is the word 'diary' better than the word 'blog'? probably not.
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Dishes.
FYI, I made some new bird-themed necklaces, and a couple of vintage bead/chain necklaces, and then forgot to mention it for a week or so, and then a couple of them sold. But there are still a few new ones there, with more on the way.
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The Stauffers are not famous for handling anger well. Lots of screaming and door-slamming and maybe even door-punching was always necessary, often in response to the most trivial things. You know, you have to let the anger build up until it erupts for what seems like a stupid reason. Most of us have outgrown that behavior. But you can never get rid of it entirely. It is inherited behavior, passed down through generations like a family crest. I�d like to think that, were I to have a kid, I would succeed in not passing it down. But how can I know that?
Anyway, there are some things about the place Gus and I have in Philly that are not perfect. For instance, the upstairs neighbor. She is in her 20s, and is a vampire or other creature of the night. She is also clueless, loud, and I�m pretty sure she�s not so smart. We�ve pointed out to her numerous times that there is a rule that you have to have your floors covered at least 80% with rugs, to keep the noise down. But she just insists she doesn�t own the place, �is just renting,� and then stomps around in wood-soled shoes all the day and night. We�ve tried talking to her about thinking about having neighbors. But she�ll still do her laundry while listening to music at 2am, and then wake up and listen to some more music while rearranging furniture at 8am. She does not care that she is an asshole. I�m pretty sure I was like that in my early 20s too (however, I have always been fond of sleep, unlike fat vampire). Gus and I haven�t even been mean about it. We�ve just asked her to stop, repeatedly, or used a broom to pound on the ceiling at 4am to remind her that she lives amongst human beings.
Well, there was the one time she had parties two nights in a row. We sat through the first one. Gus was mad, but I said, �hey, it�s a Friday night, and people are allowed to have parties every now and then.� That I firmly believe. But on the second night I just could not believe she would push it that far, so I went upstairs and showed her how well I can channel the anger of my father. She was scared. I have the ability to be scary, sometimes without even trying. But, though it is true that that night she ended up leaving and going out with her friends instead of partying at home, overall nothing much changed.
There are other things about the Philly apartment. The bathroom has this terribly loud fan that runs whenever the light is turned on. Just hearing that fan at all stresses me out, so taking a �relaxing� bath or shower is out of the question. Also: the lighting everywhere is bad. Though we�ve fixed it a bit with lamps, there aren�t enough lamps. Also: the dishwasher doesn�t always clean the dishes, the kitchen is too small for two people to be in, and the stove is electric rather than gas. It�s not ideal. But the location couldn�t be better. We�ve got that part down. And we spend a lot of time at the better place in New York.
When I unload the dishwasher, I tend to notice whether or not the dishes are clean. If they are not clean, I either wash them or put them back into the dishwasher. But Gus doesn�t notice. He Is A Guy. So I�ll find dirty dishes in the cupboard fairly often.
This will also happen in New York, because I don�t have a dishwasher, and sometimes Gus will �wash� the dishes instead of Washing them, and then he�ll also put them away, because he is trying to be a good Boyfriend. I appreciate it when he washes the dishes. He is a good guy. But He Is A Guy. He is not the first BF I�ve had whose dishwashing I would usually have to rewind and redo myself. I�m not sure what the deal is there. Perhaps there are no dishes on Mars.
I�ll admit that I have an issue with dirty dishes. They disgust me. In fact, my friends will all tell you that I use a clean glass every time I get something to drink. I even use a new cutting board for different kinds of vegetable cutting while preparing one meal. I would never use the knife I used on butter to put jam on toast, nor the knife I used in the jam jar to get peanut butter out of the peanut butter jar. You use one knife for mustard and a different knife for hummus, and then probably a third knife to cut the sandwich. That is how I roll, and I am willing to live with what this means, dishwashing-wise. And I don�t even have a dishwasher.
But you can imagine that when I open up the cupboard and pull out a glass for my water or pepsi or seltzer, or a plate for my crackers (because, yes, I also always have to USE dishes for food and drink�no eating out of packages or drinking out of cans�and find that the glass or the plate is not clean, it makes me sad. Last night, when I got to Philly, I tried to have a glass of water but all the glasses were dirty, in or out of the dishwasher. Then I found that there was no kitchen sponge, so I had to attempt to wash off caked-on dishwasher detritus with a kitchen towel. It made me sad. But it was OK. I had some water. Gus got home. We went out for some Vietnamese food and I had good food, good booze, and my favorite guy there with me.
Then the upstairs neighbor kept us up all night. It was miserable.
All of this leads up to this morning when, after a night of almost no sleep at all due to upstairs dumbass, I finally gave up and got out of bed to have some cereal and a pepsi. The dishwasher was full but Gus had not run it. There were no clean bowls, save for one large-ish serving bowl, which I decided to use to eat my Honey Nut Cheerios, Omar-style. But upon examination it turned out that the serving bowl really wasn�t clean either. It had some caked on parmesan cheese or something stuck to it. It�s not Gus�s fault that his dishwasher sucks. He�s just a renter too, heh, and the rental company isn�t really worth dealing with. Still, no kitchen sponge with which to clean the only bowl anywhere near clean. So there I am picking away at disgusting dried food, trying to wash it with a kitchen towel, exhausted from no sleep, and no clean glass for the one can of Pepsi that thankfully remained in the fridge. At these moments one has a choice. One can become the screaming drawer kicking door slamming (and, my specialty in high school, dish-throwing and dish-breaking) person one was trained to be from an early age. Or one can laugh at how ridiculous it all is. And so I laughed. And then I had some Honey Nut Cheerios. No yelling at all. I did, however, tell it later to Gus as a humorous story.
Right now Gus is at Kmart buying kitchen sponges and pepsi, and then getting us lunch on the way home. That is one of the many, many reasons why I love him.
1:22 p.m. - March 21, 2009
neutopian - 2009-03-22 00:41:15
Ohhhhhh, yes. It's like that scene in The Aviator.
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maire - 2009-03-22 17:08:04
Even the vampire must sleep sometime. When you are up early and she is sleeping go bang on her door, wake her up and show her how it feels.( I have done this, very satisfying)
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homay - 2009-03-24 13:05:12
� the bathroom fan can be disconnected (remove the outer panel). � for the dishwasher: use abrasive powder detergent (not liquid), set to "pots and pans" and long cycle, and use jet-dry in the little jet dry thing. that should help if you're not already doing it (even if there's still the occasional cemented-on food). � noise: don't know what to tell you. but we have one of these and it works fairly well:
http://www.google.com/products?q=marpac+sleepmate&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&ei=2dnISeDXN4-MtgfTlYGQAw&sa=X&oi=product_result_group&resnum=4&ct=title
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