I hate renting! My landlord bops in and out without asking--when I am here and when I am not here. Next purchase: a security bar! At least that will stop him when I'm home. My underwear budget is sky high as I replace missing panties. Now who in their right mind would want size nine old lady panties? That's REALLY SCARY. I have peeping tom or toms. No, that's not my cat - she's a girl. The bedrooms are freezing cold, and the walls and ceiling are way too thin for privacy. The parking lot is never shoveled, and my rent was raised $100.00 a month after only 6 months in the apartment. (As public employees, our salaries are printed in the newspaper periodically. Was it a coincidence the rent increase happened after our $100 a month raises were published? I don't think so.) The location sucks. However it is roomy and because of the housing crisis in this energy impacted area, I am lucky not to be living in a motel. Yes, I know, only a few days ago I said I would stop whining.
It's late and I just returned home from an out of town County Commissioners meeting. It's still freezing outside, no sign of spring at all. I grabbed my hidden stash of Ice Melt and at 11:15 p.m. I sprinkled the forbidden stuff on a 6 inch thick layer of ice in the parking lot by my car. This parking lot is gross, really gross. It went from gravel to asphalt in one day when I was at work. It's uuuuuuuuuugly! In the summer it magnifies the heat. In the winter, it is a fantastic bottom layer for an ice rink...and I have been warned - no sand, it hurts the asphalt. So - I am using Ice Melt. And feeling very sneaky and wicked, but safer.
The carpet is orange with rust puzzle pieces in it. It is also 30 years old. I know because I have friends who used to live here 30 years ago. It smells of old musty feet sometimes, gag! Praise God for scented candles. The cupboards are standard apartment issue and the countertops are as old as the carpet. All summer I lived with gas fumes. I called the gas company 3 times and the fire truck once. They all said they could smell gas but could not find it, except for once when a pipe outside my kitchen window was leaking. I began to live life as a dizzy salt & pepper woman, and Ms. Meowi and I were barfing in the mornings, her on the orange rug and me in the appropriate place, as if we were both pregnant. Finally I could not get hot water any more, and after several days of going to work smelling like a homeless person, the water heater was replaced along with the piping. Hallelujia, you guessed it, it was the water heater leaking gas. So at least I am barf free since several days after the replacement. Ms. Meowi still has her spells, but only after eating leaves of one of my pointed leaf tropical plants.
The town in which La Casa is located:
There is a prison on the edge of town. Also, an abandoned one in town that is now a tourist attraction. Butch Cassidy once resided there. Hollywood came to town to make a scary movie on site at the Old Pen. (That was as monumental as when McDonalds came to town, or years ago, the carnival bringing "Hurdy Gurdy" girls with it.) I always wanted to go in and watch the sequined and feather-laden ladies dance, but Grandma said if she wanted to see "a nekid woman," she would go home and look in the mirror. Ah, Grandma's practicality. Grandma used to get off the bus after dark at the Old Pen and walk three blocks to the house carrying her old brown suitcase. I remember being afraid something would happen to her as she walked by the spooky old piece of architecture. To this day you can see trap doors leading where I really don't want to know, a painting on the wall of the cafeteria that has eyes that never leave you, no matter where you place yourself, rusting toilets next to steel cots, and peeling damp walls.
Here at La Casa I feel as if I am doing time too.
Ms. Meowi helping with Christmas presents and the old Frontier Prison.
Time for hot soup, then bed.
