I took it upon myself to look up the weather all across the U. S., just to see if anyone else is as dreadfully scorched as NYC. I am now jealous. Of course, Northern Michigan is at a high of 70º and a low of 58º (ºF people, 'cuz I'm American and change is bad). This is generally the time of year when summer is in full swing and everyone is enjoying Lake Superior... as I wish I was. Right now. Los Angeles will not (and from the looks of it will never) stray from it's customary 72º. Here's where my confusion starts: New Mexico is sitting comfortably at 69º... isn't that supposed to be a desert!? New York is a COASTAL city! Shouldn't the ocean be buffering temperatures and weather, or does "lake effect" only refer to actual lakes (and not just water in general)? Either way, my compulsion to flee the East Coast only grow more severe as the days plod slowly onward.
Of course, none of the necessary packing/cleaning/selling has been taken care of. I did, however, get on the phone with my Dad a few nights ago to search for flights on United. I'm glad he called, otherwise that flight would have been booked last-minute. After doing a quick search for a one-way ticket (which I have never purchased in my life), we found one for $98...
...WHAT? $98!?!? That's only $115 with taxes and fees added on! I have NEVER found a flight that cheap, let alone one to the U. P. I am both baffled and elated by this. I couldn't make the purchase fast enough. I made sure to read everything aloud to my father as I went, just to make sure I had the date/year/airport/whatever-else-could-I-could-get-wrong right. Was it because the flight was one-way? I don't think so, because that price was sandwiched in the list by the usual $200-$300 tickets. I've decided to stop questioning my good fortune and just accept that sometimes things work out. Dad was trying to figure out how to get me up there cheaply, either through miles, coupons, or any other various tricks we've learned through decades of obnoxious air travel. I guess, sometimes, it pays to just cross your fingers and pony up the dough.
Now that I've cooled down, I'm going to take it upon myself to put away the laundry that I miraculously did a few days ago. I'm not supposed to use the washer/dryer in the back of my apartment, at least, that's what my landlord said when I first moved in. It makes no sense to me. Why do I have to drag my junk up the street and around the corner when I could just walk a few feet and get my business taken care of? I'm sure there are legitimate reasons, but during the last month, I ignored the request and did one load of late-night laundry while everyone was asleep. I even covered my tracks by putting everything as it was before I did my load (my one, small load). No problems. However, when I tried again a few days later, I took out all the dry clothing that was just sitting in the washer and put mine in. Luckily, I did not toss in the detergent first, because I put down the top to get it started, only to hear a faint buzzing accompanied by no activity. The machine was either broken or Vera (the lady of the house) had turned off the machine from the inside or something. No matter, I just removed my stuff and replaced everything as I had found it. I took my clothes in their makeshift Samsonite hamper and left them in my kitchen with the doors leading to the laundry room and outside left open behind me for air circulation. The following morning, as I was closing the doors (once I realized the air outside was apocalyptic), I was greeted with a handwritten note taped to the cabinet above the washer. "Please, stop using my washer + dryer."
How did she know? Did she awaken during my last 3am load and hear the dryer going? If that were the case, she probably would have said something the following morning. What made her think I had done my laundry that night (especially when I hadn't)? Did she notice her clothes weren't in the exact same washer configuration in which they had previously been left? Was the machine dial not in it's customary position? The loud, masculine Croatian woman never struck me as anal retentive or OCD. Then I realized my suitcase full of dirty clothes was sitting right next to the door in my kitchen, which I'm sure she saw, because most of my apartment is visible through the kitchen door. If that's the case, then it's awfully presumptuous of her. I might have been cleaning my closet the night before. Frankly, she had no proof. I'm venturing an educated guess that I'm smarter than her (and her husband... and teenage boy... combined... not that I'm a genius, I just give them very little credit), and that, if I had actually finished my load, she would never have known.
Here's the thing: I discovered that note only moments after blithely walking upstairs and giving them my cheerful, Midwestern official months notice that I was moving out for a "job" in L.A. She had looked at me, then muttered "I wish you the best of luck" as she walked back into to her house. No eye contact. Bitch. I refuse to give any indication that I know the note is for me, or that I've even seen it. It's still taped to the cabinet. That's what happens when you don't give your awesome tenant (who always pays rent on time and is very pleasant... to your face) usage of your laundry, heating, or even the ability to install AC (because you've barred the only window). He leaves you.
Perhaps I'm taking my heat-grouch out on them. Whatever, I'm sure they don't lose any sleep over it. I'm guessing from the Air Conditioning drip that hits me every time I leave my apartment, they're sleeping like rocks. Wish I could say the same.
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