Door Bells and Sleigh Bells and Schnitzel With Noodles

Le frigo miniscule.

I don’t have a doorbell. I do, however, have a delightfully convenient little button in my kitchen which when pressed, makes a shrill buzzing noise inside the men’s apartment upstairs! Go. Figure. We have no idea who installed it or why, but the ingenious apparatus has been there since Christy and I unpacked our three-duffel-bag-lives last year. I am, however, under strict instructions not to push it unless an anally specific set of criteria is met:

A. There is a lot of blood. The problem with this is that I haven’t the foggiest idea what constitutes as “a lot”. I mean, I’m not looking to be the girl that cried wolf here-my guess is that it’s probably somewhere in between “I nicked my leg shaving” and “I have a pitchfork lodged in my jugular.”

B. Somebody breaks into our apartment. Daddy, just stop reading and don’t think about it. [That goes for other team Dads as well.]

C. There is a “legitimate” emergency.

…and HERE we have our conundrum, ladies and gentlemen. There are endless miles of room for interpretation in that one little, loaded word. Par example, I have chocolate emergencies all the time. Legitimate emergencies in which I MUST have chocolate immediately or there’s an excellent chance I’ll end up on tomorrow’s episode of “America’s Most Wanted”. [In a concerted effort to keep me off national television, Dayton has a stash of Dove chocolate hidden in his room for just such harrowing moments.]

And what about boredom? Now there’s a crisis warranting swift, decisive action. You’d be stunned at just how much Christy doesn’t care to hear my thoughts on Schopenhauer’s influence on Nietzsche-which is precisely the sort of tirade that Ben has agreed to sit placidly through in exchange for my maintaining a facade of being mildly interested in the world of internet poker. […you can see how the boredom becomes a sort of vicious cycle.]

The third world variant of two dozen roses. Be still my beating heart. :)

And what’s a girl to do when she runs out of filtered water? The men have a water filter; we don’t. And the nine steps up to their apartment feel like the first ten minutes of Saving Private Ryan when I’m tired. And yet, the incredulity with which such requests are met would suggest that I’d just drop-kicked a golden retriever puppy or set fire to an orphanage.


Any clarification on what might comprise a “legitimate emergency” would be helpful-I’ve been informed that if I so much as bend that particular rule, they’re going to disconnect the thing. And Lord knows I’d have no idea how to fix it.

 But speaking of my favorite things, …I took my package slip to the post office early Monday morning. :) When I say “early”, I mean I was sitting on the front steps at 7:50 AM with all of the patience of a pig tailed, red flannel night gowned, five year old little girl on Christmas Eve with seven too many reindeer shaped sugar cookies in her, waiting for a rather foreboding looking guard to begrudgingly allow me inside. My post office boys met me at the door with an overly enthusiastic, albeit rather maudlin “Bon retour!” Let me tell you-when I walk into the post office, you’d think that Princess Di had just rolled up in her motorcade. Really, they L-O-V-E me. The sweet custom’s men are wrapped around my baby finger-not only do they not rip open and rifle through my boxes [something the men on my team have to endure], but I’m also charged next to nothing to get my packages out of “the cage” in the back. [Much to his chagrin, Ben has paid up to five or six times what I pay.] I could be hustling bricks of heroin and nobody would ever know. As it is, it’s mostly just brownie mix and coffee.

Our extreme home makeover! ...currently still endeavoring to febreeze the smell out of those cushions.

 …or as the case was on Monday, Halloween in a box! Kellan bought his way into my teammate’s hearts with personalized Halloween bags full of candy and neon plastic vampire teeth, and stole a piece of mine with a bubble wrapped Starbucks frappucino. As he has a tendency of doing, he made my week. :)

The rest of Monday was spent bargaining for an Oompa Loompa sized fridge and a rather underwhelming furniture set, listening to a Senegalese guy with dirty dreadlocks ardently swear on the name of Allah and several local cult leaders that he was charging us a fair price, talking said Senegalese guy down from said price, and then using the last of our Lysol wipes in what was most assuredly a futile attempt to de-germ couches and chairs that had been sitting on the side of the road for goodness only knows how long.

This week is on crazy pills-I think I need to sit down. Thank goodness I now have a couch…


  1. Does it make you feel any better that I frequently Febreeze the sofas in the office because they smell like throw up? And that’s here in yuppie-ville

  2. It does, a little! Unfortunately, we’re almost out of Febreeze…

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