This week may go down as the record all-time, shittiest, horrible, disasterous weeks ever. And it’s only Tuesday. Tuesday but feels like Monday. I think every fucking day this week is going to feel like Monday. CAN SOMEONE PLEASE TOSS ME INTO NEXT WEEK NOW? Jesus. This whole damned week can just fuck itself.
First of all, I’m at war again with Dante, our 14-year-old dog, and it’s my damned fault. For weeks he was lying around the house, barely able to get up, peeing himself and generally acting like he was dying. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel but felt guilty about all the death stuff because I’ve never actually had a pet die on me and burial of pets just seems AWFUL and messy and I remember the last time one of my mother’s animals died the whole family had to get involved and there was screaming and crying and blood and holy shit, no thanks. So. Because I felt bad and inconvenienced by the excessive use of paper towels I was using to clean up his messes, I made an appointment at the vet.
Then the vet gave Dante magic pills that gave him all his powers back, turned him into a galloping horse and also makes him shit on the floor 90 times a day out of excitement and so while I think it’s best to now maybe toss out all the magic pills, I give them to him anyway because the Mr. is happy that his best friend isn’t acting like Captain Death anymore but I swear, whenever Mr. H leaves the room, Dante shits on the floor, looks at me, winks and whispers, YOU FUCKING LOSE.
So there’s that going on this week.
Then yesterday was complete shit and the badness has just snowballed from there. I had to finally make the appointment to have the kitchen people come to view the results of my cooking skills (which you can re-read here if you so desire), as I finally told my landlord, who was completely fine about it and more concerned with my health, if I was hurt and how my Christmas was.
Which means she’s not German. She cannot be German because her first instinct was not to punish me or teach me a lesson or turn on me. It was like a hug through email and now I feel like I owe her a goddamned gift for not kicking me out of her house.
Anyway. I should have figured that it wasn’t a brilliant idea to have the Kutchen Grob people come to my house at 9am to look around, tell me how I’ve damaged the house, how they’re going to fix it and how much it’ll cost me. No sane person starts their week with that sort of torment.
“You know they’re going to make you pay for a whole new kitchen,” was everyone’s very helpful commentary last week when I said I would be dealing with this on Monday. They being Germans in general because they all (Yes, I am going to generalize like an asshole. I don’t care) would rather you fix anything broken it its entirety than just the piece that’s broken. The lightbulb in the fridge is broken? Start hunting for a new cooling system. Stained the floor due to flooding? Don’t wash it. Buy a new damned floor. Broke your finger? Your whole damned arm is going in a cast. The Germans refuse to do anything half-assed and this always has a way of testing my sanity and my checkbook.
The man who came to look at my kitchen shook his head when he saw the burn.
“This is not good.” He sighed.
I know it’s not fucking good, which is why it’s been hiding under a pretty place mat thing and flowers for months.
“You are going to need a whole new kitchen.” He was not even apologetic by this. I was going to smash something.
“Why.” I asked flatly and with a hint of I THINK YOU ARE FUCKING BULLSHIT. When the Germans lay down the law, I don’t even expect a compromise. I just want the details so I have a reason to start hating.
“Because if we try to just fix that piece, we will not be able to fit it all back together.”
Apparently carpentry or remodeling or PUZZLE MAKING was not a strong point for this company.
“So the whole thing?” I looked around. My landlord was going to be pumped about her new kitchen.
“Or we can make that piece into a marble cutting board for her and no new counters.” Well, now there was an idea. A fancy cutting board right next to the stove. Somehow I had a feeling my landlord would choose the new kitchen.
“How much?”
“We’ll do work in three weeks. 2100 euro.” Which is like a million dollars.
So fuck me. Fuck me and fuck this week already. I will never use appliances again.
Now. To make myself feel better, I googled, “Ryan Gosling topless from Crazy, Stupid, Love.” Yes, topless men tend to cheer me up. Topless Ryan Gosling makes me want to diddle myself. And so. It was either that or Chow dog puppies and I felt like today I deserved to see some goddamned pecs and sex tunnels. So kill me.
Ladies, you're welcome.
The Heather Chronicles 