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Okay, they’ve been renovating the apartment next door. Oddly, that has been less noise than Mike, the crazy neighbor who used to live there, ever made.

But today, this highly chemical and nauseating smell started seeping in. For 30 minutes C and I sat there hoping it would abate or something (we’ve smelled paint on and off for a week, but it hasn’t been a big deal) until I finally went upstairs and threw up. It was that bad.

So we left the apartment. I called the office at 2 pm, complaining about it. They said that the counters were being stripped and they would tell the workers next door to open the windows and get the smell out.

We got back 3 1/2 hours later, at 5:30, walked in, and the smell was worse than when we left. We could barely walk inside and the smell was now coming out of our A/C vents. So we go up to the office. The person we talked to at 2 apparently “forgot” to tell the workers to air the place out, but they will go open all the windows now. The manager gives us two fans and tells us to open all our windows.

In Texas.
In summer.

So now we’re sitting here sweating and nauseated. We’ve been told the smell should start clearing out in 4-5 HOURS. Seriously.

Am I wrong, but in places with linked vent systems, shouldn’t you close off the vents in one place when you do something like that? Or, say, if you do anything requiring that you wear a mask, shouldn’t steps be taken to ensure the smell doesn’t go into where other people are living?

Just curious.  And very. fucking. hot.

To begin, I am an avid reader of Pajiba. It is, first and foremost, a movie review site which offers “scathing reviews for bitchy people.” I adore it.  Part of what I like so much, though, are the comments.  I mean it, some of the writers on there are freakin hilarious. The kind of funny I often wish I could be but rarely am unless I’m trading one-liners with a friend or my mom.

A recent feature, Eloquent Eloquence, has been reinstated. It culls the top 10 comments every week and offers a list. I’m glad it’s back, I get to read what really are some zingers that I probably missed.

And today, I made the list.  I seriously got so excited that I did a happy dance around my apartment and then called C.  All she really heard was “EE! EE! I made EE!” I think she thought I was just making little dolphin noises at her and she made me calm down.

Anyway, this is what I posted, in response to another comment about Snow’s “Informer” (yes, that crappy song from the early 90s) asking what, precisely, “a licky boom-boom down” meant.

It indicates he employed the oral section, or front two-thirds (as opposed to the posterior pharyngeal section) of his tongue in a downward motion upon her “boom boom,” which is a common euphemism for both nouns and verbs dealing with sexual acts or body parts involved with sex acts.

However, the “a” that precedes the phrase “licky boom-boom down” indicates that this is a noun phrase. In this case, “licky” could be adjectival, modifying a compound noun, “boom-boom down.” Alternately, both “licky” and “boom-boom” may be adjectival, modifying “down.” But that moves “down” from a directional preposition to a noun, changing the meaning to a salivating, explosive pile of pillow stuffing.

Pretty sure that’s what he meant.

Anyway, after years of reading and giggling at the reviewers and comments of Pajiba, I was pretty excited to make the illustrious EE list. Having someone think you’re funny is always a nice thing.

In other news, C and I have been doing even more decluttering.  As a shout out to M, no, we haven’t removed the giant blue rubbermaid boxes that are currently draped with fabric and serving as an end table, but we did open them and peer inside.  It was not exciting, but it’s nothing we can throw away, so they’re staying there.  Besides, if I got rid of them, where would I put that lamp?

But we did clear out even more books (amazing),  re-organized my closet/the storage area, and found the under-the-bed plastic containers to put away all our winter stuff.  I’m not so secretly hoping that by decluttering our space, I shall also clear my mind and get my damn thesis written. It’s all there (mostly), waiting to be written. Scattered notes, endless documents with grids and thoughts, and God only knows what else. You heard me, thesis. It’s ON.

Last night as C and I were headed to bed, she suddenly asks “Have you seen my pajamas?”  I reply that I have not.  Minutes go by and then, “Seriously, where are they?”

We look everywhere: on the bed, in the bed, under the bed, in the closet, in the bathroom, in my hamper, in the washing machine and dryer, downstairs, in the freezer (hey, why not?), under the couch, EVERYWHERE.

We just can’t find them.  It’s the strangest thing. Now, the sheet from the bed was on the floor and she accused me of that. Which is a fair accusation because I hate blankets and I frequently kick them as far away from me as possible, but this time I didn’t do it!! The last time I was upstairs before we headed to bed, that sheet was on the bed and the cat was on the sheet. I think the cat dragged the sheet to the floor and I have a suspicion that the cat also made off with the pajamas. But where?  It’s a complete mystery.

Boy, is Austin fun! Last night, C and I watched the clouds roll in.  We knew a storm was coming, and I finally called upstairs that maybe we should move our cars under the carports outside because the man on the teevee mentioned hail.

As we stood outside, we noticed that ALL the cars from 3 buildings had been moved and people were standing outside on their porches. C and I stopped as well, looked up, and sniffed the air like two animals with creepy premonition. C caught a glimpse of something and pulled me to the side of the building.  We stood there, looking skyward and staring into a rolling cloud mass that was tinted blue-green.  To say it looked ominous is such an understatement. We turned our heads and heard, faintly, the tornado siren down the road.

Returning to our front stoop, C ran inside to find the cat and toss her into the downstairs bathroom.  I sat outside and watched the sky change until it started to rain.  C did what she does best, running around and gathering supplies. I sat there and watched the Super Doppler Voodoo Radar spin pretty colors at me.  I thought, “hey, purple!” before realizing that purple is not actually a good thing to see.

As we continued to watch, the wind started. We could hear the windows shaking and saw the rain coming in sideways. We knew that we shoul probably join the cat in the tiny bathroom, but couldn’t stop listening to the meteorologist as he said “unconfirmed, but possible touchdowns here, here, oh and over here.”

Two of those “here’s” were on either side of our neighborhood, and I could feel C’s hand tighten on my shoulder. I knew she was scared, but I was oddly calm.  The reason?  I had chosen to defy all logic and all I could think was, “But I’m cooking dinner! Pshaw, no one gets sucked out of the house when they have rice in the oven!”

Hey, you go with what works.

We’re fine, everything was fine. I took the stupid rice out of the oven, let it sit there while the power flickered, and when the weather calmed down 30 minutes later, cooked some chicken to go with it.

We ended our night as we always do, talking and giggling and fighting sleep like we’re at a slumber party.  C suddenly got very serious and said, “I was scared. I didn’t know what to do or how to protect you. But you seemed okay, much calmer than I was.”

I leaned over and said, just as seriously, “Let me tell you my theory about natural disasters and rice.”

I have never injured myself doing anything remotely cool.  It’s always some kind of falling down, or tripping.  Hurt by walking around—that’s how I do it.

And yes, I’m hurt again.  And it’s just as stupid as any other time.

Let me begin by explaining that my cat plays with chenielle socks.  She loves them, steals them, prompting us to give her a pair of her own.  Why we own chenielle socks in the first place is beyond me.  I can only guess that they were a present to C and she kept them around for cold nights and only really cared about them when the cat stole a pair.

Anyway.  In our efforts to make the cat’s toys more entertaining, I shoved a small pill bottle in one of the socks.  There was exactly one tiny pill left inside the bottle and I thought the cat would like the rattling noise that the sock made.

Also, the cat’s toys are commonly strewn across the living room floor.

Can you see where this is going?  Bet you can.

I was running . . . wait.  I don’t know if you could call that running.  As Erika Lopez once said, I was running in my slow motion, D-cup kind of way from the kitchen into the living room.  There was the sock, which I stupidly paid no mind.  You can’t tell there is a bottle inside of it, you see.  My foot comes down hard on it, I start to do a comical little roll and tilt backwards.  My other foot comes down harder to right myself, but at a less than optimal angle.  I have a bruise on the arch of my right foot and kind of twisted the ankle of the other.

C, however, didn’t know all of this was happening.  She just saw me run (or kind of run) into the living, get wide-eyed, stomp twice, and scream OWWWW.

Why can’t I ever hurt myself doing cool things?  I’m halfway expecting to slip on a banana peel next week.

That’s right, the end of May is here and it’s time for my trek home to Louisiana.  I will gorge myself on seafood and daquiris.  I will swim in my parents’ pool and play with the dog.  I will go to the store to buy Blue Plate mayonnaise and grits to bring home. Oh baby. It will be good.

A is coming to Slidell from Lafayette to see me, which makes me very happy.  I haven’t seen her in almost 1 1/2 years, which is just bad and wrong.

And what might be the best part, my mother is cleaning out her tub.

No, really, that’s a bigger deal than you might think.  My parents have this big old garden tub, which makes me jealous because the tub at our apartment is just . . . it hurts my feelings.  I love baths but the discomfort of our tiny tub just isn’t worth it.  Baths become anti-relaxing in it and cause more stress than I was trying to relieve in the first place.  It’s even worse that my parents have this fantastic tub and don’t even use it.  Ever.  To the point that it is filled with boxes and random junk.  I called my mother a month ago and requested that the tub be cleaned out so I can take a real bath, please oh please, that can be my birthday present.  And she might be doing it tonight.  I also requested before and after pictures because I think it might be hard for some of you to believe the state of this tub.  I want proof.

What else . . . H found the infamous silver flip flop serving tray and threatened to give it to me as a birthday present.   I told her I would laugh hysterically and then whap her soundly about the head with it.  I do want to see it though, and perhaps it would be fun to serve food on it while I’m in town.

We have a cat-sitter lined up, M’s boyfriend has graciously agreed to come and check on Maya while we’re gone and let us know if any weird notices from the apartment get posted on our door.  Because, seriously, we’ve received things like “‘We will be working on the parking lot tomorrow. If your car isn’t moved elsewhere by 7 am, we will have it towed.”  Thank for the warning, jackasses!  That makes me nervous about going out of town, coming home to find a missing car.

Two days after we get home, C is flying to Florida to see her brother and his family.  As usual, I will miss her terribly when she’s gone, but here’s hoping I can find a mild form of trouble/entertainment in her absence.

Also, I will be bringing crawfish home again this year, which results in a pot of corn and crawfish bisque.  Any Austin folk who want to share in this are more than welcome.  But it might have to wait until C gets back from Florida, lest she kill me for making something that good and not leaving any.

This is the second day in a row that I have gone ALL day, which means 12 hours, without speaking.

No, it’s not a religious thing.

No one is around. NO ONE.  Yesterday I said goodbye to  C as she left for work, and didn’t speak until she called to tell me she was on her way home. Today is the same thing. Though, granted, I did talk to A this morning.

Even the cat is asleep somewhere, or I would talk to her.

So, I work instead. And look for a job. And clean. But honestly, I would rather be talking.

Right, so, yesterday I was working on my thesis.  As a reminder, I’m doing a musical/linguistic approach to the poetry of Langston Hughes.

Anyway, I was working with “Dream Boogie” yesterday and getting so frustrated with some of the rhythm assignments that I started stomping around and screaming the lines in order to maybe get a better handle on it.

But you know what, I’m thinking that I must have looked and sounded completely insane.  Let’s pretend you were one of my neighbors and only heard the following, over and over:

“Good morning, daddy!” (stomp, stomp)

“Boo-gie woo-gie”

“What did I say?” (stomp stomp kick)  followed by different versions of that line
“What did I say?”
“What did I say?”
“What! did! I! say!” (stomp stomp crash)

At this point, I must sound like I’m beating the hell out of someone, right?  And then I move from that into the “scat” portion:
“Hey, pop!” (stomp)
“Re-bop!” (stomp)
“Mop!” (stomp stomp)
“Y-e-a-h!” (stomp stomp)

That’s right, I go from loud, possibly injurious chastisement to a passable imitation of a popcorn machine.

So I sound like someone who has combined  Tourette’s with anger management issues.  I was telling M about this JUST NOW online and I think she might have possibly caused a scene herself.

Working on my final paper for my Stress and Accent class.  This paper is also part of my thesis, which is both great and terrible.  Since it is a work in progress, my professor doesn’t expect perfection—but I still do.

The problem is that when I’m working on this part, I think of things that will work well in the rest of the thesis.  And, no, I don’t try to cram them into this paper, but I have to make a note of these things somewhere so I won’t forget what might just be an amazing insight.

Still doing the new method for analyzing musical poetry, but it’s changed a bit.  In a good way, of course, but it’s also very time consuming.  It’s forced me to redo my musical notation 5 times now, which is a huge pain in my ass.  But it needs to  be done.

I’m just so TIRED.  Tired, tired, tired.  All the time.  Look at me, it’s 4:18 in the morning and I just stopped working on this thing.  I’ve been going, on and off (mostly on) since 10 am yesterday.  My brain is threatening to leave me unless I take some time soon and watch a marathon of something stupid and trashy, like America’s Next Top Model or something.

I’m thinking I’ll be done by Tuesday night at the latest.  And then I swear I will be so lazy.

Actually, no, I don’t.  I figure I might as well keep going and pound out a really good thesis draft.  Might as well, since I’m already in that whole zone of thinking about it.  But maybe not so frantically?  That would be great.