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Diaryland is da bomb I just *have* to tell you how much this all sucks. Who're these other people he's writing about? Who's the freak writing this, anyway? What's gone before. What's going on right now? Where do *you* visit on the web? What're you building right now?


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Another smart-assed remark from Mike
Taken for granted
02:40:00 on 1999-11-02

I like Kirk and Jason well enough. They're both really great guys, they've gone on the line for and with me before, and I know that if I really needed them for something, they'd probably be there for me.

I don't know if I am going to housesit for them again, though. (Actually, it's not quite housesit, more petsit with their neurotic, decrepit miniature terrier and antisocial Siamese cat (although the cat isn't antisocial with me, probably because she realizes I have allergies.))


In '98 I housesat for them for a few days before and during the weekend of July fourth. This was no big deal -- they lived about five minutes north of where Kirk and I worked, and I didn't really have any plans for the holiday, anyway, so it'd be nice to just spend the weekend alone, instead of having to spend the time with my family.

Well, it wasn't so bad -- I spent that weekend doing a little reading (The Physics of Star Trek (which was a waste for me to read) and The Metaphysics of Star Trek (which was fascinating), if I recall correctly), considering how the layout of their house was almost ideal for me if I ever managed to get a life and get a house, because it would have afforded me a library/study in the master bedroom downstairs, a small bedroom and a workroom/server room upstairs, a living room/media room, and still have a sitting area and breakfast nook with nothing to put in it, really. Not to mention that it was laid out such that I could do a very easy network installation and zoning for audio and video. I even got a little writing done that weekend, which, at the time, was something I hadn't done in ages.

I think that spending some time alone being productive, dealing with what was in my mind, not having more garbage piled up on me by my family just because they were making each other miserable, actually feeding my mind instead of spending all my energy trying to play nursemaid to it, is what made me start to wake up and get out of the infinite numbness that had stricken my life. If the root is anywhere, it's there, because when they got back from California that weekend, Kirk and Jason had already decided to go back to California to live, and so Xander and I knew that we had to get out of the company we were in because the chips would start to fall, and we knew we should just go ahead and plan our departures.


Of course they came back, since costs of living had risen in San Francisco so dramatically, and it wasn't terribly long before they were taking weekend trips and asking me to housesit again. The first weekend in October they asked me to housesit for them since they were going to an Herbalife sales conference, so I relented.

First, realize they live about 85 miles away now. See, they've owned two houses in Houston before the one in 1998. Their first one, before I met them, was in on Richmond, just across the west loop from the Galleria. They bought it for around $80,000. Now, about ten years later, houses there go for around $450,000. They feel a little silly for selling that house then.

Then they got this house in podunk, waaaay north of the city. (Where I live is south of Houston, about equidistant from downtown Houston and Johnson Manned Space Flight Center.) Get back to nature, out of the hustle and bustle of Houston, that sort of thing. They built a fairly large, rambling house in a cul de sac in a subdivision out in Montgomery County.

Jason got hurt in an accident and went on disability, though, so their standard of living really declined trying to make the payment on their house, and Kirk was going nuts driving into Houston for work every day. Finally, they sold that house and bought the one I sat in near the beltway and the Katy Freeway. (Of course, they asked me to help them move into this house, and then asked me to help them move out of it, again. Grr.)

Well, when they moved back to Houston this summer, they decided to buy a smaller house in that same subdivision way out in podunk. (I helped them move into this house, too. I've told them I won't help them move out of it, so they better keep their asses settled.)

So I drove out to housesit, leaving home around 6:30 AM. I didn't realize traffic would be heavy, though, because the Texas Renaissance Festival started the same morning, and everybody going from Houston streams out I-45 north to get to Plantersville. By the time I got there, I was hoping somebody would skewer me with a longsword.

They kind-of prepared for me to be there. They stocked up on sodas, and there was one of those Tombstone pizzas in the freezer that rise when you bake them. There was a fair bit of other things in the freezer to eat, if I just wanted to cook. Of course, invariably, there was never a pot, a utensil, an ingredient. I ended up eating the pizza for dinner and breakfast the next day, and driving around at 1:00 AM looking for something to eat in these tiny towns in the area. (I finally found a Taco Bell open. While I was sitting in the line, the girl said, "hey, I wanted to tell you, they're going to be opening up a new store across the street from the high school." I wanted to tell her so badly that yeah, next time I wanted to drive nearly 180 miles to get some mystery meat in a corn shell I'd be glad to drive up, even though they have probably the best one I've ever eaten at about six miles from where I live, but thanks for the info, but I didn't because she was a really cute redhead.)

At the time, they'd just gotten a three-week-old dog I nicknamed "Manic Puppy." Manic Puppy was... tiring... to watch. She ran up and down the floor all weekend. She would run, jump into my leg, bounce off, hit the floor. And do the same thing over. And over. And over. If you picked her up to pet her, she wanted to nuzzle and lick you to death. She was a precious little dog, even if she liked to leave presents and puddles on the carpet. Never on the tile, just the carpet. (I made sure I didn't leave my backpack on the floor.)

I think I put fear into her while I was laying on the sofa watching a C-SPAN tape on the future of technology and the Internet. She was laying on my stomach, scritching and squirming and making me crazy. Finally, I cupped Manic Puppy in one hand, held her up to my face and said, "chill!" She laid down on me and stayed quiet the rest of the evening.

Not to mention that Gurugrrl and I had had a fight right before I went over there, and I had an argument with Violet, too, so I wasn't the most happy guy while I was there.

Perhaps worst of all, the premium channels on cable there are fuzzy. 'Nuff said. (At least I got to see one of my favorite movies, "With Honors", albeit with some scrigglies in it.)

When the guys got back they offered me some cash and to gas up my car, but I declined on both. I'm always an arguer about stuff like that. Actually, I think they hurt my pride, because I hadn't been getting much contract work in, and they were saying, "we know you're not working right now, so we want you to take it," so that pretty much clinched that I wouldn't take it.

But, still, my duty done, I got in the car and went home so that I wouldn't miss "Felicity" and "The X-Files" (I think; maybe it didn't come on that night, I don't remember and don't feel like looking it up right now). I was dying to get out of there, because I didn't get much accomplished that time. I felt so cut off; the internet service they are using is a freebie that you get with your long distance service, and it's worth every penny. It generally stayed connected for three minutes or about 120,000 bytes, whichever came first. I just can't read in that house, there are too many things that make strange noises there. The dog, although cute, was driving me insane and making me exhausted (I think she sucked life energy from others to do the things she did). It wasn't a weekend I wanted to repeat.


Imagine my horror when Kirk tells me about two weeks later that he needed me to do this again this last weekend so they could go on what must have been a shopping trip to Dallas and Canton.

My first instinct was to tell him no, but then I thought better of it. Invariably, if somebody asks me for help I give it, even if I know I shouldn't; I guess I'm a wimp. So I agreed to do it, especially since they'd gotten rid of Manic Puppy (it had driven Jason crazy, too, and they couldn't seem to make Manic Puppy quit leaving her presents).

So I got up at 4:00 AM and rushed around to leave the house to be sure to be there by 6:00 AM, even though I was exhausted and driving erratically on the way, because they just had to leave there at 6:00 AM. I pulled into the driveway at 5:55 AM, feeling apologetic for leaving things so close.

They weren't finished packing. They had a lesbian couple visiting them from California who were going with them, who were standing in the back in the Garden of Just Evil having a smoke and hadn't even started to get ready yet. Nobody was packed.

This was a bad start to my weekend. Not to mention that Gurugrrl and I were on the outs again, so I was generally unhappy to begin with.

Finally, they left around 7:00 AM, and I turned on the TV (cable still squiggly) and looked around to see what they left to eat.

They didn't. Well, all except some Diet Dr. Peppers in the fridge (I was lucky on that I guess, they said they started drinking it too after the last housesitting, because I didn't drink them all (I requested them), and they liked it more than Diet Coke) and some chocolate-backed butter Halloween cookies that Evita had gotten Kirk. Everything else seemed to be leftovers or things they'd gotten to put in their Herbalife shakes.

I saw some blueberry pancake mix and took it out to make some pancakes. Of course, I couldn't find a griddle, syrup or even any butter for pancakes, although they have six types of jam. And when I checked the milk, I saw the expiration date was five days before, and the buttermilk (which I wouldn't drink anyway, but I was curious) had expired in late August. I decided it was a good idea not to chance the leftovers, either. There isn't much else in the house to cook, either, not to mention a lot of dirty dishes.

So, I ended up having to go to the store to get something to eat, and going out to get something to eat twice (once after going to the store, and then once the night they came back, since I started to wonder if they were ever going to show up).

The second time I went to get something to eat, Saturday evening, was interesting. I remembered that there was a McDonalds one exit north, so I decided that I'd go there. I got in the car, took the quasi-infinite drive down the hilly, two lane road (being from coastal plains, hills aren't fun for me to drive on as a general rule) to the interstate, and headed north. I took the proper exit, and discovered that since I'd last been to that McDonalds in the summer, they'd torn down the overpass going across to the McDonalds.

No problem, I think to myself, I can just go down the service road to the next overpass, turn around and come back.

In sane places, freeways have service roads all along their length as frontage for establishments along the freeway, and in Houston they have relatively high speed limits (up to 50 in some places) to encourage people to make short trips via the service road rather than hop on the freeway clogging up traffic, and then get right back off after a mile or three. (This works very well, by the way -- it should be encouraged elsewhere.)

Well, I am driving along, but for some reason the service road curves off into some woods. I blink and wonder where the candid camera people are.

I follow this road, wondering what the story is, wondering where it's going to bring me out. It goes into this subdivision that rapidly turns... scary. I kept going, wondering what I should do, waiting for a major crossing road, because I certainly am not going down one of these little paths off this road. I mean, I've seen "Deliverance", you know? I had a sore throat, I didn't feel like squealing.

Fortunately, I found a cross road, take it and take the next major connecting road back to the freeway, turn around and go back to the McDonalds. I was not happy.

Most of the towels in the house are dirty. I get to do laundry so I can even take a shower.

Their crappy ISP has gone downhill -- during anything that could be considered remotely peak, I can get about fifteen seconds or 12,000 bytes. How do people use this?

The cat decides it isn't happy anymore, so she has to constantly rub me to give me allergies, and every time I open a door she wants to make for it. Eventually she got into the garage, so I spent twenty minutes climbing around on a dirty floor trying to chase her out from under the truck.

Fortunately, the dog and I can commiserate, because we're apparently both depressed.

Finally, at 8:00 PM on Saturday (read: late enough that any possible evening is shot) the minivan they went in backs into the driveway. I've already put my stuff in the car about an hour before then, and I go out to beat a hasty retreat... into the rain. I get to drive home in the rain. Beautiful.

They didn't even ask how the weekend was -- I didn't know if the fact that I'd put my stuff in the car already told the whole story, or if there was an expression on my face that said it all, or what. I felt a little taken for granted, because Kirk asked me in front of his house guests if he owed me any money (I said no, I didn't want to discuss my business in front of two strangers), and didn't even offer to gas up my car.

At least Jason asked me if I wanted to stay over and not drive home in the rain, which I thought was nice, but I declined. I felt guilty afterwards, because they keep asking me if I want to come stay with them some weekend and I never do.


I am so tired of being taken for granted. Moogie does it all the time. She didn't realize the license tags for her truck were due in October until the last possible moment, and that was when she realized that she'd never gotten a renewal notice for them in the mail, and thus would need the title to the truck to get the tags renewed. She didn't start looking for it until the weekend while I was gone.

She never found it, but Sunday while I ran to the store I checked the mailbox at the road when I came back. Oddly enough, her renewal notice was in there (thanks for the prompt service, USPS!). When I went into the house, my grandmother was there, and they were talking about things. I walked in, dumped the groceries and gave her the mail, telling her the renewal was in there.

"Are you going to take off to go get them tomorrow?" my grandmother asked Moogie.

She gestured at me non-chalantly and said, "no, he will go get them tomorrow."

No, "I'd appreciate it if you'd go get them for me," or "I need you to go get them," or "are you busy tomorrow?" Instead, it's a royal command.

I just stalk off down the hallway, get undressed, throw my jeans and shirt into the pile of dirty clothes and put on some sweatpants and a pull-over shirt. I start to sort out my dirty clothes, and after looking at the small mountain of clothes waiting to be separated into piles and then looking into the closet, I realized I was wearing the only clean clothes left.

I go back down the hallway. "Are the washer and dryer free?"

"No, I'm using them. The weekend is the only time I have to wash clothes."

"I've was gone two days, why didn't you wash them then?" This was a silly question -- if she didn't even check the mailbox Saturday, then I know all she did was sit in her recliner all day watching TV and sleeping.

"I was tired, okay? Leave me alone, you're disturbing my program." I sigh and go back down the hallway.

"And stop sighing at me, damn it!" she yells after me, with a parody of a sigh attached to it.

So Monday I get up and start to wash clothes. I finally have things to wear after a couple loads, get in the car and head to the new yuppie Randall's grocery store to go to the courtesy booth and renew Moogie's license tags.

And wait. And wait. And wait.

I am there a good twenty minutes waiting on the lobotomy patient running the counter to cash a check for the woman at the front of the line. A check for all of $20.00, the same amount she could have written over on a check at the register and gotten back as change.

The next three people in front of me go somewhat more quickly.

"Do you have any toll road tokens?"

Thrashing under the counter. "No, ma'am, I think we're out. Next?"

"Do I need a Randall's card to cash a check here?" I freeze up, surely he's not going to let her stand there, fill out an application for one, process it and then cash a check. I'll go to the kitchen utensil aisle and then commit Hari Kari right here if he does.

"Yes, ma'am." The woman walks away. Circumstantial evidence of a supreme being, perhaps, but I'm still not a believer. If there is one, he's still a cruel bastard for making me stand here this long already.

The next one is a teenager. "Are you hiring?"

"Uhhh... hang on." Lobotomy Patient walks into what I assume is the manager's office and then comes back. "No, but I can go ahead and give you an application."

"Cool, thanks!" The kid takes the application and walks away reading it.

I walk up to the counter and do my best to break a little smile. "Hi. I need to renew some license tags." I push the envelope the notice came in across the counter to him.

I am not happy when he pushes it back to me after checking in the office again.

"We haven't gotten our new book of stickers yet. We should have them in tomorrow."

Must... not... strangle... Lobotomy Patient... will... go... to... jail...

I pick up the envelope and leave, and start my search for the Brazoria County tax office on Highway 35 to get these tags before they close.

I now know that it's under extreme construction. Well, actually, lots of it is partitioned off with traffic boundaries and cones, but there is no actual work going on.

Traffic on 35 is slow-and-go, and just fast enough that I can't count on being able to look over to the right to actually find the tax office and not get into an accident at the same time.

I drove up and down 35, all the way to Alvin, twice, without seeing the tax office. By then it was 4:30 -- even if I got in, they close at 5:00, and once when I was a teenager I was there waiting when they closed, had a number and everything, and they told me to save the number and come back the next morning. (Uh, duh, I had school the next morning.) I kid you not. My taxes at work.

Needless to say, Moogie said it was all my fault.

"If you'd gone, you could have found the tax office and got my tags."

"If I didn't have to wash clothes all day I might have left earlier."

"You act like it's my fault you don't have clothes washed up."

"You act like it's my fault that you waited to the last minute to get your license tags renewed!"

I get to go again tomorrow.

restlessmind


Ancient history:
2013-03-01"You'll be stone dead in a moment!"
2007-08-07I covet fuck you money
2007-07-16My own long, dark tea-time of the soul
2007-07-11My internet experience is lacking
2007-07-10Coincidence



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