So, I kind of trailed off yesterday, but if there’s one topic that I KNOW will get my dander up and juices flowing (ew), it’s bitching about this apartment. Which is churlish of me — all in all, it’s been a nice place. BUT. I will not miss:
- The Noise. OMG. I could spend the rest of my week just explaining how noisy, in how many different ways, this apartment is. One, we’re about a mile away, as the airplane flies, from Reagan National Airport. And they *do* fly — right over our apartment, every 2 minutes, like clockwork. Two, we live at the nexus of every single freeway in America (give or take), and aside from the traffic noise, you wouldn’t BELIEVE how many emergency response vehicles travel on every single freeway in America. Three, we are also right on the local helicopter flight paths for the Pentagon, White House, and all that other jazz. And that’s just the outside noise! Inside, the radiators have this constant, just-beneath-the-threshold-of-hearing hiss. So that’s 24-7. Then there’s the air conditioner, which is on almost all the time. The refrigerator hums. The fan in the bathroom hums. Add to that the 50-foot drill rig they set up a week or so ago outside our bedroom window and I am beginning to understand how Noriega must have felt when the CIA played Van Halen at him.
- The laundry room. ARGH. One, having to do your laundry in a shared laundry room is a misery, just from the start. Add in a two-year-old and it becomes an all-day, tantrum-inducing misery. The washing machines are badly maintained and used by people who seem to think the way to do laundry is to stuff the machine as full as it can possibly get, then pour about two cups of detergent in. I don’t even bring my own soap; there’s plenty in there naturally. Also, the machines STINK. I can’t help but feel that I’m actually getting my clothes dirtier by putting them in there, and paying $3 for the privilege. About 1 load out of 10 doesn’t work at all and you have to haul sopping wet, soapy clothes into a different machine, adding another 45 minutes to the whole experience. And pay an extra $1.50 for the pleasure. When I get home, I’m going to hug and kiss my washer and dryer every single day.
- The internet connection. I’ve ranted before about the internet connection here, so I won’t get too far into it. But what really, REALLY makes me wanna start punching things is that there are signs all over the complex touting how wonderful and “free” it is. ARGH ARGH ARGH! You pay for it in your rent, folks. Also, you pay $10 a year. So the pleasure of pulling out hanks of your own hair as you try to place a Peapod order or listen to Pandora while the connection drops every 48 seconds is totally worth it, because it’s “free”. WAKE UP SHEEPLE! (Sorry, sorry. Very sorry. Slight rage attack.) I can’t believe I’m actually looking forward to going back to my rural Idaho DSL connection.
- Comcast. Speaking of media, I don’t much care for Comcast. Since we have DirecTV at home it’s a bit like saying I prefer being kicked in the stomach to being kicked in the face, but you know what? I do. I like having a DVR instead of OnDemand, where the three available episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba are under three completely different 5+ drill-down layers. I like not being hollered at by the On Demand menu about violent sex-filled movies or various Disney-branded crap I could pay $6 for and are available before Netflix and Red Box. I like having a useful, easily navigable menu of channels. Also, Comcast has been screwing me for my entire adult life, where DirecTV has mostly been pretty nice to me.
- The concierge. Did I ever tell you that the concierge gives Badger candy? Even though for the first 9 months we lived here I kept telling her, “no candy, thank you” in shriller and shriller tones, she just.kept.offering.it. And yes, I should have stuck to my guns, but one day I just couldn’t face her haranguing me about how candy is good for children and makes them strong and healthy and making that face that says I’m a terrible mother who probably locks her in a closet and makes her eat old shoes. So I let Badger have the frickin’ candy. Now every time we leave the apartment, it’s “candy? Candy? Candy?” And woe betide you if there isn’t any candy, let me tell you. And of course, it’s MY fault that my kid cries like — well, a kid who doesn’t have any candy — if that dumb…. lady forgot to bring the crap. Who even asked for a concierge, anyway?
- Afternoon football. Okay, I need to end on a light one, because all this venting is bad for my blood pressure. I like that football starts at 10 AM on the west coast. That’s it, really. I enjoy watching football during the day, rather than all night.
Man, writing this post really got my heart rate up. I’m gonna go vigorously clean the bathroom and listen to Van Halen really loud. PANAMA!!