Public Displays of Affliction

Holler! What is it about hobbies that make them so attractive? I'm one of those people that come up with a new hobby every other day, some of them more wholeheartedly than others. I guess this blog in itself could be thought of as a hobby. Obviously a rather sporadic one, but a hobby nonetheless. I admire people that can do something on a super regular basis. However, right now I'm hiding behind this lame excuse that I blog in waves because 'it's my style'. Let me carry on thinking that.

As I'm typing about hobbies, I am feeling the numb effects on my fingertips of my latest 'hobby'. I'm learning the guitar. Ouch! It hurts for the first few weeks hey! I took up the guitar as a direct response to the stresses of changing jobs and moving house.

Speaking of which, my house is awesome, however it came at a great price. The tenant before me obviously hadn't been taught too much about keeping a clean house or taking out trash. As a result, 1.5 years worth of beer and wine bottles and pizza boxes were very strategically placed all throughout a one bedroom apartment and its garden. Awesome! The only redeeming thing in this situation was that it afforded me the opportunity to witness some of the most bizarre human behaviour I've witnessed to date. Examples include, but are not limited, to the following:

1) The downstairs neighbour complaining that the noise from the front door of the apartment (the sharehouse I was living in before moving upstairs) was too loud, so kindly doused the whole thing in peanut oil. Not the hinges of course, but the other end of the door. Is the door quieter? No. Do all of the occupants of that house have sticky hands all the time? Yes.

2) The painters took the liberty of having a nap on my bed. Yup, all three of them, snug as a bug in a rug. On my bed. When they didn't respond to my 'evil eye' I realised it was best to leave them there.

3) The aforementioned downstairs neighbour biding her time, then seizing the chance to run through the front door in the sharehouse, through to the back of the apartment, around onto the balcony, in what could only be described as rat-like stealth, to start furtively working away in the corner of the balcony. When approached by a rather irate yours truly, she went on a rant in Chinese about how she was helping us for free and no one takes care of the building but she is doing it all for free, hero this, hero that, shut up lady, get out of my house lady. Wild, nosy woman on the third floor!

4) The sliding door man was supposed to come to replace the fly screen doors (said ex-tenant/animal ripped a hole in them for his cats to pass through/shed their fur all over). He called me at 10am on Saturday morning to tell me to get down to the 7-11 two blocks away and help him get the doors upstairs. One can imagine what I told him to do with his doors. I was paying a decent amount of money to have him do the work, he was happy to walk away. Weird!
As a result, the joke of the month continues, "the last tenant left his cat here, there it is, coming out of the hole in the fly screen." What can I say? I'm not removing the filthy hairball from the door. Judging by the way he lived up here, it may even be his own fur.

5) The garbage woman came bright and early on Sunday morning to clear more of the debris that was left behind. After giving her careful instructions, I stumbled back to bed. About 15 minutes later I suddenly woke up and decided to check on her, just in time to see her murdering my aloe vera plant in what can only be described as a frenzied attack. After confiscating them, a bit of CPR and some repotting I am pleased to report that they are all doing fine, however, I have been woken during the night to hear them crying out with nightmares of 'the incident'.

So, like I said, these are but a few examples of the tyranny I faced while trying to get this place back to a reasonable condition! Tough crowd.

In all of these people's defense, they have given me something to write about, not to mention the phobia of Taiwanese tradespeople. Just kidding, this is just a small sample ;)

Anyway, here's a quick acrostic poem (no Tuesday is complete with out one) before I choose one of my hobbies to hoe into before I say my prayers to Oprah and hit the hay.


Excuse me, how gross.
Xylophones could clean better than you.

Truly, what a shambles.
Ech, I feel sick, sick, sick.
Nothing seems to clean off the scum.
Arrrghhhhhhh so yucky.
No, thanks. I won't accept your apology.
Thanks for nothing, wanker.

Heartfelt, emotional and full of raw feelings. That, dear readers, is a window into the pain I am feeling right now.

Until next time, don't cast the first stone unless you're in a glass house.

Lipsty
xx