ain't no high-class broad

It’s official: my *relationship* with my former landlords is OVER, as of yesterday. Meaning, yesterday I finally received my security deposit, thus ending any necessary communication with said landlords. (Never mind that she promised she’d “put the check in the mail first thing in the morning” over two weeks ago. Postal date stamps don’t lie.) I was pretty happy to finally get the check, seeing as how it was for a not-so-insubstantial dollar figure. Even though she couldn’t be bothered to, you know, write in the cents when she was writing the amount. Apparently that’s too time-consuming. I can’t wait for the bank to get all anal-retentive over that one.

The thing that amazed me most, though (although deep inside, I know it shouldn’t), is the vessel she used to mail the deposit. You would think that a professional woman, with her own real estate “business,” could at least spring for a semi-professional envelope, maybe even (*gasp*!) of the security type. Apparently not. No, instead I received my hefty check in the return envelope from her latest bill from her insurance company. Of the window variety, meaning you could see my happy check hanging out inside, because she (naturally) couldn’t be bothered to accompany the check with even a short note of some kind, you know, “Nice doing business with you!” or even, “Have a good life!”

As I thought about it, the whole thing pretty much summed up my entire experience with the woman, the house, everything. It involved her taking the least amount of her time doing as little as possible for as cheaply as possible, to hoop with everyone else. Which makes me ever more glad that I am finally, finally done.

Nice doing business with you, Cornelia. Have a good life.

til exhausted close our eyelids

One of these days I might take the time to sit down and reminisce about some of the crazy times that have gone on in the last month and a half: I went to a mini-family reunion in southern Illinois, I went to the Former Students’ Day reunion at my high school in Kentucky, I moved (!!!!), I went to Kentucky for Labor Day/my nieces’ 4th birthday, blah, blah, blah. It’s been busy, yo. That’s pretty much all I can say. The long and the short of it is that I’m living in someone else’s house, with a storage unit full of crap*, and that I have added a few thousand miles to my newly-tired, newly-aligned car, and that I have officially driven over every single curb between Algonquin, Holiday Hills and Lake in the Hills with a 24-foot moving truck.

But rather than take the time to write about all that, I’m going about this post the lazy way. Meaning I’m going to copy a bunch of stuff I’ve already written.

For context’s sake, I should first tell you that Corella & I keep each other awake from time to time at work with short, random emails. Here are a few snippets of said emails from me, all from this week. Frankly, you may want to just stop reading now.

•I'm only slightly worried about the yarn, since it's boucle and I'm not completely sure I'll be able to keep it even.

•I need this day to be over, like, now. If I don't leave a vomitous mess on my keyboard before the day is out, it will be a miracle.

•I should have known what this day was going to be like before I even left the house this morning. Like, when I couldn't figure out where my bra was, until I realized 30 seconds later that I'd already put it on. Yep, that kind of a day.

•Boys are stupid. Boy stalkers are just ridiculous.

•I want to hear details of the sobbing. Because I hate her.
(Stop judging. It’s reality tv.)

•I love that one of the pillars of the church uses the word *knockers* at choir practice.

•I just started counting in my head/on my fingers the number of months so far in the fiscal year, but instead of mentally saying "April, May, June, July, August" in my head as I extended each finger, my brain started saying, "Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers…"
I. Need. Help.

•When I get married, I'm going to have somebody play just the intro to Let's Get It On as we're running through the birdseed/bubbles/whatever to the car.

•Just remember, it's all about the tongue, baby.

I haven’t fallen asleep yet.




*So full, in fact, that the new roomie was worried when I was late coming home one night that I had stopped by the unit and a bunch of stuff fell on my head and knocked me out.