Okay, so apparently my apartment is possessed by some angry water demon because in the WEEK we’ve been here, it’s consistently leaking in some way. First it was the washing machine, which was one of the main reasons Batman and I chose this unit. So we could clean our clothes here in the abode, and not have to continue dragging our dirty loot down the stairs and over to the on-sight facilities. We did it for four long years and now, we’re pretty much done. So I was *ecstatic* doing our first load of towels… that is, of course, until a big puddle leaked into the middle of the kitchen. Okay… no worries. Call in a work order. No big deal. But that same first night when the B-man and I were watching Last Vegas (awesome movie by the way) we heard a steady drip, drip, drip. If I didn’t know better, it sounded like some rude person was taking a leak in the hallway. Batman jumped up and found a steady stream dripping from the air conditioning unit. Okay. Another call to the office. A guy came out and worked on the washing machine and the air conditioning on Monday (we moved in Friday) and advised it’d been completed. But then, much to my dismay, the air conditioner started taking another leak—and quite the heavy one this time—on Wednesday. ANOTHER call to the office. Two huge dudes come down and replace the ENTIRE unit, along with adjusting the bathroom faucet which had also had a steady drip. Okay—it’s fine, they’re both fixed. We can continue on in a leak-free apartment.
And then the hallway dripping started again.
See, I’m pretty mellow. It’s how I like to be, not letting things get the best of me because normally it doesn’t matter. I’m not saying I went crazy when I called the office—because I didn’t—but I voiced my unhappiness with some choice words. Okay, fine, they send ANOTHER guy out to really make sure it stops leaking.
And bam, presto, abracadabra, it works.
Today’s a new day—Friday, woo-hoo!—and I’ve just finished the final edit of my second book. I’m going to do some dishes. With Sex and the City on in the background, I start washing the left over plates while glancing at the television to make sure I’m still following along with the episode. But then a really good part is coming up and I have to turn off the water to hear it. And then, by some strange she-hulk miracle I literally BROKE the hot water dial in my hand. With the water still running.
Why is it that this apartment likes to lactate? I don’t get it. I’d like to say we’re done with our water-woes but I’m afraid to. Because the toilet might explode or the refrigerator might feel left out and just turn itself off. I don’t know. I love this apartment. LOVE IT. But dude, for real? Washing machine, air conditioner, bathroom sink and kitchen faucet? And we’re in a good complex. They like, do an *amazing* Christmas light display. What’s the deal?
Okay, sorry, rant’s over. (Sometimes you just need to get it out).
I was going to write a post today because I’m still trying to keep to my new year’s resolution of writing more on my blog but mostly, because I wanted to talk about my day yesterday.
Because I was out while the air conditioner unit was being replaced, I found myself at Barnes and Nobles where I like to go when I’m alone. Or with a friend. Either way, the Starbucks and books and movies and games and journals and magazines and everything else they sell there just makes me feel at home. A home I’m going to have to take as much advantage of as possible in the near future because I’m pretty sure the book portion of B&N will soon dissolve and only the Nook will be left standing. Along with the libraries, which makes me *truly* sad because I really like libraries. And bookstores. And books. Like hard copy (or paperback) books. Yes, I’ve crossed over to the dark side about a year ago because I occasionally use the Kindle Batman’s mom got me for Christmas 2012. I’ve read a few things on there—it’s not terrible—and I can see how the future’s going to (or already is) morph into this on-a-tablet only thing. I get it. But I still really like the company of books. The feel of them in my hand as I spill coffee or mac n’ cheese or dribble some wine on the pages. Or even cry. I like marking my books with my own history as I read them. It sounds silly, I know, but I do enjoy a physical book. Which is why I ended up at the giant book distributor with my McDee coffee cup in hand (don’t even get me started on the adventure of getting a McDonald’s coffee yesterday).
I’d strolled from the Fiction Best Sellers to a stand on the Divergent series to glancing at the puzzles and games table. Then I found myself at the “what teens are reading” sign and stopped. I’m not a teen. I haven’t been a teen in… let’s see here…ten years. It’ll be eleven this September. But the Hunger Games is listed as teen favorite and some of my e-books are YA’s (young adult) so I figured I’d give it a try.
Now, I have a process when it comes to selecting a new book. Either a friend recommends it or I happen upon it on my own but there are a few things that need to done for the latter to occur. This may sound shallow, but we live in a world with pigs and geckos talking about car insurance, so advertising is important—the cover HAS to grab me. In some way, I have to spot the book because either the scene or the colors or some flashy print has to reach out, yank me down and force me to pick it up. (Yes, I do judge a book by its cover.) Once it’s in hand, the book jacket/summary needs to be read. If I can’t even get through that, it’s down and I’m moving on. But if the info has piqued even a tiny interest, I’ll move onto reading the first few paragraphs (but NOT before the dedication. That’s my favorite part in a book. The dedication page. Just who is the piece of work being dedicated to? And why? Go on, try it. I bet you don’t even look, do you? The next time you read a book, look for that dedication. It may mean nothing to you but out of all the people in the world, Bobbi or Susie or some stinky kid named Steve may have done something to propel that author into writing the story you hold in your hands. It’s kind of awesome.) Now, if the first few paragraphs really grab me (which, sad to say, not many of them do) I’ll give myself until the first chapter and if by that point, I really need to know what happens next, then… well… it’s a definitely possibility.
So here I’m standing at Barnes & Noble with half my McCafe beverage left (ugg the adventure to obtain it!) and I’ve tried out the few first paragraphs. Nothing’s caught my eye, nothing yet so I keep looking, keep selecting more books and trying them out… when I get to a very simplistic cover with muted colors but, for some reason, it draws my eye. Okay, I pick it up and read the back. Two misfit teenagers in love. I’m sure I’ve read this before but it sounds somewhat interesting. Heck, I’ll give it a go. I end up standing at the “what teens are reading” table for three whole chapters. I only notice because I keep switching weight between my legs and I think to myself, wait, aren’t there like, chairs where I could sit down? After I find one, and the interesting company it brings, I curl up, put my luke-warm coffee down and start reading. And reading. And reading. I’ve gotten through a third of the book when Batman calls and I tell him where I am and what I’m doing. And as much as I love the caped crusader—I do! He didn’t kill me this past Friday on moving day—I really want to get off the phone with him so I can continue reading. THAT’s when you know you’re in a good book. When you don’t want to do anything else because the only important or worthwhile thing is getting to the next page. You need it. It’s like you’ve been introduced to heroin or crack and you need that next fix. Even if you’ve been partying high for hours. That’s what a good book does. It drags you in and shuts reality out.
So once I get off the phone with Batman, I rush back to my seat, yank the book from where I left it and keep going. For another hour or so until another idea flashes—why don’t I read this at home, in my own recliner and without that creepy man playing old show tunes on his tablet next to me? But what if I can’t find it as an E-book? (I know—that’s where my mind went. Pathetic, isn’t it?) What if I can’t read it when I get home?? I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS. So, with a sigh and a quick mental calculation of my credit card summary, I decided to buy the book. The drive home was long and unneeded and I couldn’t wait to dive right back into it. Which I did, once we made it to the recliner where I am currently sitting as I write this. I kept reading without another stop until I finished it yesterday at around 4:00.
I haven’t had one of those days in a long time. Finding a book, not wanting to put it down, not being able to put it down and then, finishing it all in one day. Nirvana. In case you’re interested, the book is called Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell. Again, two misfit teenagers in love (with a crazy back story for each). If it’s not your thing, it’s not your thing. If it is, I’d highly recommend it.
Anyway, just wanted to share this with you (and of course the earlier rant about my possessed apartment). But annoying things happen… and awesome things can happen. It just goes back to the balance.