Thursday, November 04, 2010

today made my hair stand on end...

Well, today started by my getting stuck in my apartment.

They are renovating the stairwell in our apartment, and it is absolute chaos. They have to chip the old plaster off the walls (it's plaster right on brick) and then sand it and replaster. The amount of dust and mess this is creating is ASTOUNDING. AND, when they are working, they set up a scaffold on the stairs that you can barely squeeze by, and even then, you are rubbing up against it (and thus all the plaster and wet dust and so on.) It's awful, it's noisy and it's messy as all get out. And, to top it off, the guys doing the work? SO NOT FRIENDLY.

So, today, I sashay (shauntay) out my apartment, dressed in head to toe black, looking rather nice, I thought. It was as I stepped onto the threshold of my flat that I realized....there is no way for me to get downstairs. No way to get downstairs without being covered head to toe in dust and plaster and goo. All of it WHITE. On my nice sassy black dress (full skirted dress, mind you.)

Fuck. I stood there trying to assess the scene, and the work dudes just stood there, like lumps, didn't offer to move any of their shit aside, didn't offer to help me down (common courtesy, one would think), didn't stop the messy splashing of plaster they were doing, didn't even move the huge honking pile of shit off the stairwell that was not only an obstruction but actually dangerous as well. I stood, they stared, aaaand...impasse.

"I picked the wrong day to wear black", I quipped. (crickets)


"I'll just take the back stairs", I said, after the pregnant and very uncomfortable pause of them doing fucking nothing to help me whatsoever though their mess.

So, I went to the back door of our apartment, only to find that, while I can very securely lock the door from the inside, I can't actually lock it from the outside. Key. Fits in lock. Doesn't turn. Won't lock. FUCK! So my choices were: leave apartment unlocked and unarmed (yeah, that's a big hell no) or get filthy going downstairs.

I called in to work to say I'd be late.

So, I don't know about you, but when I have on the perfect outfit (and it was perfect for my mood for the day) the idea of changing said perfect outfit is nothing less than crazy making. What does one wear, I ask, that somehow will look ok for work, but also allow you to possibly get covered in plaster and dust and shit at the same time? And also, will make you feel as good as the outfit you were just wearing and are now forced to change out of?

Well, as I found out, there is no such outfit, so I just changed into a cardigan, tweed jacket and jeans and rubbed my way out of the building, pissed off, harried, flustered and late.

I got to work to find surprises on my desk: a pair of earrings as a thank you gift for a dinner the previous week, and a beautiful pink rose, wrapped in cellophane with a ribbon around it.

The rose had no card. No identifying anything. Nothing. Just a beautiful flower on my desk.

I still have no idea who its from. I asked all my friends at work, anyone I might have done a favor for, anyone who might want to mess with me, anyone who I have spent time with or ever hung out with. Nope, nada, no one. And no one saw anyone come in with a rose, and no one saw anyone leave it.

A total and complete mystery.

Which I really rather love? But am also totally flummoxed by.

What's entertaining is all the girls are like "Ooo, secret admirer!" (I wish) and all the guys are like "Who's fucking with you?" (more likely). I'm thinking it is a thank you for something I did, which I am not sure what I did, but thank you for thanking me, whoever you are. It's beautiful and smells wonderful.

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