In retrospect, it really was going so-so/OK until I dropped the chicken. I’d gotten dinner organized, gone out, come back and was preparing to turn the roast chicken over (Julia Child’s recipe) and finish everything. Yes. Well. This chicken had a mind of its own, apparently, and although there was a nagging little voice in the back of my mind that said, watch out! danger ahead!, I forged ahead and that chicken saw its chance. Like a flash it caroomed out of my unstable grasp, flung the small rack it rested on across the floor and released a veritable flood of fat enriched juice into a ) the oven door and onto b) the floor. This sort of thing makes the Partner especially cross. Although, honestly? I haven’t dropped a chicken before. But I’m sure others have. Heck! JULIA dropped things. Anyway there were some rather unkind references to “lobster claw hands” and “clumsy ox”. Sadly these had the effect of making me laugh uncontrollably because a person I consulted earlier in the year remarked that there was “something of a bull in a china closet about you.” Well, indeed. Just so. Anyway it all turned out JUST FINE after I quickly retrieved said chicken, and after a brief search the rack, put it back in the oven, cleaned up the lake, etc. So then:
ROMANCING THE STONE was on. I’d never really cared for this movie all that much, and this go round I realized it was because I couldn’t really relate to the character of Joan Wilder. You know what’s coming, don’t you Gentle Reader? All through the movie, especially at points where Joan is whimpering after sliding down a waterfall or things like that, the Partner was saying, Look! Look! That’s YOU. Hmm, I thought. Then, the coup de grace. You know the part where the two of them are in between a group of ruffians and a closed door? and Michael Douglas says, write us out of THIS Joan Wilder, and then it’s all, THE JOAN WILDER? and all is well? In total outrage, the Partner pointed at the TV, then at me, and said: That is so totally YOU!!!! We could be about to be EATEN by CANNIBALS! and THAT would happen! You say that like it’s a bad thing, I said. Which is how I came to understand that I am a kind of eyewateringly weird combination of Felix Unger, Joan Wilder, and Winnie the Pooh. I don’t know how this will play out in our hunt for a new home. I’m just repeating “the Joan Wilder?” quietly to myself, in a hopeful sort of way.
So, you can imagine how distasteful it is for me to find myself bellowing into the phone trying to get a mistake on a bill corrected. Now that we are conducting a foray into moving and what not…well. Let’s just say we’re thinking Credit Report. So, I get a bill which I did not owe. I call. I get a recording, one of those with that particularly irritating female voice that says, let’s see how we can ….and runs through a list of possible options. None of which are usually relevant of course. So, I wanted the “account” option. I said “account”, not even using my fake Russian accent or anything. Five times. I’m sorry, the perked out droid says, I didn’t get that! Let’s go through the list again! I raised my voice. I still didn’t get that! By this time I was actually roaring the word account into the phone. How ridiculous is that? About as ridiculous as the attempt this agency was making to pretend I owed them money. I know they’re having hard times; so am I. They corrected my account records so at least I THINK I got something accomplished. Then there’s the story about trying to recycle our old electronics at a purported “Electronics Recycling! Sunday!” We go through this labyrinthine parking lot set up, following the signs, and this young girl strides up to us and says, What brings you here today? OK, it hadn’t been the greatest morning, but still. What the effing hell do you THINK BRINGS US HERE? But, no. We have electronics to recycle we said. She asked us what, and repeated everything we said, twice. OK. Parallel Universe Alert. THEN she says, well, we’ll take X but we require a donation for each of the other items. Uh…isn’t this a recycling thing? Isn’t a donation voluntary and not mandatory? Well, she said, this is a benefit for those kids who don’t have health insurance and in order for us to take your electronic recycling items you have to pay us for each one that’s not a TV…..I admit I lost it. Jesus God woman! I said. *I* don’t have insurance and unlike those kids I can’t get state help. This is supposed to be a recycling thing for electronics, to save the environment and all, not a trip to the freaking Twilight Zone. Turns out the Salvation Army is a wonderful place, after all.
Anyway, here we are. I’m getting used to the notion of having absolutely no idea what’s next, or where, or when…..along with, now, not knowing quite where anything is except that it’s packed. And no, I don’t have a master list although I suppose I should. I’ve labelled the boxes and that’s probably as good as it’s going to get, for now.
Boozilla: learning to fly one room at a time 