2002-02-11~~11:00 a.m.
Semper Fi
Oh Lordy. There is just so much to report on. Let the games begin! I am now what is called in inner military circles a "geographical bachelorette." You become one of these when your significant other (spouse or otherwise...but be careful not to violate the 'don't ask don't tell' policy...it IS the military after all) is shipped out far far away from you. The Marines (in this case) have a packet that tells you how to manage when you suddenly and without warning find yourself a geographical bachelor (they only address this in terms of men...it is still a patriarchal society after all). The packet also teaches you how to balance your checkbook and what kind of benefits you get from the U.S. Government. You know. The one headed by George W. Bush. That one. At the Significant Others seminar last Friday, Omar and I learned that the Marine in charge of getting Omar and his cohorts back to us safely in a year is very honored to be serving these Marines. And he humbly admitted to their high level of skill despite being reservists (apparently, there is a bitter rivalry between actives and reservists in regard to their lifestyles and abilities). The guy barked out, "I will do my job to the best of my ability and will vow to do my best to bring these men back to you one year from now!" He also mentioned how this was the first time in 10 years (since the Gulf War...do we see a "Bush Coincidence" here? Just a thought...) that this unit has been activated and how lucky they were. Yeah. Lucky. My thoughts exactly. So with a "Hoo-rah!" and a wave goodbye, my boyfriend was off like a prom dress, only this one was camoflauge. Enter geographical bachelorette-hood. I did not even cry. I was very proud of myself. You must understand, however, that geographical bachelorette-hood does not warrant flirting with reckless abandon in random bars or even dating. I am still a promised woman, albeit a much more independent one who will not get free dinners and movies as much. But whatever. The perk to Omar being in San Diego is that I get to go visit him there. And I am definitely not in as bad a position as some of the women I saw last weekend. A few had a couple of young children whom they are now going to be raising as single parents. One woman had two boys who were recovering from cancer. My heart went out to them as I silently cursed The Shrub. Since my boyfriend is now officially Serving His Country and I am among the thousands of families and loved ones "making sacrifices for the war on terror", I can now denounce without reservation (as if I had any reservations before...) the three bumperstickers I saw on a Chevy truck yesterday. They read as follows: "Don't trust the liberal media!" "Fear the government that fears your guns!" and "God Bless the Red White and Blue". Yikes. That's all I can say. Yikes. ~~~~~ Steve from Whisler continues his rapid descent down the Mountain of Hatred at our apartment. Maria dropped off a key to our deadbolt on Friday morning, first thing, so that the plumber could enter our abode and look in vain for a water heater that IS NOT THERE. However, the plumber left a "Sorry we missed you!" sign on the door because Steve from Whisler (from now on, to be known as "Limp Noodle Steve" because that's what talking to him is like. Like talking to a limp noodle.) claims that they thought the key was the one for both the deadbolt AND the door handle. This is annoying in three ways: 1. Whisler came by and checked all their keys to see which ones they have. Maria was there when they checked the one for our apartment and it worked. Thus, they have a key to our door handle in their possession. 2. Maria discussed this with Steve upon her meeting with him on Wednesday. She made sure to let him know that they did not, in fact, have a key to our deadbolt, but that they did, in fact, have one to our door handle. 3. Limp Noodle Steve is just plain irritating as hell. So I placed a call to Steve this morning to see what was up with the plumber and to make sure he would be checking on things today. In addition, the gate that seems to be dying a slow and painful death right outside my bedroom window needs to be put out of its misery, and fast. Steve was so not helpful it was pitiful. He wanted us to drop off the key for the door handle "but not between the hours of 12:30 and 1:30 when we are closed for lunch". Um yeah, Steve. We know. Your precious lunch hour is sacred. We won't come a'knockin', don't worry. He even claimed to have left a message that we never received in regard to the key situation. Then he tried to tell me that the plumber thinks we all have our own water heaters in each apartment and the one in the laundry room "couldn't possibly be the one for the whole complex...it's too small to meet building codes for all those people." Um, no shit, sherlock. Therein lies the problem inherent in the Mystery of the Cold-Ass Shower. No need for Nancy Drew and Ned in this case. I think I've solved it. And also, just as an aside, do you really THINK that our complex complies with California Building Codes perfectly? Yeah. And Landlord-Tenant law exists for no reason. I left Steve a nasty voicemail and intend to put him on speed dial until the gate is fixed and I can take at least a 10 minute shower without catching pneumonia. ~~~~~ I missed it, but the upstairs neighbors had a horrible fight at 1:30 a.m. on Friday morning. Apparently there was loud shouting and name calling and even a few I hate yous up until one of them drove off in their new car. Our theory is that since BitterStaringGirl has only been laid twice that we know of in the past 6 months, she is sexually frustrated. He should know the signs by now... ~~~~~ So my weekend ended after a GLORIOUS day in San Francisco with gorgeous views of the city from Twin Peaks, where Rebecca lives. We had a grand time hanging out in the city and getting our makeup done at MAC, among other things. Daniel did mine. It was lovely. I looked like catwoman to start with, but by the end of the evening, more like a cheap whore with smeared lipstick and lots of eyeliner. Hey, a girl can't be expected to keep up her Lipglass Lipstain after a long day walking in her Steve Madden Charlie's Angels boots, can she? Crikey! Give me a break! It was my first day as a geographical bachelorette! I deserve a little lee-way.
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