This Will End in Tears

So last night, I’m peacefully sleeping and minding my own damn business (like ya do) when the heater starts making a horrible, I’m gonna die kind of noise.  Now, here at Ye Olde Apartment Complex, we have those cheap-ass motel-style units where you twist the knobs around — one in the living room and one in the back bedroom (which has an extremely white-trash vent from it cut through the wall to the other bedroom — I kid you not).  The one in the bedroom has been partially defunct for over a year — it only blows hot for a little while, then switches to cold, so it’s only useful as an air conditioner.  The Now-Deceased Landlord told me there was nothing wrong with it, and I couldn’t get drunk enough to communicate with him on his level, so I just gave up — I usually sleep with the A/C on anyway.

But now… now the one in the living room is making a noise.  Of course, it runs pretty much constantly, so it may just need a rest…  Hopefully that will fix it ’cause I desperately do NOT want to have to talk to Evil-Not-Really-Our-Landlady (she’s still got the note up that says “office closed, go fuck yourselves”).  She’s a people person.

On an unrelated note, I have made a very upsetting discovery.  After “Jersey Shore” made me want fried pickles, I was horrified to find that all the places around here where I can get such a thing are SEASONAL.  That translates into:  Not Open Until April.  Who authorized that???  Fried pickles know no season!  Now the closest place to get some would be the Hofbrauhaus in Newport, KY… like 3 or 4 hours from here.  Don’t think I won’t go.

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9 Comments

Filed under La Vida Loca, Ye Olde Apartment Complex

9 responses to “This Will End in Tears

  1. Jersey Shore also made me crave fried pickles. It also made me think about stewed oranges.

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  2. Dear Sweet Mama

    I still think you and BL should bring some type of tenant’s action and take over the place – hey, it’s the in thing to do – have you seen Tunisia and Egypt lately?

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    • She’s put up another one of her threatening little notes about everybody’s satellite dishes again — this after one of the hillfok in the next building just got theirs put up! I’m gonna get a bucket o’ margaritas and a space heater and sit on the porch and watch the fun!

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  3. Oh, man. It’s as if you’re in a long-distance relationship with fried pickles. My girlfriend visited this past weekend, and I won’t see her again until mid-March.

    Perhaps I will fill the void with pickles. Wait. That sounds dirty.

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  4. Fried pickles are just wrong. You can’t fry things, and call yourself an American at the same time, unless said thing is on a stick. And I don’t buy that the pickle IS a stick.

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    • Fried pickles fall into the fried green tomatoes kind of category, because you slice them up before you fry them — however, I might be convinced to eat a whole fried dill pickle if it was put on a stick like a corn dog (mmmmm, corn dogs…)

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  5. Dear Sweet Mama

    I had a fried pickle for the first time yesterday when I was at lunch with all the too old to go to church ladies and gentlemen who still go out and have lunch once a month. In fact, I cut up pieces and everyone had some. I felt you should not die without having one and some of those people are close, if you get my meaning. It was very good. But, as I told them, we in the South believe it ain’t worth eatin’ if it ain’t worth deep frying.

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