the PMS train has lost its brakes. help!

I’m starting to think I’m not bipolar, but that everyone else is, especially the men I’ve been dealing with lately. They’re either really jerky or so nice that it makes me suspicious.

Like this morning, the phone rings. I was still in bed with Guardcat, catching some extra winks because of some weird dream involving getting taken hostage by David Hasselhoff’s Spanish maid. Unfortunately the phone jack in my bedroom is broken, so I had to leap off my bed and run out to the phone in the kitchen, which is pretty easy, since my apartment is smaller than Paris Hilton’s shoe closet. So I managed to grab it before the answering machine picked up and I hear “You’re (indecipherable mumbling), th– (more indecipherable mumbling) 12:30”

CLICK

Who was it? Well, fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, I think it was my landlord. Of course, how would I know. There was no formal conversation, like “Good morning witty, this is Asshole Supreme-O calling. The plumber will be there at 12:30. Are you going to be home? No? Okay, I’ll make sure the cat doesn’t get out. Thank you.” Oh no, instead it sounds like 24’s Jack Bauer during some nuclear attack giving his coordinates to headquarters from a dying cell phone.

Why the brief call? Well, I know why. Because of his general assholery 4 days ago when I was coming in my apartment complex. He was out front waiting for potential renters to come look at the apartments. I always have an overwhelming urge to run up to them and say “Run! Run for your lives! These apartments suck! The landlord is an asshole! Nothing works! The buildings are crumbling! We’ve got neighbors who look like this…

RUN-N-N-N-N!!!!”

…but I haven’t. YET.

Anyways, I had been trying to get the window over my computer area open, so I could put my little air conditioner in, but evidently its off the track. So I thought, hey, there’s the guy who is in charge of maintenance, so why not ask him for help. So I did. He said he would stop back at my apartment after he showed the apartment. And….and….Ummm, well, that was 4 days ago.

Me, sitting here drumming my fingers.

I finally just put the damn a/c unit in the other window myself, which is blowing directly into the back of my computer, which can’t be good for it. And did I mention, its not really cooling off my apartment since its partially blocked? thanks…asshole.So now I’m just anxiously waiting for him to arrive. At least I think I am. Am I? There was that furtive, secretive call in code around 10 a.m. But now its well past 12:30, like 2 1/2 hours past and no plumbers have arrived at my door yet. It doesn’t really effect me in any way. I’m not the one suffering in this one. I guess there is some kind of leak in the wall behind my bathtub and every time I take one of my long luxurious showers thinking about Johnny Depp, its leaking down into my neighbor’s apartment downstairs. I’m not surprised since the corner by the tub is all rotted, as well as the wall. I’ve lived in basement apartments before. I’ve been leaked on, so I know how miserable it can be.

“Hi matchmaking karma gods, yeah, I need someone to take me away from all this shit. Thanks. Love, witty”

And then I got a note from Charlemagne this morning. I had taken a picture of him and his daughter at the studio the other night and sent it via e-mail. He did thank me (first “thank you” from him in a while), but then he started complaining about how small the image was and how poor the resolution was. Blah, blah, blah! I’ve been asking to borrow his copy of Photoshop for almost a month now. Because right now I have this really stupid method of digital camera-ing. Since I don’t have any photo software in my new computer and was unable to transfer the old software over for some reason, I have to download the pictures into my old computer. Do the photo-editing, like resizing, taking out wrinkles and double chins minor flaws in the images and then put them on a floppy disk and walk them over to my new computer and put them in there. Its a total pain in the arse!

My life would be so much easier if I had that Photoshop in my new computer. Charlemagne had said I could borrow it, but he will no longer just give me the disk, since I screwed it up last time. No. He has to come over to my house for one of my “teas” and he will put it in for me. When? I have no idea. Ground Hog’s Day 2010?

Yeah, I know I should be appreciative since I’m getting free software, but I get so tired of having to jump through so many damn hoops for every last thing in my life. Gah!

And then finally the nice guy. Tall Skinny Guy. He’s too nice. Have you ever had someone have a crush on you, but you don’t really care for them, but they continue to have a crush on you anyways? Yeah, such a dilemma, you’re saying. I feel bad that I don’t care for Tall Skinny Guy. I’m sure he’s a nice fellow. He just totally lacks the requirements awittykitty requires 1) a sense of humor. He has none. 2) self-esteem. I’m the only one allowed to be neurotic and insecure in our relationship. 3) More body mass, since I definitely don’t want to outweigh my honey bunny by 40 pounds.

Unfortunately he’s actually way too nice to me and its starting to get on my last nerve. Is that even possible? Yes!

Like last night in my art class. I’ve been getting there late lately because I’ve been going over and picking up “L” the Hippy Chick on the way. I hate being late. Hate it. When I get to her house, she’s always yacking on a portable phone, yelling out the window, “Why do these people call me when they know I’m leaving? Why??” I know her life is hard, so I cut her a break. But I still hate getting to my class late because that means I don’t get a good seat. And last night I got the worst seat I’ve ever had. I was behind the model and lighting fixture…literally…the whole night. And it wasn’t a good night for that because we actually had a male model and how often do I have access to free penis-viewing?? Huh?

So I set up the table, which of course, Tall Skinny Guy was trying to help me do. And then naturally he had to set his easel right next to me, with its legs jutting under my table. I really hate when people hover. And then the way he had the easel set up, his scrawny knee kept nearly hitting my elbow. And then he looks down and says, “Am I invading your personal space?”

Like totally, dude!

So right now I would just settle for a guy who would put my a/c unit where it should be put….you know what I mean?

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