Poo Sofa

My fiance and I went shopping for a couch this weekend.

At the store we saw the ugliest piece of furniture I've ever seen. (Yes, even worse than the sumo table). We both looked at it and said, "That looks like dog crap."

Not only was it a particular shade of brown, it had a mottled color and texture that made it look "realistic." It had a subtle shine to it, so it looked almost sticky.

The upholstery was stitched to make it look like lumps squished together.

In short, the couch was shaped, colored and textured to look like a giant mound of poo.

It took us a while, but I think we've finally stopped laughing.

Ass Stones

Can someone tell me whether this is a male thing or the men in my lab are unusually comfortable revealing intimate details about their bowel movements?

At lunch the other day Guy #1 told us about his episode of constipation. We found out how long it lasted, how it felt, what positions were uncomfortable to him, what remedies he tried, what medication worked and what the final release looked like.

Guy #2 exclaimed, "Wow, that sounds painful! It's like ass stones!"

Guy #3 said, "That's Type I on the Bristol Stool Chart! Hard like nuts!"

Guy #1 said, "They were really shooting out."

Guy #2 laughed, "Haha like a gun!" then started making shooting and flicking motions with his fingers, accompanied by "Bew! Bew!" missile noises.

One day they grow up, right?

Edible Surprises

My friend's mom works as a nurse. She was prepping a very obese woman for surgery and found a forgotten sandwich on her body.

I'm not sure how to say this diplomatically, but the sandwich was sandwiched between some rolls of flab on her stomach, and was decomposing.

I really hope she was lying to me.

Neighbors from Hell

My co-worker was very pleased the other day. She did a happy dance when her neighbors moved out.

She's African American, and lived next door to virulently racist white supremacists.

They lived in a house that was so run-down, part of the building was covered with plastic tarp to prevent rainwater from coming in. Because there was no air conditioning, and the ventilation was so poor (despite the gaping holes), during the summer the tenants camped in a tent in the backyard.

On top of that, the Neo-Nazis believed it was their "Christian duty" thing to invite homeless people to stay with them.

Their guests stayed in a rusty, non-mobile mobile home situated in their yard (which was visible from the street). They ran big tubes (presumably containing sewage) from the trailer into their house.

The health department even came to investigate them. Twice.

My co-worker is quite happy the house is being torn down now.

When French Nails Go Wrong

I was sitting on the bus, staring at the floor, when I noticed my neighbor had the most incredible case of toe fungus ever. I wondered why she would even wear open-toed shoes out in public before the infection was cleared up by massive doses of medication.

Then I realized that she had a French manicure, but instead of having the usual white tips, asked for yellow tips.

Oy. She probably thought it would be unusual and attention-getting.

Well, it worked.

Another Kind of Home Invasion

I came back from Europe about a week ago, but I've been silent due to my internet being cut off. Yes, my landlord "forgot" to pay the internet bill again. (I'm blogging from a friend's house). I was hoping to regale you with tales of my travel adventures, but I've been rather distracted.

I found out yesterday morning that my landlord is trying to sell the house, when a realtor showed up and said, "What? They didn't tell you?"

I stood there in my pajamas as she explained that he's been thinking of selling the house for a while, and she reminded him several times that he needed to notify his tenants. He kept insisting, "Yeah, I told them, but when you go to the house can you pretend you're a repairman or something?"

That bastard. Instead of telling us at the beginning of the summer so we could find new places to live, he decided to squeeze another few months of rent out of us. It didn't matter to him that trying to find an apartment right before school starts, after everyone else has signed their leases and found roommates, is rather difficult.

The newest roommate moved in 2 months ago. I'm sure the landlord knew at that time he was going to sell the house, but why consider the inconvenience to others when you can wring a few dollars from a college student dependent on his financial aid check to pay the rent?

I was suspicious when I came back from Europe and found flowers in the yard, and new carpet in an empty bedroom. I thought, "He's too lazy to fix the porch light but planted new flowers?" It all makes sense now. He's attempting to do last-minute, half-assed repairs. The realtor told him he needed to change all the filthy carpet in the house. He only changed about 1/3. There are now 3 (obviously) different colors and textures of adjoining carpet in the upstairs. The new carpet is lumpy, has huge air pockets, peels up near the walls and has loose nails and staples. It also smells funny.

I've also been requested not to be present when prospective buyers come to see the house. He doesn't want me telling people about the rat infestation problem, the dead air conditioning, the dodgy appliances and the electrical problems. Screw you jackass. I'll play along. I won't be in the house, but it doesn't mean I can't hang out around the driveway. Perhaps I'll let the buyers in and say, "Hi, I'm Snark and I have to go take a walk because they don't want me to talk to you. I'll be around nearby. Thanks!"

If the buyers are smart they'll chase me down and I can let them know to expect $9,000 in repairs the moment they move in. (The dead AC is over 20 years old. Every repairman has said they can patch it, but it'll break down very soon, so they recommend a $9000 replacement. I'm sure the landlord will cheap out and do the patch).

Yes, you heard right. It's been 6 weeks without air-conditioning in the house. There were two heatwaves during this time, with temperatures over 100 degrees.

In the next few weeks I'm supposed to expect a stream of strangers going through my bedroom, poking into my closets. The realtor has informed me that legally I can't "obstruct his fiduciary rights" so I have to accommodate anyone who wants to wander in and steal my stuff, even if I'm not home. (The realtor has keys that she's leaving in an electronic lock box attached to the house, that only "authorized" people can access).

I asked for 24 hours notice any time someone needs to enter, but I'm not optimistic about that. My landlord has shown up in the past unannounced. One time, he brought his son and entered with his own key, without even knocking. He walked in on my roommate, who just came out of the shower wrapped in a towel. There was no apology.

The realtor brought an air-conditioning salesman to the house yesterday to give a repair estimate. He needed to get into the attic through the entry in my bedroom. As usual, a shower of dust, rat feces and plaster came down onto my bed and floor. When I went down to the garage to get the vacuum cleaner to tidy up (yet again) I found out that the landlord took the vacuum. I had to borrow one from a friend in order to make my room livable. Sadly, I expect this to repeat as last-minute repairs continue.

I am worried, but not in panic mode. The housing market is poor, and the greedy jerk has an asking price that's $50,000 to $60,000 too much, according to the realtor. Plus, even if the house sells right now the escrow is going to take one month. I'm thinking of alternate housing options, but homelessness is not imminent.

I'm Still Melting

I woke up at 2 AM last night and realized I was not sweating, despite the intense heat. I was that dehydrated. I made myself drink 3 glasses of water before trying to go back to sleep. Instead, I kept thinking, "Even if the portable cooling unit worked (which it doesn't), it roars too loudly to allow sweet sweet slumber."

My landlord has yet to call me back regarding my air conditioning situation. When I agreed it was okay for him to buy a new AC system, instead of repairing the old one, I did not mean "Hey, drop a glorified fan at my door and drive off."

The cooling unit and the fans he left for my roommate look new, like he just bought them. I hope he is having trouble obtaining equipment, and bought these for us to use temporarily, out of the goodness of his heart (which I am deeply cynical about). I am paranoid that the actual motive is, "Here's your damn AC. Now shut up."

Dude, at least call me back and tell me if this is your idea of a permanent "fix" or not.

I'm Melting

I am miserable. There is a heat wave in my town this week. It's been 110 degrees for the past two days, and my air conditioner is broken.

Yesterday, my landlord sent an AC repairman to my house. Apparently, the AC guy is very busy, because he couldn't even give me a 2-hour window. I was told "We'll call you right before we come over." I had to sit at home in the sweltering heat, NOT making money at work, waiting for him to show up.

The AC guy examined the central air conditioning system, and said it needed over $2000 worth of repairs. He called my landlord to make sure he would pay for it, and got a big fat "No."

The AC is very old, and has been fixed before, so the landlord was afraid he would pay for repairs, only to have it break down again. The landlord called me and said he would put in a brand new system instead.

I thought this was reasonable, as long as he came the very next day (today). I was nervous about him cheaping out, and trying to install it himself, but I was desperate for the ability to wear clothing indoors, especially since I live on the second floor.

Today, I worked overtime at work to make up for yesterday's lack of hours, but also to linger in the cool building as long as I could. I imagined coming home to a nice, chilly house.

I was naive.

When I got home I found a portable air conditioning unit outside my bedroom door. Yes, the kind you plug into the wall.

I tried it out, only to find that it vented very hot air through the back, sides and top, thus negating the cool air flowing out the front. I realized it was the type that you put underneath a sliding window. Unfortunately, my window slides open left to right, not up and down.

I put it on my skinny window ledge, propping up the inside edge with a desk and 3 cardboard boxes. I used wall paper and duct tape to seal up the large exposed portion of the window above the AC unit.

Because I had a screen on the window, I could not push the unit out far enough. Hot air from the side and top vents was still blowing into my room. Plus, the AC started to leak large amounts of liquid from the bottom. When I tried to move the AC large amounts splashed out. I really hope my carpet is not soaked with Freon.

I've been running an electric fan that pushes the hot air around the room. I am not looking forward to my energy bill at the end of the month.

I've called the landlord's cell phone and home number 3 times and left 2 messages, telling him about the AC and asking if this was just a temporary measure. I have not received a response. I am horrified to think that he might consider this a good "fix" for my problem. I hope he doesn't say "you agreed I could put in a new AC unit not a new AC system that cools the whole house and not just your bedroom."

Snark is mad.

Errant BVD

Dear Roommate,

I learned this week that there is a very good reason for carefully checking what appears to be an empty washing machine, before putting in your own laundry.

Sometimes there is a stray sock from someone else. Sometimes it's something much worse.

The other day I found a pair of men's briefs with a brown stain on them. They were dry, and I have no idea if they had already gone through the wash or not.

I was about to dump in a load of whites (containing my own underwear), when I noticed the orphan BVDs. Thinking they were your socks, I took them out. When I realized what they were I freaked out and ran to wash my hands.

Please, if your man friend has skid-marked undies that he must wash in our machine, please tell him to be prompt about removing them. At the very least, could he please remember to turn on the machine after putting in his filthy undergarments?

Thank you.

The Girl Upstairs

P.S. From Wikipedia I found out BVD stands for Bradley Voorhies and Day. It is also an acronym for Bovine Virus Diarrhea. I hope the latter was not on the former.

Home Invasion Part 2

Dear Little Deceased Animal,

Thanks to you, I learned two things.

1. It costs $165 to hire a man to hunt around in your attic for a furry corpse.
2. You are one tough little bugger.

Two days after I smelled your presence, I finally got someone to search for you. The exterminator said there were was a trap in the attic with blood and fur on it.

After being mortally wounded, you managed to claw your way out of the rat trap and escape into a hiding place.

You were so good at burrowing into the walls, the exterminator couldn't find you.

He had to tell me, "Don't worry, the smell goes away when it finishes decomposing."

Most impressive, Little Deceased Animal.

Sincerely,
The Tenant

Home Invasion

Dear Little Deceased Animal,

As a wild creature, I cannot fathom why you felt the need to run away from the lovely outdoors, and break into my house while I was away, but I appreciate the effort it took to use your sharp little teeth and claws to chew your way in.

I am also touched that you decided my home would make a wonderful final resting place for your little bloated corpse. Instead of dying in the wild, you decided that a suburban attic would be more befitting.

I think it was also quite considerate of you to pick a 94 degree day to die. I woke up this morning, thinking it was going to be an ordinary day in my ordinary-smelling house, but when I came home from school you had perfumed the air with the reek of death.

Perhaps you didn't intend it, but I couldn't help but notice that special touch: I came home later than usual today, after the pest control people had already stopped answering their phones. Also, I had a guest over.

Therefore, as I try to sleep tonight, I will dream of you, little dead animal, and feel ambivalent about whether I am glad or not that you're dead.

With Appropriate Affection,

The Tenant

1940s Hygiene

While discussing banned pesticides, my professor said that as a schoolchild in the 40s, he and his classmates were sprayed with DDT.

Yes, I did say DDT.

A truck with DDT arrived at his school after a breakout of head lice, and everyone lined up for a dose of poison that can't even be sprayed on crops today.

He seems remarkably blithe about the whole thing. "Nothing happen to me . . . It was a good experiment."

Yes, this is the same professor who used to wash his hands in benzene.

Another Educational (and Terrifying) Lecture

You must imagine this spoken by my elderly professor, who has a thick Japanese accent:

"Chemical disposal can cost more than the chemical. In the good old days we throw everything in the sewer . . . We cannot use benzene in the lab anymore. Too dangerous. When I was in school, I wash my hands with benzene. It's a good solvent. But, I do not have skin cancer yet, so maybe it's okay."

He also informed us that 4-hydroxy-2-nonenal, which is naturally found in the human body, is produced in increasing amounts with age. "It make the old man smell."

If you found this post hilarious, you must be a chemist.

It Doesn't Help

There are two types of people: Those who love Crocs, and those who think that the plastic clogs are ugly.

I admit, I'm in the second camp and therefore subject to bias, but for the love of mac and cheese, how does one explain the travesty of black clogs with rhinestones? (Yes, I did see someone wearing a pair like that today).

Sparkly bits. On clogs.

Sorry, they're still hideous rubber shoes with giant ventilation holes, whether you attack them with a Bedazzler or not.

If you're wearing them solely for comfort reasons, why draw attention to them by blinding me with tawdry little stones?

Bad Parenting 101

While visiting friends, I was in the ladies' room of a hotel lobby when an inebriated woman came in and started spilling her life story.

She complained that her 12-year-old daughter, "who doesn't have the body of a 12-year-old, you know" doesn't listen to her and couldn't be convinced to stay in their room.

Her daughter was running around the hotel with some older guys she met, and her mother had no idea where she was, exactly who she was with and what they were doing.

The woman admitted she was "drunk, and getting drunker" and seemed like she had no intention of stopping.

Gee, maybe you'd have more credibility with your daughter if you were sober?

I felt bad for the mom, but even worse for her daughter. It must be hard trying to navigate adolescence with dignity when you know your mom would rather get sloshed at the hotel bar than look after you.

Lady, if you recognize yourself here, I hope you realize something: Maybe if you got some self-respect for yourself, some of it would rub off on your kid.

Crapper the Cat

Someone told me about a cat they own, whose nickname is "Crapper."

This is because the cat expresses its displeasure through bowel movements. Crapper has decided it's too good to eat dry cat food. If Crapper's owner doesn't get up at 4 AM in the morning to give it wet cat food, Crapper will leave doody piles in the house.

This cat knows how to use a litter box. It will actually pee in the litter box, then defiantly step outside of it to leave a solid deposit just beyond the periphery.

At first, Crapper's Owner (CO) thought she could put a plastic liner around the litter box to solve the problem. The selectively incontinent cat decided to travel a little further, and poop just outside the edge of the liner.

Then CO put a very large plastic sheet under the box, covering the entire floor.

Crapper decided to leave a landmine in the hallway.

Eventually, CO left out a bowl of dry cat food for 3 days, and the petulant feline regained its potty training . . .

. . . until CO got a boyfriend. Crapper pooped until he left.

The Roommate Saga Part 1

Some of you may be aware I moved earlier this summer. There were some lingering issues I had to deal with, mainly connected to one particular roommate, Sleazy Chick. Now that certain financial issues have been resolved (and hopefully I will never have to contact her or her family again), it's time to rant about what she put us through.

This will be a multi-part series. First, let's give you some background about her.

She had a number of disgusting habits, but here are a few:
1. Regularly leaving her dishes unwashed for up to 2 weeks.
2. Clogging up the toilet and leaving to stay with her boyfriend, without calling maintenance.
3. Smoking pot with all the doors and windows closed (while the rest of us were home).
4. Being inebriated and crying so loudly for hours we couldn't sleep. (If it's 2 AM in the morning, and you need to fight with your boyfriend, do it in your car. Better yet, drive somewhere else first).
5. Having equally disgusting, drunken friends who threw up in my bathtub, used my towels (and then put the soiled items back in the cupboard).
6. Hosting a party where we ended up with paint on the wall, dirt and rocks on the carpet, used glassware mixed in with our clean dishes, and beer cans in the bathroom.
7. Buying Costco-sized packs of pregnancy tests. (I am not kidding. I found them when looking for toilet paper and was absolutely weirded out. It never occurred to me that anyone would want to, or need to, buy more than 1, or even 2, tests at a time).

No, she was not "white trash." She came from a well-to-do family, wore expensive clothes and drove a nice car. She was just one of the most appallingly inconsiderate people I've ever met.

Part 2 will set the foundation for the move-out drama.

Please Don't Be This Man

My friend's roommate told me she was in a yoga class with a guy who wore a Speedo to every class.

Worse, he would blow his nose on his hand, and wipe it on his bare leg.

A Poorly Thought-Out Invitation

In college I met a guy whose nickname was H.B. (which stood for Horny Boy). It should have been Slackjawed Idiot (but that's going to be another post).

He once tried to convince me to go to a party that frankly, sounded like a gathering of losers. His main selling point was, "We're going to do stupid stuff, like play spin the bottle."

"Sorry," I said, "that doesn't appeal to me. (Spin the bottle? What are you, like 12?)

When I expressed reluctance he grew desperate.

"There's going to be strippers there!" he exclaimed.

"Um, no thank you please." (I don't want to see that).

"I'm one of them!"

For a moment I thought he was joking, then I realized he was in absolute earnest.

"No, I'm not going to the party." (Are you serious? You look like the offspring of Drew Carey and a manatee! I do NOT want to see you in a thong!)

Male strippers are supposed to wiggle, not jiggle.

Wedding Dress of Doom

Holy Crayola, when I saw this bride I thought her billowing gown looked like a nuclear mushroom cloud.

Note to brides: When you need to crawl into your limo on your stomach, and lie on the floor, your gown is TOO DAMN BIG.

And also, if you plan to use a spray-tanner, go to a professional tanning salon. Do not attack your face with a can of Instant-Oompa-Loompa. You'll look like this.

I'm afraid her wedding party isn't dressed much better either.

I've decided that the neon pink and green nuptials I blogged about before no longer constitute the tackiest wedding ever.