Old Creaker and His Wrath

I am a night owl by nature. Heck, sometimes I wonder if I am actually nocturnal. I focus as clear as anything at 2 AM but at 6? Dream on, buddy. Dream on. My parents, however, are my polar opposite. They're up before 6 AM every single day, because my mom likes to hit the gym before work, and my dad is just a sucker because he shares her bed and alarm clock (sorry, old man). My parents are regularly in bed by 9:30.

Thus, my nightly prowlings, which have occurred since I was old enough to determine my own bedtime, or lack thereof, are a constant source of strife in this household. When I was living away from home (8 months a year for the last 4 years) I got into the comfortable habit of sleeping when I wanted. University students sleep like rocks and most of us were night owls.

At home, its a different story. My mom wakes up if a mouse sneezes a mile down the road, so me walking around? Oh dear. The kicker? I have to walk by the door of their room to get from the kitchen, living room, den, or anywhere else in the house to my room. I can't go from my room to the kitchen to get juice and back without walking past their door TWICE.

This is where Old Creaker comes in. He's this pesky floorboard right in front of their door and he got his name for a reason. He creaks. Not quietly or gently. Its loud and obnoxious, I tell you. Now you're thinking, "This is to be expected in an old house." Well you would be wrong. The house we're in was built in 2001, dangit. Why are the floorboards out to GET ME?!

I don't know why Old Creaker has a personal vendetta against me. All I know is that he's at his loudest in the middle of the night, when all I'm trying to do is get a drink. So now a simple bit of thirst becomes a dilemma. Do I risk going to the kitchen for juice and waking the bear (also known as my mother) who will, in fact, come out unsuitably dressed, roaring at me for disturbing her intentionally, when all I was trying to do was get some gosh darn juice, or do I remain in my room, safe from noise control police but thirsty and thinking about juice?

I've tried walking around Old Creaker. It makes me look like a tool, since I'm taking a detour in the middle of an empty hallway, but I wouldn't care...if it worked. Which it didn't. Old Creaker saw me coming, and made me feel his wrath. My foot went NOWHERE NEAR THAT BOARD, and it groaned like I was killing it anyway. I've tried going faster than normal. I've tried going extremely slow. I've even tried shuffling in socks, and I hate wearing socks in the house, yo. Nothing works.

I need to find some kind of a sacrifice to the god of floorboards, because I must have done something very offensive to Old Creaker, because I swear to you, it is out to get me. It brings its wrath on me, which brings the motherly wrath on me and that is just. not. pretty. So much unnecessary drama over a floorboard. I tell ya.

Lying

Sorry I haven't updated for a while. Between dealing with cramming a lot of school work into one week, exams and friends being stupid, all it would have been was ranting posts, and seriously, who wants to read ten of those in a row? No one, that's who. Anyway, that's all over now, and I'll keep you posted on the transfer process. Now to the real entry.
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I told one of my friends a bold faced lie yesterday. Bold. Faced. Lie. I said I was working when I wasn't. I just started a new job on the weekend, and I'm already using it as an excuse to get away from friends. Um...oops?

The thing is, she's driving me bananas. We're looking for a place for next year, and usually, she's the quieter, more reserved one of the two of us, but lately, she's been drinking out of my vodka bottle water bottle and has moved to beyond pushy. We've agreed on a few terms: she wants to be close to campus, I want utilities included and laundry on site, and yet I keep getting ads that are miles from campus, hydro is extra and the "laundromat is just down the street."

No. Just no.

I've been burned by having to pay hydro before, when it skyrocketed in the winter due to shitty insulation, and I'm not doing it again. I also don't want to load my laundry in the back of my truck and drive it somewhere just to wash it. This seems reasonable to me, and it seems stupid to even look at places that don't have the things we want. Its a waste of my time, her time and the poor landlord's time.

So anyway, she booked appointments this morning for two places that don't meet what we want, so I lied. Yes I did. I lied and said I had to work, and that if they were worth checking out, she should let me know. It seemed easier that biting her head off, which is what my initial urge was. So there. I'm a lying lie liar. And I'm okay with it, because right now, its saving my sanity from looking at a basement apartment without laundry, hydro extra.

There's no place like home

God, I've been a flighty blogger again.

Um, so the move is over. No big drama. I had everything sitting organized in boxes when my dad got to my place. We were loaded and on the road within 45 minutes, which is pretty fantastic. It was a long drive home (almost 7 hours in a not-so-comfortable truck), but worth it. Lordy am I ever glad to be here.

My niece (who is currently 21 months old) did a happy dance in the window when she saw me for the first time and came at me like a bullet when I came through the door, and that innocent reaction sealed the deal for me. Home is where I belong.

I'm unpacking much more slowly that I usually do, because it doesn't feel like I get to stay. Its school Reading Week right now (Spring Break for you Yankees) so it still feels like I should be going back in a week. Whenever I remind myself that I'm not, I grin. Big and cheesy.

Anyway, there's not a lot of exciting news, but I wanted to at least get a new post up and not feel like I was abandoning my blog. I've got a new fitness routine that I want to try, so that's a future post, so stay tuned. ;)

"That" girl.

Please don't ever let me become the possessive girl. Please don't. I'm so serious. It boils my blood like the devil's ass crack when girls are like that. If a girl is crossing the line, sure...go all "He's mah man, biatch" on her. I'm down. Have at er. Jello wrestle, if you must.

But when a girl, who is your roommate, is hanging out in the living room with your boyfriend (who also lives in the house, are you following?) laying on two separate couches playing Mario Kart on Wii, don't be a bitch about it. Over and over. They're hanging out, not making out.

Of course, the above is a completely hypothetical example but you all understand where I'm coming from, right? Right. Don't be that girl.

I'll hurt you.

Broken pipes and happy moves

So the pipes in my current rental burst today. One elbow only, thank god, but we still have to leave the taps running in order to avoid more freezing because nothing's properly insulated. The joke of the situation is that today is the day I planned to tell my roommates that I'm moving out at the end of March.

I've decided to go home for the summer and I'm super excited about it. If I had stayed in school here, my parents were pushing for me to stay here for the summer, and it was a thought that was enough to induce tears. I've spoken to them about transfer plans, and they know I'm planning on coming home.

Overall these roommates have been the best I've had, so I want to give them as much notice as possible. But today, the universe seems to be telling me it isn't the time to say something. But mentally, the countdown is beginning.