Things That Are Slowly Driving Me Insane

I'm sick today. Not that being sick is driving me insane. I just thought that by mentioning it, I'd garner some sort of sympathy. No one is home with me. And what's worse than being sick? Being sick with no one around to go "Aw! You poor thing!".
Back to the point.
Things that are slowly driving me insane.
1.) The two guys who live above me.
Floor #2 guy is completely nuts. He also LOVES his car. Deeply. Any time he hears a car pulling into the parking lot, he springs into action! And opens his door slightly to stare at whoever dares to park until they have gotten out of their car, and into their own apartment. He then retreats into his lair. He lurks. And also he tried to break my door down when I wasn't home once because my cat (who was 3 months old at the time) was apparently making too much noise for him to handle. But he's OK with waking everyone up at 5:30 in the morning by revving his car before he goes to work. Did I mention he "protects" his car by dragging a weight bench in front of it? Also, he installed a tarp to protect it from the rain. The rain that only hits part of his car because his spot is covered. Yeah, he hooked a tarp up to someone else's balcony. I suspect he's on drugs. He acts like a tweaker. Oh. And he hates me, but loves to give Mike the "bro-nod" when he sees him.
Floor #3 guy is less on the crazy, but more on the annoying.
He recycles. That, in itself, is not annoying. What's annoying is that he only recycles once every six months or so, and in the mean time he stores his giant beer cans in loosely tied bags on his balcony. Every time there is a slight, tiny, itsy puff of wind-*CLANK CLANK CLING!*- another can smacks into the concrete of my patio/sort-of-backyard. God forbid it be really windy, and rainy. I've sent Mike upstairs, but the only response was that we could keep them like the last guy did. And when recycling day finally rolls around, look out! It's can crushing time! Right outside our window. At seven in the morning. Crushing six months worth of beer cans.
2.) Most of the people I work with.*
This job that I've gotten to fill a paycheck void until I can find something full-time, and preferably not at a huge department store, is it's own mind-numbing hell. The people I work with? Soul crushing. Most of them are Republican. Extremely Republican. Now, I'm all for people's right to believe in whatever they want, but I wasn't aware of just how many people assume that just because they believe everything that Glenn Beck (oh Glenn Beck, that's a whole other post) says as if it were the word of God, you must, too. It floored them when I finally couldn't take it any more, and pointed out how amazingly inappropriate it was to be babbling on about politics at work because you could easily offend a co-worker, or a customer. This made one guy go "Oh? And what, you liberal then?" And I said, "YES." That shut them up for a bit. I think most were terrified that I was a liberal operative for Obama's secret health care death panel agenda and was keeping tabs on them. Unfortunately, they decided I wasn't and have thus tried to convert me by spouting off Sarah Palin factoids, and how they think Obama is worse than Bush.
*Not everyone is bad. There are a few that are alright, including a couple of *gasp* Republicans who agree with me about politics not really being a great topic for work conversation.

3.)The people who use the pool directly behind my apartment/bedroom window.
The Small Children are not so bad. I expect small children to be loud. That is how they are built. The volume is set way up high. They have yet to master the art of conversation, and generally run around screaming/talking at the top of the lungs about "the ball". The Ball is one of those plastic bouncy balls that grocery stores sell in those big cages for a few bucks. It's tea. I know this because a few times I've gone to the bathroom (which has a little jealousy-type window to the back area) and seen very Small Children climbing into my patio-thing to retrieve it. It is owned by a very, very, very bossy Small Child. I know this because every five minutes, she starts screaming "It's MY ball! It's MY ball! I make the game 'coz it's MY ball!" Generally her games involve more screaming, more splashing, and more of her changing the rules so she wins. It is her ball, after all. Also, I never, ever, ever hear any adult voices. Not once. Which worries me because those are pretty young kids. Where are the parents?

The Trying-to-Get-Laid Teenage Boys are extremely annoying, and yet hilarious. Alone, the TTGLTB aren't that loud. They just splash a lot, and swear, and make various TTGLTB noise about how much more manly they are than the other TTGLTB. However, when you add the Teenage Girl Trying-to-Be-Popular to the mix, things get annoying. TGTTBP force the TTGLTB to be over-the-top loud. The girls scream, the boys scream, they blast music, everything is loud, and forced, and awkward. But, man, is it funny. The pay-off is being able to hear every single horrendous pick-up line a teenage boy has ever tried on a teenage girl since forever. You'd think that these kids who are about a decade younger than me would be much more smooth, but no. It comforts me that being a teenager is still just as uncomfortable and horrible as it ever was.

Where are the parents? Oh, here they are. The Disgusting Adults. Apparently, there is also a hot tub next to the pool. The adults love this hot tub. Mostly to have sex in it. That's right. I get to hear everything. And I don't want to. How bad was I in a previous life that I have to be subjected to the sounds of two people's underwater love-making on a nightly basis? All I can say is-I hope they clean that thing because kids play in that, too.

4.) People Who Ask About My Sex Life. Yeah. Ever since I've gotten married it's like I've given people a free pass to just come out and start talking to me about my sex life. Or my uterus. They want to know if I'm pregnant. Nope, just fat, thanks. Are we trying? This is such an awkward question to me. It's like "Hi! How are you? So have you guys started having unprotected sex yet?" Mike's mother is the biggest offender. She's awesome, and I love her, but Mama needs to back off. Also, people are totally amazed that I haven't gotten pregnant yet. People at work ask me if I'm infertile (not Mike, because of course the woman is the one who's infertile ALL THE TIME, right?). No offense to anyone, but Mike and I aren't taking the whole children question lightly, and are truly thinking about it. But, frankly, it's none of your damn business, so don't look so surprised whe I tell you just that.

It's Raining, It's Pouring...

OK, well, maybe not pouring. But I want to go play in it! I love the rain. It cools down my little hotbox apartment. And they just cut the grass at the park across the street. So, it's a double dose of olfactory awesomeness.
Anyway. Enough of me waxing poetic about smells.
I'm trying to think of something for Mike and I to do together for a bit of self-improvement. Aside from the obvious (losing weight, eating healthier, etc.), I want us to do something to stimulate the old head meat. I want us to learn to speak another language.
Mike is already a bi-lingual person. And I am insanely jealous of that fact. I've never learned another language. Never took Spanish or Japanese in school. I have no idea why. I've always wanted to speak another language. I like the idea of going somewhere, and while probably not being fluent, at least know enough to get around.
BUT. Oh, yes, there's a "but". While it would make sense for me to just learn to speak Mike's mother tongue, I want us to both learn a new language. And that language is French.
There's something about France that has always fascinated me. The food, the art...well OK, mostly the food and the art. OK, some of the art. OK, I just think the language is sexy. OK, plus the food is totally awesome. And, I have always wanted to go to France. Not just Paris, but all over France. Mike does, too.
So, yeah.
Mostly, this is just a post to get me back into blogging. Oh blogging! It has been so long!

My Soul Yearns for Baked Goods.

Something has been bugging me as of late, the severe lack of baking in my life. I love baking. I adore cooking in general, but there's something about pulling things out of the oven that generates the warm, fuzzy-feelingness of self-satisfaction I crave. I am by no means a great cook or baker, but I absolutely love feeding people and I like the challenge of getting a recipe right.
Unfortunately, my kitchen is desperately lacking. I don't even have baking pans. My oven is a potential deathtrap that completely over-heats my entire apartment making Mike and I sweat like pigs. And that's with the windows open. Counter-space? Forget about it. Pantry? If you mean the locker sized mini-closet that resides near the 'fridge, then ,yes, I do have that.
So, I live vicariously through baking/foodie blogs. ("Foodie". Seriously?) I seethe with envy of their slightly/much-larger-than-mine kitchen. And their yummy results? I'm surprised the freaking computer still works from the amount of drool I produce. Mike always eyes me from a distance and can not fathom why I would spend hours looking at food that I can't physically eat. He thinks I'm weird.
Weird like your face!
I want to try to make some Artisan Bread, because I hear that it is fairly easy to make.
Mmmm....bread.

In another attempt to save money for a trip/get the hell out of here, I've decided that i need to re-do all the furniture in the apartment, instead of buying new stuff. At least for now. I'm pretty intrigued by the idea of building my own temporary furniture out of cardboard (forget where exactly I saw this, but it was pretty neat) but a lot of logistic questions pop-up. How sturdy are they? How much weight can they bear? How long do they normally last? Hmmmm.
Mostly, I've been dying for a good excuse to start making something. I tried knitting and crochet, but I just can't get into it. Maybe sewing? Felting seems interesting, and yet so completely not at the same time. Quilling seems so oddly labour intensive and all consuming that it appeals to my obsessive compulsive side, but it's also strangely delicate and sharp.
Right now, I'm satisfied just looking and dreaming, but I know that can only last for so long. And, frankly, I'm getting pretty tired of sitting around and dreaming. I need to do something. ANYTHING. All these bits and pieces of things that I know how to do need to be put to use. Plus, work is slowly turning my brain to mush, and killing my very soul. Or, ya know, something slightly less dramatic.

Quilling by Yulia Brodskaya, and she is freaking AMAZING. She's done tons more,
and even more detailed/intricate.

A "Welcome" of Sorts.

Testing, testing. Is this thing on?
Also, hello.