The landlord finally broke down and redid the driveway. How long did he wait? According to neighbors, the driveway was last done in 1959. Yes, that’s right, a mere six decades ago.
Here’s what it looked before. OK, it’s what it looked like during the demolition.
And after the work, just waiting for stripes.
Hope it’s built to last. Might be another 51 years before the next touch up.
Maybe I’ve been coming into work too early.
Last Friday was take your black cat to work day; so I brought Oedipus along on our way to the vet.
The vet found his eye nearly completely healed. To celebrate we watched Zodiac.
Then he took over the sock monkey from Electra.
In other words, all is well in Cat Army land.
Replaced the current mattress with a new one that arrived in a box that weighs 101 pounds and the height of two microwaves. The packaging design is a study of beauty.
A few wild slicing motions with a key, revealed the interior.
Ready for the vacuum sealed goodness, I dumped the contents on the floor.
The last step took a pair of scissors and about two minutes. Before I knew it, Oedipus had christened the bed.
At the same time, Mooshy got trapped in the box. Surely there’s a bed inside for him beneath the plastic wrapping.
The best thing about summer is that Fall always follows. Such an assertion might seem like straight up sun-hating, but summers in New Jersey are the time for concerts, hot weather, and vacation. Some of those are enjoyable–in part.
What works? Definitely not the hot weather, which mean big electric bills, sun burn and traffic jams. In the old days, summer also meant riots and random beatings as reported in the crime beat section. Following the popularity of Jersey Shore, the Garden State is a more peaceful and loving place. As long as Snooki gets her Red Bull everything is OK.
Or so the papers tell me.
Summer concerts do make the fun list. Caught a few really good ones this year, Bon Jovi and Hall and Oates among them.
But after this summer, I’m taking a real vacation. Did the staycation thing and barring a medical reason decided there are very good reasons to get the hell away from routine for a week or more. Giving the body and mind a total break is important.
Until that week of respite arrives, it may be 90 degrees and humid, but the leaves are turning.
Every tenant in the building received a note from the landlord this week about “The Situation”. But this situation was even more embarrassing than the “actor” from Seaside by way of somewhere-else-not-sure-but-it-isn’t-New-Jersey.
Anyway here’s an excerpt of the missive about the plumbing disaster of the past week:
The following items will clog the plumbing:
1) Grease
2) Large food waste items
3) Baby wipes
4) Female hygiene products
5) Kitty Litter
6) Drano
7) Long hair
Paper towels.
Now I must admit I have been tempted to pour grease down the kitchen drain on occasion, the occasion being laziness. It cannot be alleged that on the rare days of the big bastard greasy breakfast, a bit of grease has never found its way down the pipes. Not a point alleged by me, anyway.
Certainly the landlord has a right to request that none of these items enter the plumbing system. No one wants a clogged pipe, much less water leaking into, around or down into their apartment. Going forward, any grease from the big bastard breakfast will go in a pickle jar kept for storage purposes.
So the hardship of this sacrifice does not really inconvenience me. No, I worry about the other occupants. My fellow tenants with four legs.
If my cats can’t flush their long hair encrusted in kitty litter bombs sealed in paper towels and follow it down with some grease blobs and a bottle of Drano, gosh what fun does the Cat Army have left to them?
Guess it’s back to the street gang for them again.
Note to self: car starters do wear out. Fortunately, it’s only a problem when starting the car. Unfortunately a bad starter means car will not move.
Second note to self: Renew Triple A plus membership.
Third note to self: Should I have bought the Versa instead of nursing the Sentra along for another year? Nah.
