five thousand shades of blue
Monday, November 19, 2001
Just call me Sandra, Destroyer of Worlds. You see, I vanquished the mildew in the bathroom -- and believe me, in the Pacific Northwest, you can get some pretty thriving little civilizations going there. It was all over the ceiling above the shower and beginning to creep down the walls. Here's a resounding endorsement for X-14 mildew stain remover (even if I don't particularly want to know what's in it, because it's probably horrible -- just keep that room well ventilated while working, and afterwards). I think it's the true mark of adulthood to be excited about sparkling white bathroom walls.
Aside from cleaning, the weekend was uneventful. Went to see
Atlantis (the Disney movie, not the Anthony Hopkins one) and it was a lot better than I was expecting, even if a good deal of the story seemed to be 'inspired' by
Stargate.
Sunday was filled with its annoyances, and I do mean filled. Sunday morning I had to call the police on a group of teenaged boys who were drag racing this mini race car thing (that sounded like a dirt bike, and probably had a dirt bike motor) back and forth on our street, around the corner and onto the next street over, which is a very busy street. The car-thing was definitely not street legal, extremely loud, and they were definitely driving way the hell too fast (and doing spin-outs to boot). I was pleased to see the police arrive just as they sped down to the end of my street, which has no outlet.
Later that night, trying to get to Marian's for dinner was a challenge because the road was blocked off for reasons we weren't immediately aware of. We go the long way around to try to get to her house... and as luck would have it, the police car serving as that end's blockade is parked right in front of her driveway, perpendicular to the car lanes. We're in the car gesturing wildly towards the driveway and the cop is saying, "You can't go that way." I roll down the window and say, "But we just need to go in that driveway. Right. There." Again, "You can't go that way." Repeat scenario four or five times. Absolutely annoyed at this point, we make a hard right and park on a sidestreet, across the three-lane street from her house. As we're walking from where we parked to the corner, lugging various bags and books and sewing projects for the evening, the damn cop car turns and drives away, leaving us to cross the street just as cars are moving down the street again. At this point, frustrated as hell, Jen and I tromp over to the house while Andra fetches the truck to park in the driveway.
It wasn't until we got into the house that we found out what was going on. Apparently there was a man with a gun loose in the neighbourhood. It made me doubly angry at that cop -- because it was much safer for us to walk all that way with a crazed gunman on the loose than to just pull into the driveway! </sarcasm>
Thankfully, it's a short week, my last week for a month getting up at oh-dark-thirty, barring something freakish happening, like Andra or me getting a
permanent job. Training for Harry and David starts next Monday. A week of 3pm to midnight. Prepare to shift, circadian cycle!
is
this just not enough…?
