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I got balls: a case of too little, too late.

16 Oct

Anyone who has followed my move knows that while I love my new place, I’m less than thrilled with my upstairs neighbor’s squeaky floorboard. On Monday I got the best news possible: Michael stopped down to tell me that he was having his floors replaced this week!

Sweet, right? I practically did backflips. He went on to say that he’s going to get carpet in his bedrooms, so that should also help with the noise. Fabulous!

But after he left, I got to thinking about it. He mentioned that he was having the floors ripped out in the living room and hall, where he was replacing them with new wood, but didn’t say anything about tearing them out in the bedroom before carpeting. The next morning, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling as it squeaked – to a rhythm that makes me believe he must have been jerking off – I realized it was time to be bold.

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Your dog sleeps with the fishes…

8 Jul

My mind works frighteningly well when it comes to revenge.

For example, the other day a friend shared a Facebook post with me via email that said, “What do i do with the cockroach i taped into the bathroom sink?”

My response (which was about as reflexive as breathing), was, “I assume you closed the drain and put tape over the overflow hole? In that case, I recommend you pour Dran-O down the hole, light a match, drop that down the hole, urinate into the hole  via a funnel, then send aphids down. Other than that, I’m at a loss.”

Alan’s response to that was, “Remind me never, ever to make you mad.”

That’s sage advice, because I come by this revenge thing honestly. It’s in my genes.

Growing up, we knew that the “I don’t get mad, I get even,” mug belonged to my mother. And if you used it, well… you could expect consequences.

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My iPhone is a bigger bitch than I am.

16 Jun

Alan is coming in tonight to (hopefully) hang out. We’ve both been buried with a lot of work lately – hence the “hopefully” in that sentence. Anyway, his goal was to arrive at my place around 4pm so he could buckle in and wrap up his day here before we venture down to my old place to get some of the last few items out of it then off to dinner.

It’s now 6:15pm and instead of Alan, I get a text from him. The message is along the lines of, “Sorry! Running late. Day is a cluster. Moving as fast as I can!”

It’s nice of him to send me that, because generally I am stickler about punctuality. I plan down to the nanosecond, so if you’re even five minutes off, it has probably sent my universe into a tailspin and I’m pacing the floors or tapping my foot, getting decidedly bent out of shape.

But tonight, I’m  still trying to crank out some work and not eyeing the clock, so I’m not upset that he’s running 2+ hours behind schedule. Except, when I go to respond to his text, my phone has a mind of its own.

I try to write, “Jiggy!”

Steve Jobs decides to auto-correct me. So instead, my response to Alan’s news that he’s running late is: “Night!”

Hmmm. Is it possible for technology to be passive aggressive? If so, I think I might need more of it.

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