This is not my life. I can tell because I seem to be living in a beige Mission Bay blahplex and driving a Chevy Impala. This is a temporary state of affairs. J and I are living in the only corporate housing we could find that would take our cats while Bunker 3 is being remodeled. And the Impala is a rental that I'm driving while my Golf is at the ( Read more... )

Last night I discovered that the answer to "Oh God, what's that terrible smell?" is "the dead mouse in your dresser." It is a dresser drawer which I don't think that I'd opened in a couple of days, which makes me wonder how long that tiny little smelly thing had been in there. I will soak everything that was in that drawer in bleach, just in case. ( Read more... )

I would like to say a word about Thanksgiving. I know that it already well into December - shut up. I don't harbor any illusions about keeping a detailed record of my life. Sometimes I fall behind. Sometimes I leave things out. But I did not want to leave out Thanksgiving, not in the wretched year of 2009 ( Read more... )

On Saturday morning J reports that the basement flooded overnight at the Fallback Position. Our nice French Moroccan landlady, the one who is not a former burlesque performer from New York, is soaked in water. She has turned the water mains off, which is a problem because I would like to take a shower. The next day, we discover that she has failed ( Read more... )

Forget what I said about the known unknowns: my life is a series of taped cardboard boxes. My Bunker is mostly empty, all echoing walls and astonishingly dirty floors. J and I have collected over $230 in spare change from around the house. The cats are cranky - they like being transplanted even less than I do. Ada paces through the upstairs ( Read more... )