Around this household, traditionally, Sunday is for laying around naked. I highly recommend devoting an entire day of the week to laying around and being naked. Unfortunately, this Sunday there were Plans.
Steady woke me up around one. I am never happy about waking up, really. But this Sunday was the first time in three weeks that I got the chance to sleep in. If given the opportunity, I probably would have been happy to sleep until four in the afternoon.
For the record, we went to bed at, like, midnight, because we are very boring people sometimes. The kind of boring people who eat all their vegetables...
We went off to revisit the apartment complex that's currently occupying the only place in our hearts. It was the first one we saw back in March and we made ourselves look at roughly a dozen other properties, but this is The One. So, we wanted to go and see it again, only this time we were hoping for better service and a chance to glance around the larger model.
We saw the larger model, we saw the work-out room, we saw the theater, we checked out the pool. We even got fresh applications. It was quite a trip.
We thought we had decided on the smaller one with the larger bedroom and extra closet space, but just now we reopened the conversation...
Immediately following that was the giant run to the grocery. Have you seen the cart of people who are trying to eat three cups of vegetables, every day, each? That's a lot of produce. And when you add in the fruit, that's really a fuckload of produce.
The grocery store makes me testy, so by the time we got to the parking lot, Steady wanted to know why, exactly, I find it so necessary to be mean all the damned time. I think that was right around when I announced that since he got the wrong bags (he's not allowed to put the groceries on the belt because I am really neurotic and I need them all arranged Just So), he would be carrying them up to the apartment.
I really am mean to him sometimes.
Anyway, right as we got back, my Evil Bitch Grandmother called. She wanted Shelly's number since Shelly will be turning 24 this week. Because misery loves company, I gave it to her. There's no reason that the Evil Bitch Grandmother should have my number and not hers.
EBG managed only to mention "Jesus" and "The Lord" three times during our fourteen minute conversation. And not once did she remind me that she thinks I am Satan's minion. Apparently, you can only say "You don't do God's work. You work for Satan" to your grandchildren when they are minors.
EBG informed me that... remember last summer when I was all the time with the worrying about how my father could be dead and I'd never know it because who would tell me? And I had all the nightmares about him dying and me having to be Next of Kin and trying to decide what to do with all his stuff since Nikki's a minor and Shelly wouldn't care? Yeah, okay, well, I was close.
The house burnt down. In May. Of 2004. Bad wiring in the attic. House fire while they were at work (I'm not sure who the rest of "they" is, actually, and I thought it might be inappropriate to ask.) The neighbor got the dogs out.
It's rebuilt now. EBG couldn't tell me the extent of the damage since she knows what she can and cannot handle and seeing that house in ruins fell distinctly into the Not Handling That column. She did say that between the fire and the water, it was Not Good. She mentioned that there was damage in the bathroom, the kitchen, the living room and the bedrooms.
So, apparently, the stairs and the unfinished basement survived okay.
The house where I was born (yes, at home. As I keep telling people: I am not a dirty hippie; I am the product of dirty hippies.), burnt down. And everyone else is over it. I'm way behind in the grieving process.
Then, I got off the phone and put on some lipstick and off we went to dinner at Steady's grandparents' house.
"We're so late."
"Okay."
"We're gonna catch shit for this."
"No we're not. I'm gonna say, 'I'm sorry. My grandmother called right as we were walking out the door. My father's house burnt down.'"
"A year ago"
"Hush. It's news to me."
Ultimately, we didn't catch any shit and I didn't have to tell them my dad's house burnt down. We had a nice, long dinner.
After all of that activity, on the day when we are supposed to be devoted wholely to things like Sloth and Lust and Not Leaving This Apartment, I still had to call my sister and warn her that she'd need to be on the lookout for EBG's number on her phone.
I was too late. EBG had called Shelly immediately after hanging up with me. She and I spent some quality time making fun of our grandmother.
"I didn't want to be like she was. Remember when we wanted Aunt Crazy Bitch's address to send her a Christmas card and she said she'd ask for permission and get back to us?"
"Ah, yes, Christmas 1996. 'You can send it here and I'll make sure she gets it, Lying Deceitful Grandchildren.'"
"No, Lying Deceitful Grandchildren was Back To School 1994. Christmas 1996 was 'Umpteenth Verse, Same As the First, You May Split A Sandwhich Because You Work For Satan.'"
"But, Grandma, I'm hungry. I'm fifteen years old. My sister and I are ready to each take on the responsibility of a whole sandwhich."
"I was a freshman in college and ten year old Nikki got one all to herself."
"You'll eat what I give you."
"Remember Christmas 1998? Or was it 97?"
"Here's every photo I ever took of you. Merry Fucking Christmas! I give you your childhood back."
"I can't believe we don't want to talk to her anymore. You need more twang, Shails."
"Shails! Shails!"
"She's from fucking Indiana you know. I don't know why she talks like that."
"I know, right? She sounds like she's from fucking Alabamer."
After all of that, we still had to have sex and watch several more episodes of the BBC's Hitchiker's Guide. We're gearing up for the new movie next weekend.
