Saturday, May 10, 2014

This House Eats Shit.

Mood: Rum happy
Listening to: Stay – Thirty Seconds to Mars (live)

Let’s clear a few things up internets. Jared Leto in Thirty Seconds to Mars – Yes. Sweet baby eggplants  yes. That man has pipes that make me wanna weep.  Oh for god’s sake- not that kind of pipe you kinky wankers.

Second – My house does not eat poo. It eats stuff in a way that when I go looking for random things, they are nowhere to be found. Now, this may seem normal to you if you are a person who is not of the overly neat/organized/Martha Stewart Magazine/compulsive persuasion. Unfortunately, I am all of the previous adjectives. In my entire life, I have never lost so many things as go missing in this apartment. Not I forget where I put them, things are not where I left them.  I’m one of those annoying people that repeats that there is a place for everything and everything in its place. I know, I know. I really can’t help it – but I do try to keep that phrase in my head instead of annoying the sam hell out of the people around me.

This has a tendency to throw me off the deep end of crazy, because I just need to not not know where things are. Daddy G has spent many amused hours watching me throw stuff out of closets and drawers cursing, looking for something that I swear I left there the last time I saw it. The worst is electrical cords. I keep all the extra electric cords in a plastic bag. Most of them are free phone cords that we’ve received over the years from a new phone or the phone company, and I have no idea why I don’t get rid of them as we don’t even use our landline right now. So help everyone when a cord goes missing in my house – it will never, ever be seen again.  I’m talking worm hole opening up and the cord appearing in another dimension  out of the sky and smacking someone on the head type never seen again.

My family was lower middle class when I was growing up. Things were downright tight most of the time with both my parents working and doing their best. We grew up with a rather conservative estimation of what garbage consists of. Namely anything that is utterly destroyed and cannot be used for anything else. I have annoyed many a Salvation Army/Goodwill donation center insisting that surely there’s something someone can do with random odd items. Anyhow, moral is – I absolutely would not have thrown good and useful cords away.

My kitchen is another area where things magically move around. I think this has more to do with my new maid rather than the apartment itself, but seriously, how do you hide a 3 liter pot for an hour while I search and curse. My kitchen is not huge, let me assure you.

India has done wonders for me when it comes to chilling the fuck out about things I can’t control – which tends to bleed into absolutely every aspect of life here (the incontrollability, not my chill level). This is just one I can’t get over.

I want my damn HDMI cable back apartment. Also, kitchen, I want that spatula back. 


Michael D'Agostino said...

Losing things is infuriating. Looking in all of the places something could possibly be and not finding it makes you feel so helpless. Did a canyon open up and swallow it, closing again a second and a half later? Gah.

Heather said...

Hi Becky! My name is Heather and I have a question about your blog that I was hoping you could answer! Please email me whenever you get a free moment at Lifesabanquet1(at)gmail(dot)com :-)