They’re doing the roof on the new condos next door. Fumes are filling my apartment. I would close the windows but it’s supposed to be hot today. 90°.
The heat and the smell make me feel as if I’m a roofer. I’m getting the virtual roofer experience. I have a couple of ex-step-relatives who were roofers. Now I know what they were going through. But I have to tell you it doesn’t seem all that bad. They used to complain that it was strenuous work. What a bunch of crybabies. Apart from the smell and the heat there’s nothing to this roofing business. Just sit around smelling tar, sweating and working on a computer. What’s so hard about that?
And I haven’t fallen off a roof once so far this morning.
However, I think the fumes are starting to get to me. So we’ll see about that “falling off a roof” thing. A couple more good, heavy lungs full of steaming petroleum and I’ll probably go up on my roof for the purpose of falling off. Luckily, I’m a smoker so I’m used to having my lungs filled with tar. And the chances of me getting a “good, heavy lung full” of anything are remote.
See, there are upsides to being stupid.
The fumes are getting to me though. Perhaps it’s the missing nicotine?
I’m just going to sit here watching the polar bear in the corner and wait for one of the workers to fall off the roof. Because, let’s face it, the job’s not over until one of the roofers breaks a leg.
Fun Fact: Last night I wasn’t hallucinating when I ran across the insectoid monster that decided to make my ceiling fan home. It was this largish, green, cricket/grasshopper/praying mantis-looking thing. It was creepy. And I almost touched it!
See, it wasn’t enough for this creature to invade my home, he had to plant himself on the one thing that I needed to touch. I understand that it may seem strange that I needed to touch my ceiling fan, but trust me I did. I needed to pull the cord to turn off the light because if I switch the fan off from the wall it’ll turn off the blades and…look, I don’t need to explain myself to you! Just know that I needed to touch my ceiling fan and let’s leave it at that.
Thanks to some Raid and Tanya’s fancy shoe work, the creature is no longer with us. It’s grossing out Jesus now.
But when something like that finds its way into my home I always feel violated. As if I’m being burgled. As if the feelings of torment caused by the insect are deliberate and not just a byproduct of my intense “pussiosity.” I know that other people feel the same way. In fact it was one of the first things Tanya said when I pointed the bug out to her. “How the hell did that get in here?!” As if we somehow left an insect-sized door unlocked somewhere.
I hate bugs. Thanks Tanya for killing it for me. Although, I would like to point out that the only reason Tanya could kill the bug was because I put my life on the line to spray its general vicinity with poison.
Which reminds me, I should really clean off the dinning table and the buffet. Oh, and the tops of those Coke cans before I serve them to anybody.
I’ll do it later. I’m sure that I won’t forget.