Posts tagged door

And here are the keys to your new home…

Closing day finally came after two months of paperwork and waiting. It was at the end of November, and there was a messy blizzard that day.

I seem to remember I took off from work for the day starting at 10 a.m. My realtor and I took one last walk through the house. It’s just so exciting when you’re realizing this place will be all yours in just a little bit. It’s also a little unnerving, because you really start to look at everything you want/need to do.

I went to the bank, signed lots o’ paperwork, received my gifts, and started driving to my house.

I didn’t have the keys.

I drove back to bank, told my loan officer, who then tried calling my realtor.

No answer.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, she called back… and in fifteen minutes, I had my keys. Good grief.

I went to my house, tried all the keys, and got in. I looked around, and decided the first things I needed were cleaning supplies, a lock for my garden shed, and pizza and beer.

To this day, I still haven’t put that lock on my shed. It’s funny what you learn in life.

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The snowman and the message

Here’s a story from what must be September or so. When does the football season begin?

It was opening night of the 2010 NFL season. The Vikings vs. The Saints. There is a lot of history behind why this game was going to be huge.

This video shows what was basically the end to the Vikings 2009 season. It was horrible. They coulda been, woulda been Superbowl champs.

So, the Vikings were meeting up with the Saints again, on a Monday night, no less. We were on the couch, game was on, window was open letting in the beautiful late summer air.

The neighborhood’s loudest motorcycle starts up. I get up to look outside. Nobody’s there, just the bike, rumbling.

It’s so loud it’s hard to hear the TV. An engine so terribly loud you have to close the window just so you can hear the TV… on the third floor!

This rumbling continues for at least 10 minutes. I think it was longer. I kept getting up to see if the owner was standing there yet. I kept watching.

Finally, there he was. It was the guy who lives here: One woman replaced by another + baby

I went stomping across my apartment. I was livid. I pulled out the first paper I could find. I wrote a scathing note about it being very fricking rude to start up the world’s loudest bike and just let it run when it’s warm outside.

He gets on his bike. Guess what he was warming up the bike to do? To drive it around to the back of the apartment building and park it in his garage! I flew to my front door.

I was ready to stick the snowman to his door.

I thought better of it, thankfully.

I burst into hysterical laughter. Can you imagine getting a scathing note on a cute snowman sticky?

Bringing tidings

Of course, the note above is not the note I wrote that night.

However, I remember that night for another reason. I was right in the middle of a great search. And this note was one of the last I wrote living in my apartment.

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The sky opens up before me

Two days after work was supposed to begin, again a note telling us there had been delays.

Note 11.3.2010

But, miracle upon miracles, when I came home after work, I saw that my balcony was finally missing. All the balconies on my side of the building are missing.

But sadly enough for some folks on the other side of the building, they’re still missing theirs, too.

No balcony

It's sort of a creepy feeling.

This weekend saw temperatures in the upper 60s and into the 70s. This is weather that should not be squandered in November. I was able to use my balcony. I can’t imagine if I couldn’t have.

Patio door handle

Locked in, like a witch oven.

However, there is still something that makes me quite unhappy.

I can’t open my patio door! I mentioned the warm temperatures above. My air conditioner has been covered and unplugged since September (when it snowed).

So, I have no way to bring cool air into my apartment, except my bedroom window.

When I got home today, it was 79.9 degrees in my living space. Four hours later, it is 78.6 degrees. Hopefully my bedroom is cooling at a much quicker pace.

I’m glad I’ll have a new balcony soon.

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About-face after a punch in the face

I understand I used to be young and dumb once. I used to party it up and yell and sometimes fight or cheer for fights.

Now that I am no longer young and dumb, it’s very annoying to witness.

A number of weeks ago, I couldn’t sleep on a Thursday night. As usual, there were people coming and going loudly. Because the temperatures were just right for sleeping with the windows open, I stubbornly refused to close mine.

At about 1:00 a.m., I heard some constant fighting between a male and female. Started out pretty benign, but got more and more heated. It got bad enough that I got up and looked out my living room window, to see if they were indoors or outdoors, and whether or not things looked bad enough to call the cops. It was about that point when the male yelled, “Back off! Back off! I don’t want to hit you!” And the female just kept screaming back. Well, that’s when they went indoors and I didn’t hear anything anymore. I chose not to call the cops, though I have in the past.

Then, about 2:10 a.m., I heard a huge group of people fighting. Guys yelling, and girls screaming. I called the cops. Of course, the cops want to know where the group is, but I can’t see where they are. Honestly, it sounded like they’re in all directions because of the way the sound was echoing. And with the trees growing bigger and more lush, I can’t see around the apartment complex as well.

So, the cops are on their way. Sure enough, once I’m off the phone, things start settling down. Then, I hear them joking. Sounds like at least one guy had punched another guy in the face in the heat of the moment, but now they’re making up! Unbelieveable! Girls are giggling nervously.

I watch the front of the building next door. I see shadows moving, so I realize that’s where this ridiculousness is taking place. I see three guys, all dressed in jeans and black T-shirts, break away from the group and start walking down the sidewalk. At that moment, I see a cop car coming up the street. It turns off its headlights.

The trio see this, and move off the sidewalk and out of sight. I see another cop behind the first one. The group is suddenly completely silent. The cops pull up in front of the correct building, get out and walk around.

My phone rings. “There are officers at the scene, and they’re wondering where they should be looking.” I tell the dispatcher that they’re parked in front of the correct building, but everyone is quiet now. I mention the guys that went walking down the sidewalk.

Duped, again.

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Washer woman

When you live in an apartment and you don’t have a washer and dryer, you rely on the washer and dryer provided in the apartment building. That’s the best case scenario. Some people have to go to a laundromat, which I’d really be complaining about.

For me, the washer and dryer are located at the complete opposite end of my hallway. As if that’s not enough, some days, I use the units on all three floors to finish more quickly.

It costs $1 to wash a load and $1 to dry a load.

Tonight, I’m doing my bedding. My quite-expensive-but-I-got-it-on-sale Chaps brand Egyptian white cotton bedding. I want to keep this stuff looking nice. So I bought washing soda, which is pretty hard to find these days. I needed to let my laundry soak for a half-hour in the washing soda solution before washing.

It is so uncomfortable to sit in a tiny, hot laundry room, waiting for your laundry to soak. I brought my Vogue magazine which helped. But you just keep waiting for the door to open to a suprised/annoyed face. You can’t help but feel you need to hurry up, but the clock won’t tick any faster.

Which is why I only soaked my bedding for 15 minutes. I really hope this doesn’t mean it’ll start looking dingy soon.

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Realizing the rules have changed

First, I need to set the scene. I’m wearing a cardigan with multi-colored stripes. So multi-colored that I will only name three: olive green, salmon and sky blue. And I’m wearing a long jean skirt with sandals.

It is raining outside, so I’m carrying an umbrella. It’s the umbrella I got free from Vogue when I signed up for a subscription. It is a pretty royal blue-red-cream plaid pattern. While quite chic, it does not match my outfit.

I feel I look pretty clownish. Not a big deal, but worth noting.

It is September 2nd. I realize I’ve forgotten to pay my rent. Luckily, I have until noon on the 2nd day of the month to get my rent check in. I leave work early for lunch.

In some careful maneuvering, I get out of my car, jean skirt, umbrella, sandals and all, and walk up to the rent drop-off. I see a sign that says, “Your rent is now late. Please add $40 to your check. Thanks!”

I know this isn’t true because it’s only about 11:40 a.m. I figure they put the sign out early, and head inside to state my case.

“The sign says my rent is late, but it’s not because I have until noon on the 2nd day of the month,” I say.

The girl behind the desk says, “What?”

“My rent isn’t late yet.”

“You have to pay it on the first,” she says.

“No, the sign on the wall says I have until noon on the second.”

“What sign?” says girl in the next room, but with a major glassless window-like opening.

“The sign on the wall says we have until noon on the second of the month. It’s the second, and it’s not noon,” I plead. Then I realize. It was probably a year ago since I saw that sign. The rules have changed.

“Per your lease, rent is due on the first of the month. It’s the same for everybody,” next room girl says.

I am just livid. I don’t have my lease with me at that moment. My rent check is already written out. My purse is in my car. It’s raining outside. My umbrella is perched on my shoulder, surely framing my face like a halo.

Here’s what’s going through my head, “If I swear at them right now, if I really go off, can they call the police? Could they get me for harrassment? What if I just don’t pay the $40? What if I refuse to pay? What would happen?”

I take my check, and slam it down on the desk. “I am so…” and muffle the rest, as I turn. (It was going to be ‘flipping peed off,’ for the curious.)

As I open the door, girl in the next room sings out, “Have a nice day!” Smiley face, smiley face.

That’s when my umbrella gets caught in the door. I keep walking forward in the rain, refusing to turn around, as my arm reaches back over my shoulder, my umbrella holding me back. I shake it free, in grand form.

In discussing with friends later, I told them I now realize how Steven Slater-like incidents happen.

They change the rules, and don’t put up a new sign. How is that okay?

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Throw a tantrum

Sometimes it pays to throw a temper tantrum.

My neighbors were in fine form the other night. Slamming doors, laughing in the halls, wrestling. They actually move the framed art on my walls. Really. I come home and it’s off kilter.

We were trying to watch “The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters.” A great documentary with a message — the good guys can prevail.

Anyway, I’ve been dreaming of doing what happens next for a while, and my boyfriend gave me the courage.

After the neighbors slammed their door for the umpteenth time, he went and slammed my door. I said, “Again!” And he slammed it again. I said, “Again!” But he decided that was enough.

Then I heard them on their balcony, laughing and yelling. I was ready to go out on my balcony and say, “What is wrong with you people?!??!” I had my hair styled in pigtails, so I figured I’d make a really fine figure. Then I thought about poking my head out the door as they walk past, pigtails flying, and tell them to shut up. But I did neither.

Next time they slammed their door, I slammed mine twice as hard. It was great. And we heard the punk ass neighbors telling their shrill girly friends to “Shhhh… keep it down!”

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