for the last four or so years. He’s someone I know, someone I went to high school with, and I thought he’d stopped calling after I got a message from him, apologizing for being such a f**ked up asshole. Well, apparently not. However, today, he called at the wrong damn time and I shot back as soon as I realized what was going on with, “If you call me again, I’m calling the cops. I know where to find you.” Because I do. He hung up.
Also? It’s thundering outside, pouring rain, and yet still hotter than hell. I just want to go curl up into a little ball in the backseat of my car and have a good little cry because I’m so angry and frustrated and feeling so helpless. But I have work to do. For 16 more days and 45 more minutes.
I know I said I was going to have to lay off the slacking, but I just can’t get motivated. Things are so crazy—my office is going to reorganize right before I leave, which has created a sort of unsettled environment around here. (The reorg is a good reorg, but you know how people get when they discover their bosses will be different people than they’ve been used to working with.)
So I’ve been party planning instead. I just finished an Evite for our going-away party. Why do Evites take so long to craft? I nitpicked over the language, then over the guest list (you know, the “so-and-so doesn’t speak to such-and-such, can we invite both of them?” kind of thing), then over the design. And then I had to come up with clever poll questions to ask…it took a lot of time! And now that it’s out, I get to start thinking about food—I’ll make a brisket, and maybe some brats, and I might try that recipe for homemade veggie burgers…Sure the party’s not for three and a half weeks. It’s still got to be perfect! I haven’t planned a party in so long. I forget how much fun it is.
Update: Oh, shucks. I just found out from my boss that Project #3 is not going to get finished. We were hoping to have it reviewed so I could make any necessary revisions before I left, but the person who needs to review it is on vacation until the day AFTER I leave. Darn, darn, darn.
(This actually is a good thing; I was starting to get a little nervous about doing a good job on all three projects with such limited time. Now I can at least make sure that the troublesome project I am currently struggling with is in as good shape as I can get it before I go.)
Easy Mac is quite possibly the best stuff ever. Granted, homemade macaroni and cheese will always prevail, but when you’re having lunch at your desk and only have access to an ancient microwave, Easy Mac really comes to the rescue.
More proof that things happen cyclically: I’m leaving in a few weeks, but before I go, two directors in our organization are leaving—mine, and the director of our counterpart group.
We meet today with the head honchos to discuss what this means for us. I’m going, probably just for show, since none of this will really affect me. I am interested, of course, since I like this organization—I’m not leaving on bad terms or anything.
But boy am I glad I’ve been upfront about leaving, because I’d hate to be the person who gave two weeks notice right as all this was happening. I know not everyone has that luxury, but I’m glad I do.
Does anyone have any opinions on LIBOR vs. Prime?
Today has been…a day. Mr. Angst had ANOTHER blowout on his way to work. Two weeks to the day from the last one.
Same tire, even. (The spare, to be exact.) We thought something must be wrong with the axle, or the brakes, or something in that vicinity. Nope. Just old tires. The spare? Was the original spare, all of 11 years old. It had DRY ROT. As did the first blown out tire. Old tires. Sitting in the sun. Getting rotted.
And lemme tell ya, there’s nothing to make your morning anxious and scary like your spouse calling you from an expressway during rush hour to tell you he’s standing on the shoulder with a blown-out tire and no spare and the tow truck is going to take an hour and a half to get to him. (That was ridiculous, so I called my body shop, which also tows, and they got someone to him in 20 minutes. Thank you Melissa in Dispatch. You saved me an ulcer.)
Four weeks, four weeks, four weeks till moving day and no more cars. Four weeks.
I don’t usually like to admit deficiencies. But I think the time has come for me to admit something, because I need help.
I don’t know anything about music.
The music I listen to is almost exclusively from the past. My parents got me hooked on Neil Diamond, Johnny Cash, Anne Murray, Billy Joel. My childhood and adolescence introduced me to Depeche Mode, The Cure, Erasure, Blondie. Every now and then, I see a movie with terrific music and buy a soundtrack—The Wedding Singer, Office Space (really, just for “Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangster”), Garden State—and every now and then I get lucky and the CD store is playing something terrific.
But basically, I don’t know much about music. I don’t know what to buy. I am lost in a music store, bemused by rack after rack of music in the “Pop-Rock” section. I look at names and cover art and song titles and have no idea what any of it means. The employees all seem too cool for me and I’m too insecure to approach them. I’m getting close to 30, after all—I’m embarrassed to ask elementary music questions.
So I need some help. I can’t listen to the same music anymore. I have over 1,000 songs in iTunes and I am tired of 90% of them because I have listened to all of them so often.
I need the names of bands to listen to. I need album recommendations.
But I’m picky, I admit it. I don’t tend to like whiny alt-pop (especially the stuff that gets played OVER and OVER and OVER again on the local mix station). What I do like: soulful voices (especially female), bluegrass, acoustic guitar, lyrics that say something. I can take electronica in small doses. Too much screaming gives me a headache. Too much male angst drives me batty (hence my problem with the mix station stuff).
So here I am, admitting my weakness. I confess: I am a musical illiterate. Help me.
I am so tired of people with law degrees telling me that law school is awful and traumatic. I am tired of old school lawyers telling me that my professors will throw me out of class if they don’t like what I say. I am tired of hearing, over and over, from people who went to law school 30 years ago, that I MUST take bar courses because I will not be able to learn anything in a bar review course.
The fact is that all of these things may be true. But isn’t it just mean to belabor the point? Particularly when you went to law school so long ago?
Over the weekend, Mr. Angst and I had a chance to sit down and discuss the logistics of our move. Recall that my pop is going to move us to Our New City. My brother will also be helping us, and driving behind the moving truck in his SUV. (This means I get 18 hours in a truck cab with my dad, and Mr. Angst gets 18 hours in the sweet SUV with satellite radio and DVD player. Bastards.)
But here’s the kicker: we, dad, and Said Brother all live in different cities. Also, Mr. Angst is currently driving a surplus vehicle of my dad’s. Also, we’re going to leave my car, which is fully paid off, at my dad’s house. One of my younger stepsisters will be starting driver’s ed soon and I thought my car would be a safe, if cheap, ride for her.
So we have all these questions of getting the cars to my dad in Nearby City, getting us back to Our Fair City, and of getting my dad to Our Fair City for the move. (He’ll be flying back to Nearby City at the end of it all.)
What it looks like now, then, is that we’ll be doing a lot of driving between cities in the week leading up to our move. First, Mr. Angst and I will take two cars to Nearby City, drop one off and drive back to Our Fair City. Then, the day before the move, I’ll drive my car back to dad’s. Said Brother will drive to Nearby City, pick up me and dad, and the three of us will drive to Our Fair City. We’ll pick up the truck, load it (with some extra help—another of my brothers who lives here will be swinging by to help us load, and a cousin might stop by as well), and take off. Except that someone has to stay behind to do the final clean and walk-through with the landlord. This means, probably, that dad and I will leave first and Mr. Angst and Said Brother will do the walk-through. They’ll catch up later. (Not a problem, since Said Brother averages 85 mph on the highway.)
While there’s relief in knowing the plan—the who, what, and when—there’s also nervousness, what with getting everyone where they need to be when they need to be there and all. I keep reminding myself that it’s really not a big deal and when it’s all over, no matter how it all goes down, we’ll be moved to Our New City and starting school.
As I mentioned, we saw Batman Begins at the IMAX over the weekend. We had tried to see it on the IMAX three weeks ago on our apartment-hunting trip, but all shows were sold out (it was opening weekend, after all). So as we were planning for the weekend away, Mr. Angst asked me to see where the nearest IMAX was to our hotel. Turns out, it was just a couple of miles away.
First, a note about the movie being shown in the IMAX—apparently, the powers that be have devised a way to shoot a movie for both regular movie screens and for the IMAX. So BB wasn’t just being projected onto IMAX, it was actually shot for IMAX. Which means the quality was really excellent.
Second, I find it just a little ironic (and somewhat amusing) that a movie about a quintessential American superhero was full of British actors. Major parts were played by Christian Bale (Welsh), Liam Neeson (Northern Irish), Gary Oldman (English), Tom Wilkinson (English), and Linus Roache (English). Add to that Rutger Hauer (Dutch) and Cillian Murphy (Irish) filling out the cast, and there’s barely a real American accent to be found in the movie. (Well, except for the always superb Morgan Freeman, of course.) Only Michael Caine got to play it natural—in Cockney, even!
More beyond the jump—including mild spoilers.
Read the rest of this entry »
So yeah.
Familly weddings sometimes are…just a little too much. Friday night ended at 4 am Saturday morning. Oy. Yesterday morning (it’s still this morning to me) we slept as late as the various morning phone calls would let us (read: 11 am, which is not so bad).
Saturday consisted of Batman Begins on the IMAX (review forthcoming, but here’s the short version: I liked it). We followed that up with a very time-conscious showering, dressing, and racing to the wedding—showing up just before the ceremony started.
It is currently 2 am, and we have been through the reception and the post-reception bar trip and now we are sitting in our hotel room listening to….stories. I am…drunk and could sleep it off right now, but we’ve got guests in our room and I’ve got a half-full glass of red wine to finish. Also, my phone is bonging at me to plug it in. I’m too tired to get up and do so. Also, I have the hiccups.
Also today, I ordered a Big Girl suit from Brooks Brothers. We’ll see in two weeks if it all fits well. I’m sure I’ll have to have it altered.
Goodnight.
