Friday, February 27, 2009

And she wonders why I didn't want to live with her

Came home today, found a note sticky-taped to our apartment door.

“Please be advised that the Dumpmaster is for Serviced Apartments rubbish only. Thankyou.”

My first thought was a panicked, ‘Ohmigod my snotty ex-housemate has somehow found out where I live and is running around posting obnoxious notes on my doors again!’

Then I read it properly and thought, ‘What in the fuck is a Dumpmaster?’

After some time (and it took me entirely too long to come to this conclusion) I realised that the note was left by the cleaning or reception staff of the short-term stay apartments (the building of which we share however some apartments are privately owned/rented out) and that they might be referring to a dumpster/skip which alternates between our two parking lots. On top of that, either they believe residents have been misusing the skip and went around informing everybody, or they’ve narrowed it down to US and stuck a note on our door. I’ve never heard of this ‘Dumpmaster’ (sounds like bad slang for a toilet anyway) but it’s possible that they are right, and saw my sister dumping stuff in their skip or whatever. Who knows?

All I know is that notes like this really, really – and I mean fucking REALLY – rub me the wrong way. So passive-aggressive and my ex-housemate-like. They make me want to find the faceless composer, pin them to the ground in an aikido hold and force-feed them said note.

I’ve never been too fond of those beeyatches from the reception area anyway so maybe I’m over-reacting a little. And I better get my facts straight before I retaliate with a note of my own (“Please be advised that we do not use your ‘Dumpmaster’ and that our door is not a public message-board.”) so I’m trying to get a hold of my sis, who as usual has her phone off.

Actually I’ll be the adult and confront them personally tomorrow. Really don’t appreciate notes sticky-taped on my door like some college notice - WE HAVE A BLOODY LETTERBOX IDIOTS. Rude.

Oh by the way, once I figured out the mysterious note and stepped inside, I found my kitchen covered in ants.

Then I looked around and found my lounge room covered in ants.

Turns out ants can indeed get to a second-floor apartment and that they were crawling in via the balcony door gap and following their sense of smell to the jelly crystals and un-rinsed cocktail glass in my kitchen. My kitchen wasn’t even dirty, yo. Must be the weather driving them out of control, like with cockroaches this time of year. Or maybe that immature note-writer planted them. Bug warfare!

I hate it when ants suddenly go on these berserk little in-your-house sprees! Wish I could find their anthill and find ants from another anthill and pit them against each other so that each colony takes each other out. (I used to do that when I was a kid.) Instead I just cleaned the house top to bottom, sprayed Mortein everywhere and am hoping the extra hot weather forecast for tomorrow will kill them before they get to this altitude.

This is actually kind of funny, because one of the bratty notes my ex-housemate left for me and my sister on the fridge once was a classic: “There is sugar all over the floor. Please clean it up otherwise ants will come.”

Holy crap it really is my housemate haunting me.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Now I remember why I hated being a teenager so much

Went for drinks at Cookie with the old work crew, was sitting at one table with Charmaine et al, while the next-door people (none of whom I know, barring Jess) were sitting opposite. I knew the guys were staring at us but I just ignored it, when Jess skirts over and casually asks, “Hey, you’re still single, yeah?”

Me thinking she’s making conversation answers in the affirmative. Suddenly, drink in one hand, other hand clawing my arm, huge grin on her face, she’s trying to drag me out of my seat. “Come sit with us! The guys want to get to know you.”

Charmaine read the look on my face instantly – oh, brother, I just want to have a fucking drink, do you have to be so obvious, not only are they watching your progress now they’re going to know I’m rejecting them, I’m outnumbered and uncomfortable, you're seizing my arm so tightly it hurts, this is so fucking immature, I’m so not interested, I'm too old for this, somebody get me out of here – and valiantly tried to be my defence. “Uh - we're going for a cigarette!”

Alas Jess continues her pulling and insisting until I pry myself away and duck out onto the balcony juggling my cocktail and Leo’s jacket. And lo and behold the entire table follows us. Charmaine literally tried to block the door by sitting in front of it (she cracks me up sometimes) but Jess pointedly asked, “Charmaine can you move?” And one of the staring faces peers outside and asks me if they can join us.

Charmaine’s like, “Jesus, you’re like honey! Everyone’s buzzing after you!” and I’m embarrassed as hell, Jess is still pushy, and I actually take a cigarette just for something to do. Dude, I don't even smoke.

And so begins a game of cat and mouse wherein I cling to Charmaine and Zach for dear life throughout the rest of the night, Jess tries to pry me away, various guys hover around me and I can’t socially circulate as much as I wanted to.

Times like this I miss having a boyfriend shield. I can still pull that ‘sorry, I’m taken’ shit with unwanted advances from strangers, but not so much people that actually know me. I’m sure there will come a time when I will love attention from groups of twenty-one year old guys who want to have a conversation with the contents of my bra, but now? NOT SO MUCH.

So guys, if you want to know what was wrong with that uppity bitch at Cookie last night, here’s a heads up:

  1. Straight off the bat your little wingwoman cornered me and embarrassed the shit out of me.
  2. There was a big group of you sitting there staring at me. That does not a happy Black Cat make.
  3. Neither of you let it up all night, significantly reducing my having a good time.
  4. I’m pretty sure if I looked like Magda Szubanski you wouldn’t want to ‘get to know me’ so much. Clearly you wanted something (and don’t we all) and just wanted to know how much it was gonna cost you to get it. Wasn't in the mood to play along.
I stopped with the adolescence and the hormones FIVE YEARS AGO, ok? Nowadays I’m more into guys that are at least my age and act it. If you’re interested in me, don’t send your friend over to find out if I want to sit with your friends. Don’t skulk around leering at me while I’m having a conversation with my friends. I respect a guy who takes the risk and goes about it the right way – even if I’m not interested, I will respect that you tried. I won’t respect someone whose entire group of friends harassed me and therefore sent me crashing into a flashback of being an awkward fifteen-year-old who just wanted to go home.

Nothing personal.

Ok, maybe a little.