Triumph, Thy Name is Tenacity

Our new house is kind of dated. One thing is that the electricity comes into the house through fuses instead of breakers. I guess that’s how it works. I haven’t really looked it up. All I know is in my apartment on Dooley, sometimes, if I used the microwave, the iron, the computer, and the stereo all at the same time all the lights in the apartment would go out. I would then have to hunt for the basement key, go outside and down to the basement, through the dusty door, past the bedroll where my neighbor let a homeless guy sleep sometimes, past the booze bottles, over to the breaker panel marked #3. The lights were burned out in the basement (no matter how many times I donated a bulb to the cause), so you can bet I brought a flashlight with me. I’d open the panel marked #3, stop and realize that even though my apartment was Apartment #3, that the breaker panel was the 4th one set up, so I’d redirect the beam of my flashlight to the panel marked #4. I’d find the correct breaker (ie the one that wasn’t facing the way the other ones were facing) and flip it, and when I walked back upstairs VI O LAAA I had power.

That’s about the extent of my electrical expertise, unless you count the decorative lighting fixtures I’ve installed from time to time, which I don’t, because Dwight often goes behind me and re-twists the wires together and re-wire-screws them. He doesn’t know that I know that he does this. But it irritates the crap out of me. Anywhoo.

So this morning, fixing some breakfast, because breakfast is a great way to start your day, I ran into a bit of a problem. I was just standing there in the kitchen, thinking about how nice it was that I don’t have to work until 10, so I had TIME to make breakfast and clean up after myself, and all that crap, and all of the sudden…as I was putting the turkey bacon back into the refrigerator…the refrigerator light went out.

Crap! Did I accidentally put the turkey bacon over the switch for the light? No! I go over to the toaster. My NutriGrain Eggos have popped up, but they are neither golden brown nor crispy. I look at the microwave. No glowy numbers. Shit.

I call my husband. He tells me to go to the fuse panel, open it, find the one that says “Kitchen Recepticles” and look inside the little window to see if the fuse is burned out. ?!?!?? How the crap should I know? I’ve never looked at fuses before. I said I guessed it was a little, well, smudgier than the other little fuse windows. He said did I remember the bag of fuses that the previous owner left us? It’s on the table in the blah blah blah and I’m all, “Yeah, but aren’t you just going to come home and fix it? Because there are, like, dozens of dollars worth of food in this refrigerator, and I’m all helpless and delicate (all the while I’m attempting to unscrew this questionably burned-out fuse) and could he just scoot on home for a sec and take care of this?”

He says the food will probably be fine until he has lunchtime, and to just not open the refrigerator anymore. I’m thinking of the eleventy hundred times I opened and closed the refrigerator trying to make the light come on again before I realized that none of the other electrical doodads in the kitchen were functional. Nah, that food probably won’t be OK until lunchtime. At this point I’m getting a little upset. I’m not mad or anything, but I’m frustrated that my stupid fingers can’t get the stupid fuse to unscrew and that the stupid refrigerator ws not working and that the stupid toaster hadn’t cooked my Eggos enough yet, etc. I get off the phone and cry a minute, and then I’m all, “Wait a minute.”

So the problem with trying to unscrew the fuse is that my hands are sweaty because I’m nervous about potentially electrocuting myself (which, incidentally, is a crappy way to start my third day of Part Time Job Part I) and because I’m frustrated and in a hurry. So I think “Rubber Gloves!” and go put some on. I try again. The little jerk comes out of his little hole. I take a replacement fuse (that was in a box, so obviously new) and screw it in. Nothing happens. I go check the fridge. Nothing. I call my husband again, “The new fuse doesn’t work either – the electricity is broken.” He says, “Did you screw it in the whole way?” I’m like, “YES.” He asks, “Did you use a new fuse?” I say, “I used one in a box.” He’s all, “Just because it’s in a box doesn’t mean it’s new. Sometimes people take the old one out and put it in a box blah blah blah.” I start to cry. He says he will come home.

I get off the phone sobbing. I put my rubber glove back on, climb into a sitting position on the washing machine, and unscrew said maybe-not-new fuse. I (still crying my stupid head off) take yet another 20 amp fuse and insert it into the hole. I screw it in. I, with excruciatingly tiny movements (because of course said fuse goes crammed in next to other fuse) continue to screw the stupid thing in.

Suddenly, the microwave beeps. Through my tears and gritted teeth I exclaim, “That’s right you Son of a Bitch!” and I jump off the washer to confirm. I have done it. I have replaced the fuse. I call husband. He’s all , “Way to go” and I’m all, “Blubber blubber tears tears” and I finally got to eat my damn Eggos.

The End.

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Update on the Thrilling Events of my Life

So, I left my job at Bankruptcy, Inc. a little earlier because I had to go out of town, but then it turns out the reason I was going to go out of town went to a different, undetermined town, so I didn’t have to go. Being a bounty hunter is a mercurial job. Just kidding. I’m not really a bounty hunter. Yet.

Anywhoo. Instead of returning to the last week of a job with my tail between my legs all, “Can I come back to work to do stuff for you guys for a couple more days instead of taking some time for myself until my new job starts” I sort of just decided to chill out for a few days. I have some freelance writing to do, and I thought I could get my home office unpacked, get some stuff done around the house, et cetera. Cook some good meals. You know, be a Domestic Goddess who Writes Good.

What I was a little suprised to find out is that I’m totally mind-numbingly depressed. I guess it’s got something to do with watching a company die a slow death, and it being the end of an era, and all that stuff, but you’d think with two great part time jobs on the horizon, and the kick-ass classes coming up for grad school, that I’d be all full of positivity and enthusiasm. I guess it takes a little while, because so far I haven’t gotten diddly squat done and I keep nodding off like a herion addict or my grandma or something.

So I figure I need to keep myself busy. The only thing? Every time I stand up I get a head rush, and I convince myself that it’s far safer, since I’m home all alone, to sit back down on the bed and check Twitter to see if John Cusack has direct messaged me, because that would totally make my day. Not that he ever has, or knows I exist, but that would be pretty cool, so I should probably check. As long as I’m online, I might as well learn something on the TV, so it’s lucky that there is a marathon of The Scariest Places on Earth on the Sci Fi Channel, so I can learn all about scary places and the paranormal. Because that’s important. Then I start writing a blog in my head because Linda Blair (of Excorcist fame) is the host of the show, and in the opening credits she stalks into view through misty spookiness and she’s wearing a tight leather outfit and a cape-like overcoat, which is fantastic. But I don’t actually write the blog, because I’m thinking about how I should check my bank account, but I shouldn’t do that directly from Twitter, because the internet monkey thieves could trace my steps over to my bank account and wreak havoc (new havoc, not the havoc I inflict monthly). So I might as well check my blogroll, and see what the people that are better bloggers than me have to say.

I think you see my point. Not too productive. Of course, I only left the job yesterday, and today was Day 1 of a surprise vacation, so I guess it’s OK that I wasn’t productive AT ALL. Since I was crazy busy at work on Friday AND Monday, I guess it’s OK to take a breather.

Or I am a lazy hog-jerk. Whichever. I did eat a half can of cashews, a whole can of potato soup, a McDonald’s #2 with no onions and a Sprite, and now I’m fixing to eat some more. So at least I’m well-nourished.

So, now it’s Writing for Money late into the night, because you guys make me want to be my best.

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Dining Room

This is a picture of the dining room before we got our hands on it. As you can see, it was perfectly lovely, but entirely green. I don’t mind green, but I wanted a more festive dining room.

Directly after this photo, you will see the dining room now, with a brief description of the work we did underneath.

We ripped up the carpet, primed and painted all the walls and trim, and my wildly talented husband created the lovely striping effect you see under the chair rail. We painted the chairs purple – the can showed a deeper, more aubergine purple, but I like the way they turned out nonetheless. We also replaced the chandelier.

The dining room table is a new addition – oak drop-leaf with some dings and nicks but a whole lot of character. I love it. My mom bought it for me at an estate sale recently – the same one where we bought that awesome stereo I blogged about. At least I think I blogged about it. Yeah, I did.

The kitchen is done, too. We’ll save that for next time.

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