A pestilence descended upon the house.
It struck the child, though the parents were spared.
The child awoke vomiting in the middle of the night.
He heaved again and again, until there was nothing left to spew, and then, he heaved some more. And cried.
His mother spent the night holding him, trying to give him sips of water, catching the bile he heaved up in a towel, for hours, until, finally, some water stayed down.
Then he slept.
And then he woke up and vomited some more, and more.
Then he drank some juice, and stopped vomiting, and slept again. When he awoke, he began to play.
Just when the parents thought that perhaps the child might be on the mend,
he vomited again,
all over his recently-showered mother's hair.
The mother did not flinch. She did not retch. She did not turn away. She held the child while he vomited. Then she hugged the sobbing, vomit-soaked child to her vomit-soaked chest, and told him it was not his fault. Then she and the father washed the child, and changed his clothes, again.
When the child was clean, the father looked at his sleep-deprived, filth-encrusted wife, and said, sincerely, "My beautiful love."
And the mother, strangely, felt beautiful.
(And the mother showered again, and the child felt better in the evening, and managed to drink a whole cup of Gatorade without spewing it back out all over himself.
And then they all went to bed).
Monday, January 22, 2007
Because We Need to Lighten Things Up Around Here
Especially after all of the vomit I washed off myself today. Boy, that doesn't go with this picture, does it?
This cookie test, it was surprisingly accurate in its assessment of my personality.
Unfortunately, I really don't like the jam cookies much. Too bland on the outside, too gooey on the inside.
Luckily, I just ordered some Thin Mints from the girl across the street. Because even when my house has apparently been temporarily converted to a vomitorium, I cannot resist the siren song of Thin Mints.
| You Are a Jam Cookie |
 On the outside, you project a straight-laced, innocent vibe. But on the inside, you're complex, exotic, and full of flavor. |
This cookie test, it was surprisingly accurate in its assessment of my personality.
Unfortunately, I really don't like the jam cookies much. Too bland on the outside, too gooey on the inside.
Luckily, I just ordered some Thin Mints from the girl across the street. Because even when my house has apparently been temporarily converted to a vomitorium, I cannot resist the siren song of Thin Mints.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Oh My Goodness Gracious,
I feel better after letting that rant out. (See immediately previous post). I really do.
I didn't even tell y'all everything, and I still feel better.
However, thinking about it today, I realized that I totally gypped my readers by not providing photographic evidence!
So, without further ado:
This is a photo of the tree that was damaged during the December 1st ice storm that I took during the walkthough just a few days before closing:
Click on it to see the bigger version to get a detailed view of some of the damage.
This photo here, also taken during the walkthrough, shows a wider view of the extensive damage, and also shows how close the tree is to the power lines:
This is a picture of part of the tree lying in my yard after the January ice storm, on top of my phone and cable line, taken the day the branch fell:
Yes, I know my fence is rusty. Thank you. We'll be replacing it eventually. Sometime after we get around to fixing this:
Which is the nice hole the cable line left when it was yanked out of the house.
Thank you, real estate agent who refused to negotiate with the sellers over trimming the tree that was damaged while the house was under contract. Thank you very, very much. I've always wanted to learn how to hang new siding!
Ah, now, moving right along, let's check out my bathroom! (It's a tradition here, after all).
Come on, click! This really has to be viewed full-size to get the full effect. Here you see the remains of the ancient towel rack the sellers oh-so-skillfully re-replaced the nice one we'd seen during the house showing with. The one that fell down the very first time we tried to hang a towel on it. If you look not-too-carefully, you can see the poor spackling job they did to attempt to hide the holes where the nice towel rack had been.
And this would be why the re-hung old towel rack would not stay up:
See that gaping hole in the wall there behind the towel rack hardware? Uh huh. This is what happens when you remove a towel rack carelessly, spackle the old hole poorly, and then attempt to re-hang the old towel rack half-assed-ly in the exact same poorly spackled spot.
And now, the piece de resistance:
See that empty screw-hole in that first pic? Did the sellers bother to screw this cheap replacement toilet paper holder in after they damaged the wall ripping the nice one out? Oh, no. They glued it in. Crappily. Apparently, we buyers are not even worthy of a pair of screws.
I didn't even tell y'all everything, and I still feel better.
However, thinking about it today, I realized that I totally gypped my readers by not providing photographic evidence!
So, without further ado:
This is a photo of the tree that was damaged during the December 1st ice storm that I took during the walkthough just a few days before closing:
Click on it to see the bigger version to get a detailed view of some of the damage.
This photo here, also taken during the walkthrough, shows a wider view of the extensive damage, and also shows how close the tree is to the power lines:
This is a picture of part of the tree lying in my yard after the January ice storm, on top of my phone and cable line, taken the day the branch fell:
Yes, I know my fence is rusty. Thank you. We'll be replacing it eventually. Sometime after we get around to fixing this:
Which is the nice hole the cable line left when it was yanked out of the house.
Thank you, real estate agent who refused to negotiate with the sellers over trimming the tree that was damaged while the house was under contract. Thank you very, very much. I've always wanted to learn how to hang new siding!
Ah, now, moving right along, let's check out my bathroom! (It's a tradition here, after all).
Come on, click! This really has to be viewed full-size to get the full effect. Here you see the remains of the ancient towel rack the sellers oh-so-skillfully re-replaced the nice one we'd seen during the house showing with. The one that fell down the very first time we tried to hang a towel on it. If you look not-too-carefully, you can see the poor spackling job they did to attempt to hide the holes where the nice towel rack had been.
And this would be why the re-hung old towel rack would not stay up:
See that gaping hole in the wall there behind the towel rack hardware? Uh huh. This is what happens when you remove a towel rack carelessly, spackle the old hole poorly, and then attempt to re-hang the old towel rack half-assed-ly in the exact same poorly spackled spot.
And now, the piece de resistance:
See that empty screw-hole in that first pic? Did the sellers bother to screw this cheap replacement toilet paper holder in after they damaged the wall ripping the nice one out? Oh, no. They glued it in. Crappily. Apparently, we buyers are not even worthy of a pair of screws.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
If You Don't Have Anything Nice to Say . . .
I've written a number of blog posts in my head over the past two weeks. I haven't committed any of them to magnetic patterns on a disk. Not even in a draft folder.
It's been rough, the move, rougher on me and the family than I thought it would be, and I've been angry, and sad, and tired a lot lately. It's been hard to strike a balance in my head about what I should and shouldn't write about. Am I overreacting to things? Am I being selfish, or diva-ish, or ungrateful? I feared posting a complaint about this or that inconvenience here, only to be chided, perhaps a bit justifiably, in my own comments section for raining on my own damn parade. After all, I got what I wanted, didn't I? I got a house. A house that will, eventually, with work, be a much better place to live than my previous apartment.
But still, I've been angry, and sad, and tired.
I've been angry at the sellers, who really left the house a mess on their way out. I mean, really, in more ways than I alluded to two posts ago.
They tore down pictures and curtains in such a manner as to leave gaping holes in the walls. They scuffed the walls, and the floors, on their way out. They tore a hole in the carpet in the living room, which they concealed during the walkthrough with a rug. (They left us the rug. The damn cheap ugly rug. I suppose as compensation?)
They took out decorative outlet covers and switchplates. They replaced some of them with cheaper or broken plates, and others they just left bare. They took out a nice new towel rack in one of the bathrooms and replaced it with the the original 50-year-old towel rack that originally came with the house, which I suppose they had been saving for that very purpose. They did such a poor job reattaching it that it actually fell out of the wall the first time we hung a towel on it, leaving a gaping hole.
They ripped out the cable connections from all of the bedrooms (which, incidentally, they had advertised as a feature of the house in the original listing). Not just the terminals for the cable connections, but the cables themselves. Ripped them right out of the walls and the floors. Ripped out the junction box allowing for multiple connections.
They cut holes in the walls to bring some plumbing up to code, as required by the contract they signed. As part of a list of code-required repairs that they delayed our closing, twice, to complete. And they left the holes there, in the walls. 12"x6" holes. Left them.
They left random piles of leaves, and piles of sweet gum balls, and piles of yard waste, and piles of dog shit in the yard.
The thing that gets me the most, I think, though, is the fact that they tore out the built-in toilet paper holder in the bathroom, damaging the bathroom wall in the process, and replaced it with a cheaper one, WHICH THEY GLUED IN. Crookedly.
Who knew it was even possible to care about a toilet paper holder so much. Apparently that toilet paper holder was a family heirloom or something.
I've been angry with the utility companies, every single one of which managed to mess up something major with the process of transferring our services from our old home to our new home. I had no phone service at my new home for four days. I had a slack electrical wire sitting in the branches of a tree in my backyard for nearly two weeks. A situation which, incidentally, the sellers had promised to have fixed before the sale, but did not. Then the phone company and the cable company both overcharged us on our first bills.
I spent something like 25-30 hours on the phone during my first week here just trying to get all of the utility problems fixed. On my cell phone, of course. Because the regular phone didn't work.
I've been angry with the mortgage company for telling me again and again when I asked them again and again that yes, they had all the paperwork they needed for closing, and then calling me AFTER closing to tell me they had forgotten things that I would have to fax to them immediately. Because, you know, I know exactly where these things are in all my half-unpacked boxes. And I have a working phone line, and a fax machine. Sure I do.
I've been angry with my real estate agent for refusing to talk to the sellers about possibly trimming or cutting down a tree that was severely damaged during the December 1st ice storm, a tree which had dropped branches during that storm that tore down the electrical service drop to the house and ripped off siding-- all damage which happened after we made an offer on the house, but before we closed the sale.
I am angry because right now I can look out my kitchen window, and see the very same dangerously damaged branch I pointed out to my real estate agent sitting on the ground in my backyard, on top of my downed phone line, that took a nice chunk of the just-replaced siding with it. The phone line that should "Probably get fixed by the end of the day on Friday. Probably. If they can get to it. Big storm, you know." (I know. I had no electricity, no cable and no reliable phone for days. Thanks).
And I've been sad. Sad to see my two-year-old shaking in his bed each night until midnight, unable to fall asleep because his new room is "weird" and "scary." Sad to see him refuse his lunch three days in a row because he "doesn't feel good." Sad to understand him so completely when he looks me in the eye and says, "Mommy, THIS IS NOT RIGHT." I've been sad, sad, sad, that fate has seen fit to gift my beloved child with an ability to adapt to change in his environment about as well as the average person could adapt to a punch in the face.
And I've been angry with myself, and sad, over the fact that I haven't been able to roll with these punches better myself. Because I DO have what I wanted. And I AM grateful. And somewhere under all of these, what I know will one day seem, petty annoyances, I am happy. And in love with the old bones of this old house.
But I'm tired. So tired. Of being tangled in packing tape, and painter's tape, and red tape. Tired of staying up even later than my son to fix all the things here that are broken.
Swing away, Pollyannas.
It's been rough, the move, rougher on me and the family than I thought it would be, and I've been angry, and sad, and tired a lot lately. It's been hard to strike a balance in my head about what I should and shouldn't write about. Am I overreacting to things? Am I being selfish, or diva-ish, or ungrateful? I feared posting a complaint about this or that inconvenience here, only to be chided, perhaps a bit justifiably, in my own comments section for raining on my own damn parade. After all, I got what I wanted, didn't I? I got a house. A house that will, eventually, with work, be a much better place to live than my previous apartment.
But still, I've been angry, and sad, and tired.
I've been angry at the sellers, who really left the house a mess on their way out. I mean, really, in more ways than I alluded to two posts ago.
They tore down pictures and curtains in such a manner as to leave gaping holes in the walls. They scuffed the walls, and the floors, on their way out. They tore a hole in the carpet in the living room, which they concealed during the walkthrough with a rug. (They left us the rug. The damn cheap ugly rug. I suppose as compensation?)
They took out decorative outlet covers and switchplates. They replaced some of them with cheaper or broken plates, and others they just left bare. They took out a nice new towel rack in one of the bathrooms and replaced it with the the original 50-year-old towel rack that originally came with the house, which I suppose they had been saving for that very purpose. They did such a poor job reattaching it that it actually fell out of the wall the first time we hung a towel on it, leaving a gaping hole.
They ripped out the cable connections from all of the bedrooms (which, incidentally, they had advertised as a feature of the house in the original listing). Not just the terminals for the cable connections, but the cables themselves. Ripped them right out of the walls and the floors. Ripped out the junction box allowing for multiple connections.
They cut holes in the walls to bring some plumbing up to code, as required by the contract they signed. As part of a list of code-required repairs that they delayed our closing, twice, to complete. And they left the holes there, in the walls. 12"x6" holes. Left them.
They left random piles of leaves, and piles of sweet gum balls, and piles of yard waste, and piles of dog shit in the yard.
The thing that gets me the most, I think, though, is the fact that they tore out the built-in toilet paper holder in the bathroom, damaging the bathroom wall in the process, and replaced it with a cheaper one, WHICH THEY GLUED IN. Crookedly.
Who knew it was even possible to care about a toilet paper holder so much. Apparently that toilet paper holder was a family heirloom or something.
I've been angry with the utility companies, every single one of which managed to mess up something major with the process of transferring our services from our old home to our new home. I had no phone service at my new home for four days. I had a slack electrical wire sitting in the branches of a tree in my backyard for nearly two weeks. A situation which, incidentally, the sellers had promised to have fixed before the sale, but did not. Then the phone company and the cable company both overcharged us on our first bills.
I spent something like 25-30 hours on the phone during my first week here just trying to get all of the utility problems fixed. On my cell phone, of course. Because the regular phone didn't work.
I've been angry with the mortgage company for telling me again and again when I asked them again and again that yes, they had all the paperwork they needed for closing, and then calling me AFTER closing to tell me they had forgotten things that I would have to fax to them immediately. Because, you know, I know exactly where these things are in all my half-unpacked boxes. And I have a working phone line, and a fax machine. Sure I do.
I've been angry with my real estate agent for refusing to talk to the sellers about possibly trimming or cutting down a tree that was severely damaged during the December 1st ice storm, a tree which had dropped branches during that storm that tore down the electrical service drop to the house and ripped off siding-- all damage which happened after we made an offer on the house, but before we closed the sale.
I am angry because right now I can look out my kitchen window, and see the very same dangerously damaged branch I pointed out to my real estate agent sitting on the ground in my backyard, on top of my downed phone line, that took a nice chunk of the just-replaced siding with it. The phone line that should "Probably get fixed by the end of the day on Friday. Probably. If they can get to it. Big storm, you know." (I know. I had no electricity, no cable and no reliable phone for days. Thanks).
And I've been sad. Sad to see my two-year-old shaking in his bed each night until midnight, unable to fall asleep because his new room is "weird" and "scary." Sad to see him refuse his lunch three days in a row because he "doesn't feel good." Sad to understand him so completely when he looks me in the eye and says, "Mommy, THIS IS NOT RIGHT." I've been sad, sad, sad, that fate has seen fit to gift my beloved child with an ability to adapt to change in his environment about as well as the average person could adapt to a punch in the face.
And I've been angry with myself, and sad, over the fact that I haven't been able to roll with these punches better myself. Because I DO have what I wanted. And I AM grateful. And somewhere under all of these, what I know will one day seem, petty annoyances, I am happy. And in love with the old bones of this old house.
But I'm tired. So tired. Of being tangled in packing tape, and painter's tape, and red tape. Tired of staying up even later than my son to fix all the things here that are broken.
Swing away, Pollyannas.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Time to Mail 10,000 Copies of the Bill of Rights to the White House
Guess who recently added a signing statement to a postal reform bill granting himself permission to open and read any piece of domestic mail, at any time, without a warrant, without notifying the sender or the recipient, without documenting the fact that the mail has been tampered with?
I'll be happy to give him the opportunity to read a postcard that's actually addressed to him, from me, bearing the following text:
Amendment IV
The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.
I'll be happy to give him the opportunity to read a postcard that's actually addressed to him, from me, bearing the following text:
Amendment IV
The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Scenes from a New Old House
SCENE ONE
WIFE: So, I guess at some point we should get the ladder out and check out our new attic, huh? I mean, since we own it, and all.
HUSBAND: Uh, yeah, I guess you're right.
WIFE: You know, I'm kinda scared to go up there.
HUSBAND: Yeah?
WIFE: Yeah, I mean, you know, what if there are like, dead bodies hidden up there, or something? (Giggles).
HUSBAND: Um, actually, to tell the truth, I'm kind of scared to go up there, too.
WIFE: Well, I mean, the home inspector did go up there. And he said everything was fine up there. No mention of dead people. I'm sure he would have mentioned that.
HUSBAND: What if Aragog is up there?
Silence.
WIFE: Look at all this stuff we need to unpack! We can look at the attic tomorrow.
SCENE TWO
MOTHER: Hey kid, I'm going down to the basement now to do some laundry. Don't try to come down after me without telling me, because these stairs are really steep and kind of old and rickety and there is no hand rail and there is nothing but cold hard concrete at the bottom, so if you want to come down the stairs I need to hold your hand while you climb down, okay?
CHILD: (Singing eerily from the next room)
Mommy, oh Mommy, be very careful
Going down in the scary basement!
Do not fall down the stairs.
Do not fall. Fall. FALL!
MOTHER: Uh, thanks. I think. I'll be careful. (Under her breath) Sheesh, kid, I was already afraid of the attic.
SCENE THREE: CHISTMAS EVE DINNER
WIFE: So, what do you want to do about dinner? We've been eating out too much during the move, I think. I'm afraid we're spending too much money.
HUSBAND: I know. That's why I brought this frozen toasted ravioli and frozen potatoes and some tomato sauce and this cookie sheet, and these canned vegetables. I thought maybe you could make us dinner tonight.
WIFE: Well, the thing is, I'm not sure I feel like making dinner. I'm really tired. I spent all morning unpacking. I finished the tree and I finally put up the Christmas lights in the window, but they keep falling down, and they're driving me nuts. I tried masking tape. I tried packing tape. I tried duct tape. I tried those new clippy things we got at the hardware store. Nothing works. The lights hate me.
And did I mention that I have been cleaning this damned kitchen for the last six hours straight? I spent three hours cleaning the refrigerator alone. And I used half a bottle of Murphy's Oil Soap already on these cabinets! Do you see how clean these cabinets are now?
Do you remember how incredibly dirty they were before?
I swear, I don't think anyone had cleaned these cabinets out thoroughly in the last forty years! I had no idea they were this dirty inside when we first looked at the house. I had no way of knowing, because the sellers had all of their food in the cabinets still. Can you believe they had food in these cabinets?
HUSBAND: Um, so . . . dinner?
WIFE: Do you see this blender the sellers left behind in one of the cabinets?
They used it and then they put it in the cabinet without even cleaning it! It has chocolate shake or something all over it. (Verging on utter hysteria) They put it in the cabinet WITHOUT CLEANING IT, even though most of the parts say they are dishwasher safe, and THEY HAD A DISHWASHER. HOW HARD IS IT TO LOAD A DISHWASHER?!?!
HUSBAND: Um, so, do you want me to make dinner?
WIFE: I just can't believe it! I can't believe anyone would leave a house this way when they knew someone else would be moving in to it! It looked so clean when we looked at it a month ago! Their real estate agent must have made them clean it up for the showings by threatening them at gunpoint!
HUSBAND: Because I mean, I can totally make dinner-- I don't have a problem with that at all. I can start right now. The stove looks really clean. You did a great job cleaning it--
WIFE: I used three different kinds of cleaner on that stove! Three kinds!
HUSBAND: So, I'll just make some dinner now then.
WIFE: No! No! Wait, don't make dinner. You've been moving heavy boxes all day. I'll make dinner. Although, toasted ravioli is not exactly what I envisioned as our Christmas Eve dinner . . .
HUSBAND: Well, I mean, we could eat out. I'm sure someplace is open.
WIFE: No! We are spending too much money eating out! I will make dinner!
HUSBAND: Okay . . .
WIFE: So, did you bring some aluminum foil, or some vegetable oil, or some cooking spray or something so the ravioli and the potatoes won't stick to the baking sheet? Because this is an aluminum baking sheet. It's not the nonstick one. And last time you made ravioli on this baking sheet without using any cooking spray, the ravioli burned and stuck to the pan.
HUSBAND: Um, no . . . I can get some at the store . . .
WIFE: It's Christmas Eve! It's after five! The stores are closed! (Pause). Did you bring a can opener for the vegetables?
HUSBAND: Um, I forgot.
WIFE stares murderously at HUSBAND for several silent seconds.
WIFE: So, we are having a one-course Christmas Eve dinner of burned ravoli stuck to a pan?
(Pause.)
HUSBAND: I'll be right back.
WIFE: Okay! I'll just get to making YOUR burned Christmas Eve dinner in the kitchen I spent all day cleaning for YOU, then!
Unreasonably distraught WIFE bangs random things around in kitchen while poor, beleaguered innocently forgetful HUSBAND scurries out the door. Minutes pass. Husband returns.
HUSBAND: Look! I got some Pam!
WIFE: Where on earth did you get that?
HUSBAND: I borrowed it from the neighbors. They were outside. They said we could just put it in their mailbox when we're finished with it.
WIFE: That is amazing! You saved Christmas Eve dinner! I'm sorry I was so terrible to you before. I'm just so tired, after all the cleaning, and painting, and fixing, and moving. I was at the end of my rope. We still can't open the cans, but really, who needs vegetables with dinner, anyway?
WIFE prepares baking sheet, pulls ravioli box out from freezer, pauses.
So, uh, dear, just out of curiosity, what were the neighbors doing outside anyway? I mean, it's dark, and it's like, 40 degrees out there. And it's Christmas Eve.
HUSBAND: They were in their hot tub. They have a hot tub in the backyard.
WIFE: You mean, you called our brand-new, just-met-us-yesterday next-door neighbors out of their hot tub, in 40 degree weather, just to ASK THEM FOR SOME PAM?
HUSBAND: Uh . . . well, you see, it was very dark outside, and I just heard them talking in the backyard, and I didn't realize at first that they were actually sitting in a hot tub . . . But they were really nice!
WIFE: OH MY GOD. Now we will be known throughout the neighborhood as the obnoxious new neighbors who call people out of their hot tubs at night in 40 degree weather just to ask them for Pam! Oh. My. God. I am totally mortified. I am totally, totally mortified. Excuse me while I die now.
WIFE dies.
(Okay, so I didn't really die. I had a child to make Christmas happen for in the morning, after all. Happy Belated Holidays!)
Friday, December 15, 2006
Okay,
The reason I have not been posting this week is that, after many delays, I am finally closing on a new house, like next week!
What? Next week, you say? Like, as in, the week before Christmas?
Why, yes. Yes. In fact, it is.
*head explodes*
What? Next week, you say? Like, as in, the week before Christmas?
Why, yes. Yes. In fact, it is.
*head explodes*
Friday, December 08, 2006
I Know He Was Not Switched at Birth
MOTHER: Would you like some milk?
CHILD: Yes, I want some chocolate milk, please. With chocolate in it.
MOTHER: Okay, I'll get you some chocolate milk.
CHILD: With CHOCOLATE in it. Chocolate milk. With chocolate.
MOTHER (handing Child a cup of chocolate milk): Here you are. Chocolate milk.
CHILD: With chocolate in it?
MOTHER: YES.
CHILD: Mmm. I like chocolate.
CHILD: Yes, I want some chocolate milk, please. With chocolate in it.
MOTHER: Okay, I'll get you some chocolate milk.
CHILD: With CHOCOLATE in it. Chocolate milk. With chocolate.
MOTHER (handing Child a cup of chocolate milk): Here you are. Chocolate milk.
CHILD: With chocolate in it?
MOTHER: YES.
CHILD: Mmm. I like chocolate.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
An Addendum to My Previous Letter (See Below)
P.S. It is so nice to see that you finally shoveled and salted the walks throughout the complex today, six days after the snow-and-ice storm, and three business days after electricity was restored to the complex. Seeing as how much of the snow on the walks had already melted yesterday, it's nice to know you were still willing to put forth a half-hearted, belated effort to show you can pretend you want to keep your residents safe. And here I was fully on the point of buying an industrial-sized snow shovel and fifty pounds of salt so I could clear the walks myself!
I am sure that if my blind, partially deaf elderly next door neighbor who walks with a cane managed to work up the courage to try to walk more than a step past his front door over the past few days, he had great fun slipping and sliding around as he attempted to navigate the ice-encrusted walks. Way to keep an old blind man on his toes!
I am sure that if my blind, partially deaf elderly next door neighbor who walks with a cane managed to work up the courage to try to walk more than a step past his front door over the past few days, he had great fun slipping and sliding around as he attempted to navigate the ice-encrusted walks. Way to keep an old blind man on his toes!
Monday, December 04, 2006
The Letter I Wish I Were Sending to My Leasing Office
To Whom It May Concern:
My husband and I will not be renewing our lease ending January 31st 2007. We are purchasing a house, and plan to vacate our current apartment by the end of January.
Incidentally, our new residence will have a fully functioning stove and microwave, and, according to our home inspector, does not appear to have faulty wiring that causes the power to go out in a drizzle, faulty plumbing that causes water to gush through the fan in the bathroom ceiling, squirrels in the ventilation system, a chronic ant infestation problem, or a chronic carpenter bee infestation problem, all of which were definite selling points compared to our current abode.
Thanks for nothing,
Ms. Jaelithe J.
My husband and I will not be renewing our lease ending January 31st 2007. We are purchasing a house, and plan to vacate our current apartment by the end of January.
Incidentally, our new residence will have a fully functioning stove and microwave, and, according to our home inspector, does not appear to have faulty wiring that causes the power to go out in a drizzle, faulty plumbing that causes water to gush through the fan in the bathroom ceiling, squirrels in the ventilation system, a chronic ant infestation problem, or a chronic carpenter bee infestation problem, all of which were definite selling points compared to our current abode.
Thanks for nothing,
Ms. Jaelithe J.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Just a Note
To say that my electricity is back, but I have had a very busy weekend catching up on all sorts of things I couldn't do while I had no electricity, so you will all have to wait to read all the entertaining anecdotes I have been planning to share regarding my adventures in real estate until I recover from storm craziness.
I hope all my hometown readers are warm tonight . . .
I hope all my hometown readers are warm tonight . . .
Friday, December 01, 2006
Deja Vu
Read this.
Switch summer to winter; switch record highs to single digit lows; keep the whole half a million homes in my city without power, some possibly for days, thing.
Oh, and mine is one of them.
Again.
See you when the electric company decides my apartment is as important as the video store across the street . . .
Switch summer to winter; switch record highs to single digit lows; keep the whole half a million homes in my city without power, some possibly for days, thing.
Oh, and mine is one of them.
Again.
See you when the electric company decides my apartment is as important as the video store across the street . . .
Thursday, November 30, 2006
This Is Not Snow:
Click on the picture and look at the big version.
This is tiny balls of solid ice.
They are falling now outside my apartment. They bounce when they hit the ground.
(What do you call this? Is this sleet? Miniature hail? Any lurking meteorologists out there to enlighten me?)
The parking lot to my apartment was flooded with about an inch of water this morning from heavy rain. It now looks like a skating rink. Covered in tiny ball bearings made out of ice.
My husband is still at work.
*sigh*
******************
Edited to add: my husband is home and not dead. The car is also fine. Because I was not riding in it, obviously.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Meme-alicious
Eeep! I've been tagged, by Dana from Mamalogues, to write a post about five things people don't know about me. Hmm. But which people? Blog people? Real Life Friend people? Family people? Professional Contact people? I suddenly feel like no matter what I post, someone is going to comment and say, "But I KNEW that about you, Jaelithe. That's totally lame. Where's the good stuff?"
(Does the fact that I am having such a difficult time coming up with oddities and secrets mean that I live an utterly banal, unmysterious life?
Or does it mean that I am even more secretive about the few certain secrets I do keep than most other people?
Hmmm . . .)
Five things (some) people (probably) don't know about me:
1.) I attended a very swanky, expensive private school from sixth through twelfth grade. In fact, I attended the most expensive private school in town.
On scholarship.
The first day I walked into that school, I wanted to kiss the polished marble foyer floor. The library was the size of my previous school's cafeteria (which, incidentally, had a been a roach-ridden, poorly lit, unfinished basement). For the first several weeks of classes, I fully expected a choir of glowing angels to descend at any moment.
That is, of course, until the other girls in my class started calling me Bag Lady for wearing second-hand clothes.
By my freshman year in high school I figured out that if I wore black all the time people would think I was just being artsy and moody and wouldn't notice that I didn't have a walk-in closet at home filled with three months' worth of outfits from the Gap, Abercrombie and J. Crew. This trick did indeed work wonders for my social life, though I must say I rather tired of my high school photography teacher calling me "Johnny Cash."
2.) In my life thus far, I have been in six car accidents in which the car I was a passenger in was totaled. I was not driving in any of these instances; the accidents happened with several different drivers, and each time it was not the fault of the driver I was riding with.
The first time, I was riding with my father and we were hit from behind by a taxi in the middle of a downpour. The second time, I was riding with my mother and we were hit from behind by a teenager driving a new sports car coming down the highway off ramp. The third time, I was riding with my father and a man driving in the oncoming traffic lane had a heart attack and died, and his SUV swerved into my father's car and smashed it into a guard rail. The fourth time, I was riding with several high school friends of mine coming home from visiting a haunted house for Halloween, and we were hit at an intersection by a speeding drunk driver. The fifth time, I was coming back from the grocery store with a college friend of mine and we were hit by an old lady who ran a stoplight. The sixth time, my husband had just picked me up from work; we were stopped at a red light coming out of a parking lot and a college-age guy in an SUV rammed us at 40 mph from behind; he was speeding and claimed he didn't see the stoplight or the cars stopped in front of him because he was talking on his cell phone.
I've been a passenger in three other minor accidents where the car was not totaled.
And once a car actually flipped and flew through the air OVER a car I was riding in on the highway, but the car I was riding in was not hit.
(Oh, and I'm not sure this one counts, but my mother was in a car accident when she was seven months pregnant with me.)
3.) I am terrified of driving. (Note that I can drive, but it terrifies me.)
4.) I once quit a job I needed and liked, loudly, in front of about seventy-five co-workers, after a self-important manager practically everyone secretly hated falsely, publicly (and rudely) accused me of lying. My co-workers actually cheered for me as I walked out. It was one of the best moments of my life.
I have quit two other jobs based solely (or, okay, mostly) on moral principle. One, because of religious discrimation against a co-worker, and another, because my boss was embezzling from the (non-profit) company.
5.) I can't stand a certain sound that is made by certain types of rough surfaces scratching on cloth. It makes me want to rip my own teeth out. It's like fingernails on a blackboard to me. Only actually, I'd prefer to listen to fingernails on a blackboard. However when I hear someone making this sound, by, say, scuffing their booted feet on a carpet, I generally clench my fists and do not say anything, because I want people to like me and not think of me as that insane woman who yells at people for scuffing their feet.
And yes, this does give me a special level of understanding when it comes to my son's reaction to the sound of my blender . . .
********************************
Edited to add: Woah, did I forget to tag someone? How lame. It was midnight when I posted this, though. I tag Raquita, only because she hasn't posted in a few weeks and I want to hear from her again (only if you have time, though, lady), and Stephanie, because, well, I get a feeling she probably has some interesting answers for this one . . .
(Does the fact that I am having such a difficult time coming up with oddities and secrets mean that I live an utterly banal, unmysterious life?
Or does it mean that I am even more secretive about the few certain secrets I do keep than most other people?
Hmmm . . .)
Five things (some) people (probably) don't know about me:
1.) I attended a very swanky, expensive private school from sixth through twelfth grade. In fact, I attended the most expensive private school in town.
On scholarship.
The first day I walked into that school, I wanted to kiss the polished marble foyer floor. The library was the size of my previous school's cafeteria (which, incidentally, had a been a roach-ridden, poorly lit, unfinished basement). For the first several weeks of classes, I fully expected a choir of glowing angels to descend at any moment.
That is, of course, until the other girls in my class started calling me Bag Lady for wearing second-hand clothes.
By my freshman year in high school I figured out that if I wore black all the time people would think I was just being artsy and moody and wouldn't notice that I didn't have a walk-in closet at home filled with three months' worth of outfits from the Gap, Abercrombie and J. Crew. This trick did indeed work wonders for my social life, though I must say I rather tired of my high school photography teacher calling me "Johnny Cash."
2.) In my life thus far, I have been in six car accidents in which the car I was a passenger in was totaled. I was not driving in any of these instances; the accidents happened with several different drivers, and each time it was not the fault of the driver I was riding with.
The first time, I was riding with my father and we were hit from behind by a taxi in the middle of a downpour. The second time, I was riding with my mother and we were hit from behind by a teenager driving a new sports car coming down the highway off ramp. The third time, I was riding with my father and a man driving in the oncoming traffic lane had a heart attack and died, and his SUV swerved into my father's car and smashed it into a guard rail. The fourth time, I was riding with several high school friends of mine coming home from visiting a haunted house for Halloween, and we were hit at an intersection by a speeding drunk driver. The fifth time, I was coming back from the grocery store with a college friend of mine and we were hit by an old lady who ran a stoplight. The sixth time, my husband had just picked me up from work; we were stopped at a red light coming out of a parking lot and a college-age guy in an SUV rammed us at 40 mph from behind; he was speeding and claimed he didn't see the stoplight or the cars stopped in front of him because he was talking on his cell phone.
I've been a passenger in three other minor accidents where the car was not totaled.
And once a car actually flipped and flew through the air OVER a car I was riding in on the highway, but the car I was riding in was not hit.
(Oh, and I'm not sure this one counts, but my mother was in a car accident when she was seven months pregnant with me.)
3.) I am terrified of driving. (Note that I can drive, but it terrifies me.)
4.) I once quit a job I needed and liked, loudly, in front of about seventy-five co-workers, after a self-important manager practically everyone secretly hated falsely, publicly (and rudely) accused me of lying. My co-workers actually cheered for me as I walked out. It was one of the best moments of my life.
I have quit two other jobs based solely (or, okay, mostly) on moral principle. One, because of religious discrimation against a co-worker, and another, because my boss was embezzling from the (non-profit) company.
5.) I can't stand a certain sound that is made by certain types of rough surfaces scratching on cloth. It makes me want to rip my own teeth out. It's like fingernails on a blackboard to me. Only actually, I'd prefer to listen to fingernails on a blackboard. However when I hear someone making this sound, by, say, scuffing their booted feet on a carpet, I generally clench my fists and do not say anything, because I want people to like me and not think of me as that insane woman who yells at people for scuffing their feet.
And yes, this does give me a special level of understanding when it comes to my son's reaction to the sound of my blender . . .
********************************
Edited to add: Woah, did I forget to tag someone? How lame. It was midnight when I posted this, though. I tag Raquita, only because she hasn't posted in a few weeks and I want to hear from her again (only if you have time, though, lady), and Stephanie, because, well, I get a feeling she probably has some interesting answers for this one . . .
Sunday, November 26, 2006
This Just In: Peace Termed Offensive, Divisive
Um, I don't even know what to say about this.
Is a ban on "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" next?
Hark! The herald angels sing
Glory to the new born King
Peace on earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled
Joyful all ye nations rise
Join the triumph of the skies
With angelic host proclaim
Christ is born in Bethlehem
Hark! The herald angels sing
Glory to the new born King
To the new born King
Wait-- "Let There Be Peace on Earth"-- that one by Sy Miller? That's on a bunch of Christmas albums, and it's EVEN WORSE:
Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me,
Let there be peace on earth, the peace that was meant to be.
With God as our Father, brothers all are we,
Let me walk with my brother, in perfect harmony.
Let peace begin with me, let this be the moment now,
With every step I take, let this be my solemn vow,
To take each moment and live each moment in peace eternally.
Let there be PEACE ON EARTH, and let it begin with me!
What about "Silent Night"-- doesn't that one have that word in it, too? "Sleep in heavenly--" GAH!
That's it-- THAT'S IT! We have to ban Christmas music altogether, people. We're at war, after all, and that means we can't have any mention of, well, of, that, that word that begins with the letter P, okay? Because it offends people. It divides people.
In fact, I heard from this that every time someone says that word out loud, Baby Jesus cries. For real.
Maybe we should just have it removed from the dictionary.
Is a ban on "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" next?
Hark! The herald angels sing
Glory to the new born King
Peace on earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled
Joyful all ye nations rise
Join the triumph of the skies
With angelic host proclaim
Christ is born in Bethlehem
Hark! The herald angels sing
Glory to the new born King
To the new born King
Wait-- "Let There Be Peace on Earth"-- that one by Sy Miller? That's on a bunch of Christmas albums, and it's EVEN WORSE:
Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me,
Let there be peace on earth, the peace that was meant to be.
With God as our Father, brothers all are we,
Let me walk with my brother, in perfect harmony.
Let peace begin with me, let this be the moment now,
With every step I take, let this be my solemn vow,
To take each moment and live each moment in peace eternally.
Let there be PEACE ON EARTH, and let it begin with me!
What about "Silent Night"-- doesn't that one have that word in it, too? "Sleep in heavenly--" GAH!
That's it-- THAT'S IT! We have to ban Christmas music altogether, people. We're at war, after all, and that means we can't have any mention of, well, of, that, that word that begins with the letter P, okay? Because it offends people. It divides people.
In fact, I heard from this that every time someone says that word out loud, Baby Jesus cries. For real.
Maybe we should just have it removed from the dictionary.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Let the Hate Mail Commence at 10:30 P.M. EST
***Shameless self-promotion to follow***
Tonight I will be joining Kristen from Motherhood Uncensored, The Mom Trap, Cool Mom Picks, etcetera, on her BlogTalkRadio show.
So, listen already. The show begins at 10:00 p.m. EST / 9:00 p.m. CST, with the debate I'm participating in to begin at 10:30 p.m. EST / 9:30 p.m. CST.
Bobita and I will be debating infant circumcision.
*DUCKS*
Tonight I will be joining Kristen from Motherhood Uncensored, The Mom Trap, Cool Mom Picks, etcetera, on her BlogTalkRadio show.
So, listen already. The show begins at 10:00 p.m. EST / 9:00 p.m. CST, with the debate I'm participating in to begin at 10:30 p.m. EST / 9:30 p.m. CST.
Bobita and I will be debating infant circumcision.
*DUCKS*
Monday, November 20, 2006
Goodness Gracious
Where have I been?
Well, I know I've used this excuse before, but it's still happening: I've been trying to buy a house for the first time. We had one offer accepted, only to have it fall through due to what I can only describe as seller insanity (more on that later, when I have time for a good three-page post. Heh). Now we're working on another offer.
No one mentioned to me by the way (and I'm glaring at YOU, everyone) that this house-buying thing was a full-time job. My apartment is starting to look decent to me, and that's scary.
I've also been working on a work project that is, of course, currently deciding to take 1/3 again as much time as my client originally projected it would. As all projects invariably do. So I'm not sure why I even feel the need to mention that it's taking more time than I thought it would. But with that on top of our recent adventures in real estate-- forget you people-- I feel like my son is shortly going to forget my name. Aren't I, um, a stay-at-home mom? I thought I was . . .
Anyway, my birthday came over the weekend, and I turned 25 again.
(I have decided, as of this year forth, that I shall turn 25 every year until I am 60. All right with you folks?
What?
You say 26 is not old and I should shut the hell up? You say I'm an addle-pated uppity whippersnapper who is too big for her britches? La la la I can't hear you.)
On my birthday, no presents were lost. We weren't kicked out of any restaurants. And I didn't get food poisoning. So, all in all, I'd have to say, this was a huge improvement over last year!
However, the most momentous event that happened on my birthday was that my mother called me.
My mother called me on my birthday, for the first time in seven years.
The evening before my birthday, being an evil daughter, and a connoisseur of the sarcastic tone, I had formulated a wicked plan to call my mother late in the evening on my birthday. After waiting all day for her not to call me, I would call her myself, and, the moment my mother picked up the receiver, without even giving her the opportunity to say so much as "Hello," I would say,
"Mother, I am calling you to give you the opportunity to wish me a Happy Birthday."
Don't you see? It was perfect. The righteous irony would drip from my voice. The weight of seven years of daughterly disappointment, elegantly compressed into a single sentence, would barrel through the telephone line in a hundredth of a second, and, upon reaching the receiver on the other end, the smooth cover of seemingly polite words would uncoil in an instant to unleash a flattening blast of mother-guilt. Like a molotov cocktail, wrapped in silk.
It would be, in fact, exactly the type of brilliantly executed, impossible-to-dodge guilt-trip my mother herself is famous for.
But then, she called me.
Boy, that really knocked the wind out of the sails of my revenge ship.
In fact, it made me feel kind of guilty for plotting to guilt-bomb her . . .
Ah, touche, Mom. Touche.
Well, I know I've used this excuse before, but it's still happening: I've been trying to buy a house for the first time. We had one offer accepted, only to have it fall through due to what I can only describe as seller insanity (more on that later, when I have time for a good three-page post. Heh). Now we're working on another offer.
No one mentioned to me by the way (and I'm glaring at YOU, everyone) that this house-buying thing was a full-time job. My apartment is starting to look decent to me, and that's scary.
I've also been working on a work project that is, of course, currently deciding to take 1/3 again as much time as my client originally projected it would. As all projects invariably do. So I'm not sure why I even feel the need to mention that it's taking more time than I thought it would. But with that on top of our recent adventures in real estate-- forget you people-- I feel like my son is shortly going to forget my name. Aren't I, um, a stay-at-home mom? I thought I was . . .
Anyway, my birthday came over the weekend, and I turned 25 again.
(I have decided, as of this year forth, that I shall turn 25 every year until I am 60. All right with you folks?
What?
You say 26 is not old and I should shut the hell up? You say I'm an addle-pated uppity whippersnapper who is too big for her britches? La la la I can't hear you.)
On my birthday, no presents were lost. We weren't kicked out of any restaurants. And I didn't get food poisoning. So, all in all, I'd have to say, this was a huge improvement over last year!
However, the most momentous event that happened on my birthday was that my mother called me.
My mother called me on my birthday, for the first time in seven years.
The evening before my birthday, being an evil daughter, and a connoisseur of the sarcastic tone, I had formulated a wicked plan to call my mother late in the evening on my birthday. After waiting all day for her not to call me, I would call her myself, and, the moment my mother picked up the receiver, without even giving her the opportunity to say so much as "Hello," I would say,
"Mother, I am calling you to give you the opportunity to wish me a Happy Birthday."
Don't you see? It was perfect. The righteous irony would drip from my voice. The weight of seven years of daughterly disappointment, elegantly compressed into a single sentence, would barrel through the telephone line in a hundredth of a second, and, upon reaching the receiver on the other end, the smooth cover of seemingly polite words would uncoil in an instant to unleash a flattening blast of mother-guilt. Like a molotov cocktail, wrapped in silk.
It would be, in fact, exactly the type of brilliantly executed, impossible-to-dodge guilt-trip my mother herself is famous for.
But then, she called me.
Boy, that really knocked the wind out of the sails of my revenge ship.
In fact, it made me feel kind of guilty for plotting to guilt-bomb her . . .
Ah, touche, Mom. Touche.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Empathy
When I came home from giving a work presentation on Thursday, I found my son playing outside with his babysitter. He wasn't playing ball. He wasn't riding his new tricycle.
He was trying to put the fallen leaves back on the trees.
"I fix the trees, Mommy," he said, in a very serious tone. "The leaves fall down. All the leaves are down on the ground. I fix them."
How long will this sweetness last? How long can it last, in this world, in a boy?
It's times like these I want to wrap him in an impenetrable armor of love, freeze him in love, preserved, in his untarnished innocence, like a butterfly in amber.
But I can't. And I shouldn't try.
(And I can't.)
But I can write about it.
He was trying to put the fallen leaves back on the trees.
"I fix the trees, Mommy," he said, in a very serious tone. "The leaves fall down. All the leaves are down on the ground. I fix them."
How long will this sweetness last? How long can it last, in this world, in a boy?
It's times like these I want to wrap him in an impenetrable armor of love, freeze him in love, preserved, in his untarnished innocence, like a butterfly in amber.
But I can't. And I shouldn't try.
(And I can't.)
But I can write about it.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
No More Mrs. Nice Lefty
Okay, remember my last post? The one where I was being all democratic and non-partisan, giving you links to local board of elections sites with information about the candidates and issues involved in today's election, encouraging you all to vote no matter your affiliation?
Yeah, see, here's the thing about true liberals (and note that I didn't say Democrat-- I said liberal), the thing that makes it so hard for us to "win": We value other people's opinions. We appreciate diversity. We believe in the power of democracy. We want everyone to have an opportunity to have their voices heard.
Embracing a diversity of opinion and promoting everyone's right to participate in their own government are core liberal values.
That's one reason why, if you're a liberal, underhanded, illegal tactics like this are gonna piss you off.
But you know what? I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that I believe most of my conservative friends should be pissed off by this too.
Because I know many true conservatives out there also believe in honesty, and fair elections.
So I ask you, my readers, all of you, for the sake of democracy, or, if you won't stand for democracy, dammit, then in the name of upstanding Americans' univerally acknowledged loathing of having their dinners interrupted by telemarketers, spread the word on this news today. Let your friends who have yet to vote know that the Republican party has been conducting a deceptive, illegal telemarketing smear campaign against Democratic candidates in a last-ditch attempt to make voters angry at the Democratic party, calling voters incessantly and attempting to pretend that the annoying robocalls naming Democratic candidates have been paid for by the Democratic candidates themselves, when in fact the entire enterprise has been funded by the Republicans.
And then, after you vote today, go home, and do something nice for a neighbor who disagrees with your political views. And then think about what we all can do to overhaul this ridiculously corrupt two-party system. And leave your suggestions here, because I want to hear them. I am so sick, sick, sick of deceitful politicians on both sides of the aisle. This is supposed to be our government-- the people's government. I want to take it back.
Yeah, see, here's the thing about true liberals (and note that I didn't say Democrat-- I said liberal), the thing that makes it so hard for us to "win": We value other people's opinions. We appreciate diversity. We believe in the power of democracy. We want everyone to have an opportunity to have their voices heard.
Embracing a diversity of opinion and promoting everyone's right to participate in their own government are core liberal values.
That's one reason why, if you're a liberal, underhanded, illegal tactics like this are gonna piss you off.
But you know what? I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that I believe most of my conservative friends should be pissed off by this too.
Because I know many true conservatives out there also believe in honesty, and fair elections.
So I ask you, my readers, all of you, for the sake of democracy, or, if you won't stand for democracy, dammit, then in the name of upstanding Americans' univerally acknowledged loathing of having their dinners interrupted by telemarketers, spread the word on this news today. Let your friends who have yet to vote know that the Republican party has been conducting a deceptive, illegal telemarketing smear campaign against Democratic candidates in a last-ditch attempt to make voters angry at the Democratic party, calling voters incessantly and attempting to pretend that the annoying robocalls naming Democratic candidates have been paid for by the Democratic candidates themselves, when in fact the entire enterprise has been funded by the Republicans.
And then, after you vote today, go home, and do something nice for a neighbor who disagrees with your political views. And then think about what we all can do to overhaul this ridiculously corrupt two-party system. And leave your suggestions here, because I want to hear them. I am so sick, sick, sick of deceitful politicians on both sides of the aisle. This is supposed to be our government-- the people's government. I want to take it back.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Of the People, by the People, for the People
My fellow Missourians,
Please drag your tuchuses out of your home or office long enough to vote tomorrow.
Don't know anything about the candidates?
Senate Race:
Incumbent Senator Jim Talent, Republican
Challenger Claire McCaskill, Democrat
Challenger Frank Gilmour, Libertarian
Challenger Lydia Lewis, Green Party
List of candidates for all other Missouri races.
Now you do.
Don't know anything about the issues?
Missouri 2006 Ballot Measures
Now you do.
Don't know where your polling place is?
St. Louis County Board of Elections Polling Place Finder
St. Louis City Polling Place Finder
State of Missouri Polling Place Finder
Now you do.
Got kids? A job? A ton of stuff to do tomorrow? Hate standing in line?
So do I.
Suck it up. Vote anyway.
Vote tomorrow, or I hereby revoke your license to complain about the government until you vote in another election :P
Please drag your tuchuses out of your home or office long enough to vote tomorrow.
Don't know anything about the candidates?
Senate Race:
Incumbent Senator Jim Talent, Republican
Challenger Claire McCaskill, Democrat
Challenger Frank Gilmour, Libertarian
Challenger Lydia Lewis, Green Party
List of candidates for all other Missouri races.
Now you do.
Don't know anything about the issues?
Missouri 2006 Ballot Measures
Now you do.
Don't know where your polling place is?
St. Louis County Board of Elections Polling Place Finder
St. Louis City Polling Place Finder
State of Missouri Polling Place Finder
Now you do.
Got kids? A job? A ton of stuff to do tomorrow? Hate standing in line?
So do I.
Suck it up. Vote anyway.
Vote tomorrow, or I hereby revoke your license to complain about the government until you vote in another election :P
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