Oh, Comcast. Oh, Management

The day after I moved I was at a friend's house when I called Comcast and arranged for them to come on Sunday within a two-hour window. Unfortunately, when the Comcast guy arrived he told me he'd have to get the weekend manager to unlock some door so a switch could be flipped. Two minutes after leaving he was back and very hesitantly telling me the weekend manager refused to open the door because he was only on-call for emergencies and this was not one.

You could tell the Comcast guy is used to getting yelled at with how nervously he relayed this information to me. How sad. No need to kill the messenger.

I am bummed out to now have to wait until Tuesday for my new four-hour window when Comcast will come back during regular management hours. Living without the internet is hella hard these days.

Bad to Worse

Things are not going well. I know, things seem to never be going well with me. Sorry - that's just my life these days. If you want to read about something happy, go read a mommy blog - I'm sure someone's kid pooped in the toilet for the first time today.

First off, I broke the lease to leave my last place where I lived with 9am. I did this because 9am decided to break the lease himself (giving me less than 30 days notice) to move out to the suburbs, I couldn't find anyone to take over his place and couldn't afford the over $3000 rent by myself. So now we (collectively and separately) owe the leasing company $4600. Obviously I can't pay that, so I'm all, "Add it to the other shit I owe, what's another collection call when you already get over half a dozen each day?"

Last Thursday I went to the leasing office to talk with someone and get them to break down all the fees so I could see which could be attributed to 9am. My thinking was that I'd have him pay me, and I'd tell the leasing company that I'd take responsibility for the entire balance. I don't mind temporarily fucking over a company, but I prefer not to fuck over individual people. Unfortunately, the leasing company contacted me today to say 9am paid the entire thing to avoid having his credit affected, but asked them not to deposit his check and now they are waiting on me. Fuck. Waiting on me is a terrible idea.

Moving on. Because I am so short on cash, I did not want to think I had more in my checking account than I really do, so ages ago (like over half a year) I took out 9am's security deposit and have kept it in my night table in a bank envelope. I figured that after that meeting with the leasing office, I would deduct the things 9am should pay for and then re-deposit his money, and write him a check for the remainder.

Last week I bought a dozen eggs and a package of english muffins, figuring that would give me six meals (two eggs, one muffin per meal). On Friday I noticed that Wooffers took one of my english muffins. We do not have the type of relationship where we share food. She did not ask. She did not leave a note. I told my friend about it, and she suggested I sent her an email:

I noticed this morning that one of my English muffins was missing from the kitchen. Unless one of your dogs is capable of getting into the refrigerator and calmly taking one english muffin, I am going to have to assume that you decided to overstep your bounds and help yourself to something that was not yours to take. Please replace it ASAP, as I am on a very tight budget, what with having to pay steep moving costs twice in one quarter, and this is costing me one meal.

I was very saddened to learn that you would steal from me and my feelings are very hurt. I now do not feel safe leaving any of my belongings alone to be stolen from your home.

Please let me know that you have received/read/understand this email and feel free to express your feelings about this violation of my personal fridge space in your return email. I will expect a replacement muffin by end of day today, Friday, June 19.

I did not send that, deciding instead that although it'd be funny, I didn't want to deal with whatever reaction Wooffers would have, and besides, I'm moving in less than a week. Except, last night I went to make my very last box of mac & cheese. When I opened my cabinet to take out the box, it was gone. This morning, home alone, for absolutely no real reason, I sinned. I opened one of Wooffer's cabinets. Bet you can guess what I saw. That's right.

Know what else happened this morning? After the mac & cheese discovery I sat down to do the math for 9am's security deposit. When I opened my night table to take out the envelope, it was not there. That's $1399 that's missing. On Friday evening Barrett came back to help me pack again. I called her this morning to double check that we hadn't opened my night table drawer. We hadn't. I haven't had anyone else over. I can not think of any other way to handle this than to call the police.

In other news, I had my interview in the Tenderloin. You know how there are some men who think they're god's gift to the universe? They usually have slicked back hair. That's who my interview was with. Guys like that always hate me, for not being hot. The husband of an acquaintance of mine is this type of person. I once had to drop something off for the acquaintance at her husband's office, and when I approached him, he all but sneered at me. The other reason the interview didn't go well is because I was told they are moving. To the Bayview. I asked the guy interviewing me if the new office would be near the T-line, a train that goes out that way. He was emphatic in telling me no, it is way out there near nothing at all, not near any public transportation. I'm supposed to call Tony to tell him how the interview went, but I'm not sure what to say.

The reality is, it's a very small office, I don't fully understand what they'd need me to do, there's nobody to train me, even the attorneys don't understand the programs they have, oh, and they're totally swamped and way behind. Yeah, talk about knowing you're going to fail. If I had to describe the type of position I'd do worst at, this is it.

Meanwhile, now each time I leave the house, I'm feeling like taking my checkbook, jewelry, birth certificate, iPod, camera and passport with me (that's in addition to the wallet, keys and cell phone). I also want to write my initials on the bottom of all my food and have a list (that also leaves the house with me) of all the food I have.

Okay, I'm sort of kidding about the above paragraph. Sort of. I'm not kidding about calling the police about the money.

Being set up to win?

Friday afternoon I got a call from the recruiter who placed me at the last place I temped. He was calling because a client requested he send them three resumes. It's a non-profit in the Tenderloin that needs a temp position filled for about a month. This made me very nervous. Non-profits are notorious for paying very little. I stared out the window at my amazing view of the city that I'll have for less than a week more, and asked Tony how much the position pays. That's the best thing about dealing with recruiters - you can ask about salary point blank and it won't work against you.

I exhaled as Tony told me the non-profit will pay the same as the firm I temped at back in May. Naturally I told him it would be fine to send my resume. He reiterated that they'd asked for three, and said he would call me back if they wanted to interview me on Monday. I got a call back - they wanted to interview me on Monday. Tony said they didn't like the format of one of the resumes he sent, but they liked mine.

Bet you can guess what I'll be doing tomorrow. Tony reminded me to dress professionally, saying they've had problems with this in the past, and I pulled the phone away as I laughed. This is great - Tony sent three resumes, but one was not formatted well. Then he's telling me to show up for an interview dressed as if I'm going to an interview. I hadn't realized he liked me enough to set me up to win this way. Now all I have to do is teach myself what the hell it is they do out there in the Tenderloin before my interview.

Please Join Me

... in wishing Be The Boy a very happy 35th birthday. I am loving the summer blogging hours and am sure you will too.

Disenchanted With Dogs

Until I met Wooffers I was always comfortable saying I was a dog person. Not any more. You'd think that with how much I love Le Pooch, living with two woofs would be absolute heaven for me, but it hasn't been. Before moving in I had visions dancing in my head of laying on the floor next to a woof while reading, watching tv with a woof next to me, playing catch or tug-of-war with a woof, etc.

One of the woofs has aggressive tendencies (born out of fear) so you have to be careful with how he's approached. Also, if he gets too excited (from interacting with you), he pees. This happened earlier this week when I was petting him. I was absolutely horrified to see him frantically lick up his own pee with a worried look on his face.

The other woof gets jealous of any attention she sees the aggressive woof getting, and she will start humping him. She doesn't seem to want to be petted, it's more like she puts up with my petting her, but it does nothing for her personally.

In Wooffers' eyes whatever I do with her woofs is wrong. Once I was cooking in the kitchen alone, and when I turned around there was suddenly a woof there that hadn't been. I was holding a sharp knife and almost tripped over the woof. The words that came out of my mouth were, "Whoa ... it's okay," to reassure both myself and the woof that even though we'd both gotten shocked we were indeed fine. Of course Wooffers was sitting at her computer in the dining room-turned-office and chastised me for talking to the woof, reminding me that I was to ignore at all times.

Living with woofs is not fun here, by any stretch of the imagination. For example right now one woof is home, and keeps sticking her head through the living room blinds and crying (Wooffers took the aggressive woof out for a solo walk). Although I'm greatly amused when people trip and fall, I have this instinct to comfort anyone who is crying, man or woof. Comforting is not allowed though, only ignoring is. So here I sit on my bed, listening to a woof cry in the living room.

I fear that I don't like dogs very much anymore. Surely if this all got therapized I would come to see that the problem is not the woofs themselves, but Wooffers and her instructions to ignore, ignore, ignore. I am hopeful that when I move out of here I will go back to loving woofs, and will not cringe when I hear someone proclaim themselves a dog person.

That Email We Knew Was Coming

Barrett has instructed me to respond with, "Thank you for the email Wooffers." My comments are in italics.

Green,

In order to accommodate your needs and avoid conflict, I will need 24 hours notice (via email) when you are having anyone come over to help you with packing and moving. The first half of her sentence starts out with accommodating my needs but the second half ends when her saying what she needs? I made arrangements with [Exboyfriend Who Has Joint Custody] to keep [Aggressive Woof] with him more if needed, but I need to contact him and arrange that as per his request. This time frame will insure that there are no mishaps because you will never have to bring people in without my assistance with the dogs. I don't feel I actually NEED her assistance.

I have explained to you the dangers of mishandling [Aggressive Woof], and you have stated that you understand. I realize you don't relate and possibly don't agree with the degree to which I need to protect him and the public from him. That is neither here nor there at this point, I am going to do what I need to do, and I would appreciate (and also require) your cooperation with this. I will help in any way that I can with your scheduling needs if things are handled in this manner.

Because all of this has been explained to you (and you can find, written in the contract that dog training protocols are decided by me solely) if for any reason you bring someone in without giving me ample notice so that I can remove [Aggressive Woof] or at least monitor him, any injuries incurred by people you bring in (or you, personally) will be your responsibility. I always assumed that any injuries to me, or my people, would be my responsibility, unless Wooffers gave some sort of attack command. Also, the only "dog training protocol" she has ever told me is simply "ignore them, complete with turning your back on the woofs" so it doesn't take a Master Communicator to explain that to anyone I have coming over. I am an elitest bitch and only like smart people, so those are the only types of people I would be having over. Also, all my people are dog people, and know how to deal with dogs, and follow the rules different people have for different dogs. If for any reason [Aggressive Woof] or [Other Woof] incur any injuries as a result of bringing people without giving ample notice you will also be held responsible.

In the future I would also appreciate you letting your friends know that they are not welcome to confront me verbally or raise their voice in this house, no matter what their perception of me. Barrett, I'm letting you know these things. I have never raised my voice to you or called you names nor would I allow my friends to do so to you. What happened yesterday was frightening for me and I now feel unsafe in my own home. Why would she feel unsafe in her own home? Despite all these hoops she is laying out for me to jump through in order to have people over, I am confident that if I announced that Joe Blow was coming over tomorrow night, Wooffers would decide either that it was only 23 hours and 58 minutes notice I gave her, OR, that it is simply not a convenient time (for her) for me to entertain a guest. Also, if she feels her woofs are so prone to violence and yet they love her, then shouldn't she have felt perfectly safe yesterday with Barrett calling her an asshole? Barrett was the one who had no dogs backing her up.

My goal when entering in this with you was to be as honest and direct as I possibly as I could be. Why wasn't her goal to be a good roommate? What the hell do I care if a roommate lies and says "Those jeans look great on you" or "No, I don't mind; I love the smell of tuna fish in the morning? Maybe that's why this whole thing has gone poorly - her priorities are completely different from what I think they should be. I have done my best to do that in a kind way. If you disagree with that I would like to know. If it's easier to send an email to express those feelings, please feel free to use that as a tool. Regardless of how it affects this situation, I am always looking to improve my communication and treatment of others and appreciate the feedback. Right. Like I want to enter into a conversation about feelings and priorities with someone who is not shuffling with a full deck.

We can get through this last 3 weeks without a struggle. Please plan on contacting me via email should you need anything, I check it regularly and will get back to you asap.

Please let me know that you read/received/understand this email. A while back Wooffers sent me an email about something, and then sent a follow-up email stating that she requested a response from me, and that she could see when I had opened my email. First of all, if you can see that, then you don't need me to tell you I received this. Second of all, I use gmail. Anyone know if gmail lets people emailing from another email program lets people see when mail has been opened? This is not MS Outlook - I did not click a little box that said yes, send a receipt to the sender. Thank you for your cooperation.

Wooffers

Moving and Crying, Part Two

Here's Part One. This will also be a long one, you may want to refresh that drink. So I am so freaked out at Barrett just walking in the door with me that I beg her to give me five minutes while I go upstairs and tell Wooffers that my friend is coming over with moving boxes. Let me be clear - it's not that I am scared of Wooffers. The fact that I lock my bedroom door at night ... well, whatever man, she's fucking crazy. It's that I don't want to deal with the emails and talks Wooffers will want to have with me. You know, because I'm not "allowed" to have people over without clearing it with Wooffers first. I hand Barrett a pluot for while she waits in her car and run upstairs.

I walk in, Wooffers is taking her woofs out. I ask her if she's just taking them for a walk or if she's headed out for a while. She says, "I can't talk now," and walks out. I shrug and think, "Oh well, I *tried* to tell you." Turns out Wooffers was just taking the dogs out for a two minute walk and when she comes back I tell her that my friend is coming over.

She asks when. I say now - that she generously offered to drop off boxes for my move. Wooffers says that's not convenient for her. I shake my head saying sorry, she's just going to come into my bedroom and since my friend is doing me a favor, I have to work around her schedule, it wouldn't be right to force her to work around mine.

Wooffers then tells me I shouldn't have left the front door downstairs (to the building) wide open. I say okay. Wooffers asks why my friend can't just haul the moving boxes to the door and leave them there for me to deal with. Um, because she's a good friend and a nice person and offered to help me get started packing?

We go back and forth and I ultimately lose it saying, "I can't deal with this right now!" and walk out to go meet Barrett on the street. I tell her what's going on and Barrett's overall response is, "This is bullshit. We're going in." I explain that one of the woofs is problematic and Wooffers believes it's a very real possibility the woof could attack her. If anyone were to sue Wooffers for her woof's attack, or report it, Wooffers has told me she could have her woof training license yanked, and her woof could be euthanized. Barrett does not scare easily.

When we get inside Wooffers and the woofs are in her bedroom with the door closed. Barrett and I go into my bedroom and start putting together boxes and packing. At some point I go into the hallway to get something and Wooffers sticks her head out of her bedroom door. I let her know Barrett and I are in my bedroom with the door closed. She tells me this is not okay, that I should have come and told her that right away, etc. Barrett can hear what's going on and yells, "Green! I need you to come in here RIGHT NOW!"

I say excuse me to Wooffers and run into my bedroom. Barrett just wanted to get me away, she didn't have a packing emergency. I tell her Wooffers is standing there, waiting for me to come back and finish our conversation. Barrett rolls her eyes so heavily I am impressed they did not fall out, and walks into the hallway.

She looks straight at Wooffers and says something like, "You need to stop being an asshole," or "You're being an asshole." At that point I was swallowed up by the ground and was both horrified and fascinated at what was happening. Here's the interesting thing - Wooffers did not look shocked that she'd just been called an asshole. Most adults do not randomly call other adults assholes. Yet Wooffers did not seem surprised at all, which makes me wonder - is that not a new thing for her?

Wooffers tried to tell Barrett this was between herself and me. Barrett argued with her, said Wooffers was intimidating me. At one point Wooffers said that if she was intimidating me I needed to tell her about that. The line from Dirty Dancing where Lisa says to Baby, "I don't 'just gotta' do anything," flashed through my head. So I refused. I don't want to get into a big discussion with Wooffers about ... well, anything really.

At this point Barrett was going to come into the kitchen to help me reach things too high up (all my friends are taller than me) for me, so I left her in my bedroom and went to ask Wooffers if the woofs were staying in her bedroom and Barrett could come in the kitchen, or ...? She said something in the negative I couldn't catch, so I asked her to repeat what she'd said. Wooffers asked me to have Barrett wait until the exboyfriend who has joint custody came to pick up the aggressive woof. The reason I couldn't understand her the first time? Because she was crying, again.

Look, everyone cries sometimes. Like pooping, everyone cries. I'm not making fun of Wooffers for crying. I'm just saying that there is something very unhealthy going on if you cry any time your roommate is going to have someone over, or does have someone over. I went back into my bedroom and told Barrett that Wooffers was crying. She rolled her eyes and marched barefoot into the kitchen and started getting things down off the high shelves. Wooffers tried to talk to us, or me.

Barrett and Wooffers went back and forth. The next fun highlight was when Barrett told Wooffers she is crazy. Using the word "crazy" and everything. Oh yeah. Just like that. Right out loud, to her face. Let me tell you, I stood there clutching my set of cloud bowls so fucking tightly it's a miracle they did not break.

Wooffers tried to "get me in trouble" with Barrett by telling her that she (Wooffers) had asked me to leave (no she didn't, she told me to leave) because I did not follow the terms of the agreement we signed. It was comical. It was insane. Barrett wound up mediating between Wooffers and me, and ultimately got us to agree to communicate solely via e-mail. I am "eagerly" awaiting the e-mail Wooffers will be sending me regarding what happened today. Yes of course I will share it with you.

Moving and Crying (Get a drink, this is a long one)

Firstly, I would just like to say that I have always been a fan of Scotch tape. I've used it for my entire life, and it's always served me well. Very well. However as of today, I am now cheating on the Scotch tape, with Walgreens brand tape. Shocking that I would endorse Walgreens anything since normally I look down my nose at them, but that all changed this afternoon. This afternoon my good friend Barrett offered to come over, with moving boxes, and moving paper. Of course I jumped at this, and then when she arrived she ensured she'll be getting both a Hanukah and a Labor Day present from me by offering to drive me to Walgreens to buy tape and then to come up and help me start packing.

Peoples, this Walgreens tape kicked ASS. It was strong (perhaps I should wait to see if the boxes hold up through the move before saying this, but I'm going out on a limb - that's just the kind of wild and crazy gal I am), and didn't split off into strips when we tried to get the roll going. I must have told Barrett three or four times, "This tape is GREAT!"

Okay, moving on. As you may know, my roommate Wooffers wants me to give her notice before having anyone over. And by "notice" she means, she wants me to ask so she can veto it if it's not convenient for her. Which as well all know, is total and complete bullshit. I pay rent. I get to have people over during normal waking hours. It's really that simple. Now, the reality is, I haven't had anyone over socially since moving in at the beginning of May. My two friends helped me move in, there was the crying disaster with trying to have my brother and his wife over, a guy came over for 30 seconds to look at a chair I'd listed on Craigslist, and today Barrett came over.

It just so happens that I hurt my back something awful this morning. That threw me off. Then, I missed three buses in a row because I kept thinking I could move faster than I was really capable of doing (the bus stop is across the street - normally I run down when it's two minutes away). That threw me off tremendously. I was late getting to my friend's house, then late getting to my volunteer gig. I am almost never late. I was completely flustered today.

So when Barrett called to say she was on her way, I was an hour away from my home. I don't have Wooffer's phone number in my cell phone. Simply didn't get around to it and then once she gave me notice to get out I figured there was no reason to bother doing it. When I stepped off the bus, Barrett was sitting in her parked car across the street from my house waiting for me.

Things I Remember

I was just reading a blog post asking what you remember. I remember everything. Well, that's not true. I remember everyone, and everyone's stories.

I remember that girl Nikki from second grade who had a little brother Tony and then abruptly moved after the year was over. I remember where we were sitting when you told me how you and your husband met, and where we were standing when you told me why he spells his name that way. I remember the lattice design in front of my grandparent's kitchen sink in Queens, and the pebble-y feeling on my white baby lamp.

I remember my blue Pinocchio book bag that I took to baby nursery school on the farm in MA. I remember the pattern of the flooring in elementary school, and not just because I threw up on it standing in line for gym in first grade, the day we were going to drive to New England for vacation (we still went). I remember second grade, when Julie and I had the same turtleneck with trios of balloons all over, and that I wore mine with purple corduroy pants. I remember Keri asking to be excused from class in fifth grade, so she could go call her mother to bring her a different outfit, after arriving at school and seeing I was wearing the same one.

I remember laying at the top of our staircase next to our dog and talking to her about what she saw out the living room windows that faced our street. I remember being spotted for a back handspring in gymnastics and one of the coaches criticizing me, saying "Every time you get up here, you have a shit-eating grin on your face," and feeling thoroughly crushed that she didn't share my enthusiasm for the greatest sport ever.

I remember when I figured out which identical twin was Heather and which one was Jennifer. I never sorted out Evan from Brian, but remember that one of them won best looking, and thinking that was funny. I remember Heather offering to go tell Charlie I liked him during travel camp the summer before ninth grade. I remember Charlie was nice enough to talk to me about it, and how he explained on the bus that he didn't like me, because he was busy liking Jill. I remember not censoring my answer and bursting out with, "Why? She's such a bitch, to everybody!" and Charlie shrugging his shoulders. Later that summer Jill broke up with her boyfriend and Charlie did get to go out with her. Then he dumped her for being a mean person.

That was the same summer I went to Los Angeles for the first time and I didn't see any famous people.

I remember when I worked as a cashier at Foodtown on Long Island in ninth grade, and I sneezed and my customer said the customary god bless you. As I looked up to say thank you, my words trailed off as I saw the person blessing me was a priest. I remember at that same job, seeing my social studies teacher whose class I'd cut that day, buying apples. I remember that one of the front-end managers at Foodtown was named Marguirite.

Two years later I was working at a shoe store in the same strip mall. I don't remember doing this, but do remember my mother telling me she'd seen Marguirite at Foodtown who'd told my mom that when she came into the shoe store I told her, "You always used to help me; now I finally get to help you!"

I remember that when my father would bring me to work with him, whether I was seven or 17, my mother would always call me there, so I'd have gotten a business call at work. It was the time I went to work with him at age 17 that I remember him taking me to lunch. That was the day my father taught me that if there's nothing on the menu you like, you can ask them to dumb down something, as long as it's on the menu. I have used that tactic ever since, and it's worked well for me.

I remember when I was 22 and working at a law firm, when a temp named Lisa saw our boss, a mean partner also named Lisa, and asked how she was doing. Lisa the partner replied, "Fine thanks, how are you?" and started to hurry on her way but was forced to stop as Lisa the Temp actually answered her question.

I remember at that same job when Andrea dropped the keys to her brand new car down the sewer grate, and that Lisa the Partner never let me come to departmental meetings, even though I was part of the department. I remember the girl I trained to take over for me after I'd given notice was named Pia.

I remember when I had to call my boss at the tennis club to tell him one of the tennis pros had sexually harassed me the night before, and that he said, "Why?" and I was embarrassed as I answered, "I guess he liked me." I remember all the free tennis lessons other pros would give me when the club was quiet, and how I got a thrill out of using insanely expensive tennis racquets laying around for said impromptu lessons even though I wasn't a "tennis player."

I remember everything. Just not anything actually important.