Through The Looking Glass

My neighbors.

The building we live in is huge. There are approximately 150 apartments. There are 9 staircases (assuming I didn’t lose count), 3 elevators, 2 courtyards, and 1 pool. The building itself takes up an entire block (not a square block, just one side of a block), and inside the hallways are seemingly infinite stretches of white walls and purple carpets, disturbed only by grey firedoors ever 30 feet or so. I have gotten lost more than once, and have to go through 6 firedoors to reach the front of the building. The roof is an impressive maze of heating/AC vents, surrounded by peaked bits of roof around the perimeter. The exterior apartments on the 3rd floor all have porches overlooking the roof, and from our side of the building the Hollywood sign is visible between two of the peaks. There are two trash chutes. The ground floor has assigned parking and a laundry room with 12 machines.

These last 2 amenities cause more problems than I would have expected.

Trash. Trash strikes me as something that, while not necessarily pleasant to take care of daily, is not difficult. You take the bag out of the bin, tie it off, and stuff it down the trash chute. I lived in the country for years, and trust me – weekly trips to the dump are a lot less fun. So why is it that my neighbors cannot seem to keep the trash off the floor surrounding the chutes? I’m not just talking dirty kleenex here, either – I’m talking chicken bones, lemon rinds, gum…It’s fucking disgusting. I have, on more than one occasion, seen trash bags sitting in front of my neighbors’ doors, not even tied off. Today, the door in question was about 10 feet from the trash chute. No wonder we occasionally have roaches.

Laundry. There are, as I mentioned, 12 washers and 12 dryers. Unlike our old building (which had 4 of each, none of which worked very well), it seems that most of the people washing their clothing are housewives, like me, as opposed to the single men and once-a-week housekeepers I usually saw in the West Hollywood building. They are, however, unlike me, terrible housewives. Now, granted, I never dust and rarely clean the toilet, but I know how to do laundry, and I have respect for the fact that other people use the laundry facilities. These bitches ALL use powdered laundry soap, and never bother to contain it within the washing machines. They never clean the lint screens. Today I found a lint screen sitting in a dryer, loose, spreading linty bits all over the otherwise clean dryer. No one ever seems to actually check the machines for missed items. I can’t tell you how many loose socks and undies I’ve found abandoned.

ARGH! I’d go on, but I think I’ve reached my Annoyance Capacity.

Before I came online, I watched a bit of a show called Celebrity Justice. It may be the saddest excuse for a half hour’s programming I’ve ever heard of. Yes, worse than Texas Justice! There, I’ve said it. Not even my Katherine-esque devotion to stupid celebrities could make me watch that show again, even if there is nothing else (besides Port Charles) on at 11:30.

BBC Radio did a version of The Lord of the Rings several years ago. I believe it is the version I came across during Christmas shopping, which was priced so absurdly that I doubt there is a single American out there who owns it. I desperately want to hear it, though.

So last night we went to Sean’s Everwood screening party. I don’t think there is anything stranger than watching a television show in a bar with several people you don’t know. While standing up. At least there was wine, even if one glass was approximately three and a half times the price of a bottle of our current favorite. Yay for Trader Joe’s!

In other news, there is only a bit more than two months until my 25th birthday.

Dude, someone really wanted to find me.

I just checked the IPs for hits to this page over the weekend, and someone got here through a google search for “Annika.” I checked, and the hit was on the fifteenth page of the search results. That’s dedication! I have no idea who it was, or I’d send them cookies.

Also.

Will and I had the most splendid weekend. On Saturday we drove out to Antelope Valley. Will says that it is “high plains desert,” which I have trouble believing since it is only an hour away from sea-level and my ears didn’t pop at all. Maybe the phrase doesn’t mean what it sounds like it means. Anyway, we went to a place called the Devil’s Punchbowl in the Angeles National Park, which is stunningly gorgeous. There were trails, but we weren’t wearing appropriate footwear, so we just wandered down far enough to get some good photos. We stopped at a so-called Farmer’s Market (it wasn’t, but that was the name of the store) where there was a lunch counter with spectacular Mexican food, and we bought some produce for absurdly low prices.

Yesterday we played Deadlands with Will running the MetaHuman campaign for the first time since we moved. Once again, I am Jenny Sparks. I’ll move on since most of my readers are probably not gaming geeks.

Yesterday evening we had the Monday Night Supper Club one day early, as I cannot cook tonight. I made honey-jerk chicken and an assortment of other goodies, and it was great. It is starting to worry me, though, that every time Andy walks into a room Will starts doing his “Andy voice” and doesn’t stop until Andy is gone. Now, Andy’s voice is pretty sexy, but it’s still creepy. To compensate, I have decided to be a Will/Andy shipper.

And so forth…

Tonight, our friend Sean’s episode of Everwood airs, and we are going to his screening party. This will be weird, because we hate watching television with other people. On the other hand, there will be booze, and probably finger food. Hee. Fingers.

I am listening to the commentary on The Royal Tenenbaums and just thinking about how good I’ve got it.

Will is amazingly wonderful, to the point that I can’t even describe. Katherine sent me the sweetest (or possibly most disgusting, I’m not sure) PM today. My sister sent us her copy of Alice because Will mentioned enjoying the demo. Jenn came over last night to watch Vampyr with us and didn’t make fun of my choice to sleep through the middle. And I am reading Phoebe’s paper and will (hopefully) be reading Crystal’s screenplay and they are both so talented and trust me to give good feedback.

Not to mention all of the remarkable support that we’re receiving from the people we’ve talked to about the Cabaret.

I could go on, but I owe Beth a letter, and to make up for the amount of time it’s taken me I’m going to try to make it extra good.

After a brief chat about whether we hate each other (the conclusion was no), Crystal and I have moved on to discussing ingrown hairs, boys, pimples, and our periods.

I love Crazy Internet People.

Dear Everyone,

I am posting this here because, well, I want everyone to see it. (Please note that I am not delusional and do not actually believe that everyone reads this, but I think most of the people I wish to address do.)

I do not wish to get involved in any sort of Us Vs. Them thing. It may appear that I already am, or possibly even that I started it, but I hope to clarify.

I never meant anyone any sort of harm or even offense by my wish that the other blog remain private. The fact is that yes, it is true I do not like Adam. This is for a personal reason, and has nothing to do with anything else he may or may not have done. Frankly, I don’t care about that. I also cannot see any reason whatsoever that my dislike of him should mean anything to his friends – I’m sure many of them dislike certain of my friends, and I’m not bothered by that as long as I am not drawn into any conflicts.

I understand that things that were said by me and a few other people hurt the feelings of the people those things were said about. I hate that, because I don’t want to hurt anyone. Well, maybe whoever keeps giving work to Drew Barrymore, but even then only a friendly clip on the jaw.

…Sorry, my brain went Elsewhere for a moment.

This feels like it felt when (some) people stopped trusting me simply because I was made a moderator at the WD. Yes, there is an “Exclusive Club” feeling to the whole thing. No, it does not change who I am. If people choose to stop liking me, that’s fine. I won’t like it, but it’s their prerogative. But please, please, please: have a reason other than “I expressed my feelings and/or did something I wanted to do.”

I hope that even some of that made sense. I will try to clarify anything if asked. –edit– Please note that I have not banned anyone from the comments, so please ask away if you are so inclined.

Dear Uterus,

I have no grudge with you, specifically. Your mechanics, perhaps, but I put that down to a basic design flaw.

The problem I do have is the fact that the pain isn’t contained. Is this another design flaw, or have you incited a riot?

Yours,
Your (aching) Body

Annika: Ouch.
Will: I’d buy you a steel uterus, but then we can’t have kids.
Annika: Maybe we can find a steel uterus that’s very loving.

We laughed for about ten minutes.

I am out of disposable heating pads. Well, not really out, but I’ve only got one. This is disasterous. Bother.

I want to have Wil Wheaton’s babies.

Reasons Will should work in television (the first in a series)

We watched 7th Heaven tonight. The show is an absolute train wreck. It hasn’t been funny since before the twins were born, and even then it wasn’t very funny. But really, how could we miss Lucy’s Wedding? I mean, surely this is the first time a cabbage patch doll has said “I do.”

First, Will suggested that Ruthie should move over to Everwood after 7th Heaven ends and become Delia’s arch-nemesis. That is funny.

When Mary called from the car, and they made a big deal of not showing who her passenger was (which, incidentally, I never found out), I guessed that it was Matt, and Will said, “Nah, it’s Dawson.” That is hilarious.

After the wedding part, when RevCam introduced the couple, I said, “No! It’s ‘I am pleased to present to you, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Whatever.’” Will’s reaction? “It was the fifth take.”

These are the things that just Happen to me.

Today, Will and I began a crash diet, combined with an all-new work-out regime. The diet is mostly for him, as I am only five pounds over my ideal weight, not to mention a vegetarian*. I’d die if I cut down too far on carbs and fat. But I digress.

This morning, I did 30 leg lifts and 10 crunches. It’s not very impressive unless you know just how much physical activity is a normal part of my day. Actually, I was quite pleased, because even that small amount of exercise helped my back, which has been really bad lately. (There’s a story about a car accident in it for any of you who are very bored.)

After eating a vaguely healthy lunch, which followed a few hours online trying to catch up on everything I ignored this weekend, I did a load of laundry. It was done around the time Will got home, and I noticed when I collected it that all but 2 of the washers were free. Taking it as A Sign, I had Will help me carry the rest of the laundry downstairs. While it was in the machine, I made dinner – salmon with ginger and brocolli with soy sauce. Man, was it good! (For those keeping track, a lot of this happened during 7th Heaven, and we were collecting the clean, dry laundry when Mary and her Mystery Passenger arrived. I’m still betting it was Matt.) After Everwood, we folded the laundry. By that, I mean I sat on the couch and Will put all of his work clothes on hangers.

It appears that I somehow managed to shrink some of our clothing. I washed and dried everything on the exact same cycles I always use (warm water wash, cold rinse, permanent press dry). I haven’t tested anything, though Will tried on a pair of jeans and they were tighter than usual. Most of the clothes look fine, so I’m thinking perhaps the smaller of the two loads of blacks just got over-dried. Still, it would be so ironic if I shrunk our clothes on the very day that we started trying to lose weight/get into shape.

In other news…

Was today a bank holiday? I didn’t get any mail, and while I can accept the possibility that no one loves me, I cannot believe that my creditors have stopped writing.

*not really, but close enough.

It occured to me today that I rarely wear jewelry, but own quite a bit.

I had just returned from the airport, and was bored senseless with the apartment all to myself.

So, I got out some of my jewelry boxes and hunted through. I am now wearing 3 rings. I found several of my favorite earings, but alas my right earlobe has closed up. How this happened after having it pierced for 14 years is anyone’s guess. Oddly, I think the second set of holes is still open. I’ve only had those for around 10 years.

And…I’m outta here.