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.



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.


  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?


    • 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!


  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.


  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.


    • 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…)


  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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