Valentine's Day, Snow, and Rantish Thingy
I'm not a huge fan of Valentine's Day as a "romance holiday," despite being married and therefore "entitled" to Valentine's Day benefits. But any day that makes people feel as universally bad as this one does not make me happy. Also, gifts and cards given because Hallmark says, "Thou shalt show thy love on this day!"...and it was? Nah, I much prefer surprises, Bobby buying me a little gift for no reason other than having seen it and thought, "Dawn would like that!" And going out on Valentine's Day...hmph. I don't think so! I do not wait in a vestibule for hours only to receive shoddy service because the servers are stressed and overworked on this day and bad food because the cooks are the same and are probably pre-cooking everything. (I used to be a cook; I know what goes on behind the swinging doors.)
And so I prefer to make Valentine's Day about all sorts of love, not just the romantic kind. So I send my best wishes to my flist.
Also, I would like to offer an LJ gift to the whole flist. I was going to buy a few of these for people that would appreciate the humor, but they cost 99¢ apiece and I--my friends--am cheap. So you get to see it in my LJ whenever you would like rather than on your userinfo page for two weeks.
This is especially dedicated to my lovely sister Sharon, ssotknapsack.
Also, if you are on Ye Flist and would like a dose of Dawn Felagund heart-related poetry, then I dedicate this to you as well! With warnings because my poetry is baaaad.
Yesterday, I came home, and Bobby had bought me roses. Since he has done this for eleven years now, I do really enjoy it, despite generally disliking "celebrations" of Valentine's Day. Still, when we were fifteen years old, it was so special to get roses. And this marks the second time in one month that my husband has bought flowers for me because he got me flowers also after my biopsy.
He's a precious guy.
Anyway, he's making us manicotti for supper tonight, which we will have with Italian salads, bread, and chianti. The bread, I will admit, is garlic bread made out of old hot dog rolls. I love garlic bread made out of old hot dog rolls! This was really the only time we got garlic bread growing up, when Dad had hot dog rolls or hamburger buns about to turn moldy. Charming, isn't it? But hot dog rolls make fantastic garlic bread. Bobby asked me this morning if I would like some of the special crusty bread that he bought for me...or garlic bread made out of old hot dog rolls. Like that was even a question!
We did not escape the ice and snow unscathed either. It started yesterday, snowing lightly all day, but the roads were wet and nothing more. Around 3 o'clock, it began to change; the temperature dropped, and the roads started to freeze. Johnny the Boss sent me home early, and shortly after I got home, the proverbial All Hell broke loose. I called Johnny this morning and said, "Hey, it's Dawn," and he actually started laughing because he knew exactly why I was calling. I wasn't coming into work, which was not a problem since he--like every other cop I know--takes some sort of perverse pride in making it to work in dangerous weather. It actually took a while before I made him realize that I've been driving less than ten years, I drive a freakin' Suzuki Esteem, and for a long while, made near-poverty-level wages...it wasn't fair to ask me to risk my life to come into work. He's since come to his senses a bit.
I'm actually quite comfortable driving in snow--ice, however, is another story--but Marylanders being freakin' idiots about driving to begin with, I will not drive in the snow so long as there are going to be other drivers there. So I do not drive in the snow.
By early afternoon, the roads were all good again, but I'll be damned if I was going into work, so Bobby and I caught a late afternoon movie instead, The Last King of Scotland. Of course, I will be reviewing it later this week.
I came home and found an email in my inbox: I was the Most Productive Critter last week for the Critters writers' workshop, having done ten critiques averaging over 900 words each. Woohoo! Now, I will confess that it was out of pure self-interest that I did this because doing ten critiques or more allows a person to move her story to the top of the queue for critique. So tomorrow, I will do one final revision on "Cold Hands" and then put it in line to be torn apart by my fellow Critters. And then...who knows, but I've decided to start putting a little more on my wild card, so to speak.
I forgot to mention last week that Bobby was accepted into a guv'ment program to receive a Master's certificate in his line of work. It's quite exciting because Customs is expanding the operations of Bobby's office a bit, and we're hoping for a transfer in about two-year's time. That's all I'm saying at the moment...but let's just say that the 'gund is hoping to relocate to a friendlier climate. I was not meant to live in a place that has actual winters.
After I post this, unfortunately, I have to write another angry letter to our apartment community. I am apologizing in advance if I use uckfay a little bit in the rant that follows.
Even though the precipitation had stopped by mid-morning, leaving them an entire day to clear our walks, our front steps are currently a sheet of solid ice. There aren't even steps; it is more like a ramp constructed out of ice. Try walking a five-month-old puppy down that every time he has to piss. My feet won't even punch through the ice on the surface of the snow; I'm waiting to break my ass, and then I'll own the fucking Howard Crossing apartments.
I am truthfully getting really sick of this fucking community. We are currently on our third set of owners in the past year, and this set doesn't seem very keen on upholding their end of the bargain. We pay almost $1000 each month in fucking rent--for a one-bedroom apartment, yes!--and I do not think that I ask that much when I expect that when a storm ends by mid-morning, then the sidewalks and steps be cleared by night time. I don't care if the goddamn owner himself has to come and shovel the walks; why do I pay exorbitant rent? To break my ass walking the goddamn dog down the steps? No, I pay it so that their lazy, money-grubbing asses can come and do the work for me. Else I'd pay half as much and live somewhere else with lower expectations.
The good thing is that we're hoping to be house-hunting by the end of summer. We're just trying to get the last of the school debts paid off. The good news too is that we owe less in taxes than we expected thanks to Bobby paying his fall tuition out-of-pocket. Because rich folk like Bobby and me with our one-bedroom apartment ended up owing more than $1500 in taxes last year and Dick Cheney got a refund. Because that makes sense.
But anyway, I am hoping to say goodbye for good to stupid Howard Crossing and the drug-dealing asshats next door and their yappy dog. And maybe even get little Alex a yard to run around in.
ETA: Around 10:30 p.m., Bobby took Alex downstairs to pee and came back to announce that they were clearing our sidewalks. At 10:30 at night?? Still, they're clear now, which is good. I wonder if they got cleared because people complained; when a twenty-five-year-old in good shape has trouble climbing the steps, I can't imagine what some residents suffered. Our drug dealer neighbor currently hobbles around on crutches because he broke his leg in three places; I don't know how he would have managed.
Also, at noon today, the snow was soft and easily brushed from the walks, i.e. they didn't need pickaxes to remove ice thick enough to support my full body weight without breaking. So it would have made sense to have done it then.
Stoopid Howard Crossing.