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2005-01-22 @ 7:50 p.m.
why snow in your bedroom makes you really cool!


Okay, just a quick survey here. How many people can actually say its snowing in their bedrooms today? Show of hands? And no MG, I’m not talking about your wife being frigid. So no? Am I the only one? Well isn’t that just my luck, especially since I’m not a skier, and I have absolutely no use for Snow in My Bedroom. None whatsoever. Not even for decorative purposes.

This morning when I woke up, I felt like I was trapped under Louie Anderson. I had like 5 blankets on my bed. I had my robe laid over the top of my head. I had on pajamas! (yes, no nude sleeping when the weather channel is predicting blizzards in your boudoir.) I even think my teddie bear was frozen to my left ear lobe. It was cold! The previous night I had sat at my computer typing with about 10 layers of clothes on. I had told my mom about how cold it was and she said I should complain to the landlord.

I don’t like my landlord. They’re an old Eye-talian couple whose only interest in my welfare is on rent day. The wife is ok. She’s sort of an old sad sack woman who trims her house for every holiday with decorations from the Dollar Store. Every flower in her garden is purposely planted in accordance to its height and color, so everything matches. And she has a voice like Joe Pesce.

The husband, Vito Corleone, I think was probably the inspiration for the movie “Grumpy Old Men”, because I have never seen that man smile, and all summer when his grandkids were over, he yelled and berated them constantly. Yay! How enjoyable. I get to relive my childhood in stereo! He’s also always been a total sourpuss to me. And I’ve never given him a reason to be. I mean, after all, I’m the attractive female tenant who does nude calisthenics with the curtains open. You would think he would liked me.

And I am probably the least complaining tenant a landlord could ever wish for. If a satellite fell out of the sky and punched a hole through the roof, I would probably just live with it, because I felt like I deserved it somehow. I’ve only complained two times since I’ve lived here. Once the toilet handle stopped functioning. And then once last winter when I came home and my apartment smelled like gas. And I really didn’t complain to him directly. I smelled gas, so I called the local power company and they came and looked at the furnace under my house. When he saw the power company guy go under the house, he came rushing out of his house and exploded in anger at me. He said I should have called him first, and what was I thinking, and he doubted whether there was anything wrong with the furnace since it was only 8 years old. He then lit into the power company guy who was just doing his job, checking for gas fumes. Nothing was ever determined on that visit. And then a month later, I smelled a funny smell again. This time Grumpy Corleone wasn’t home, so I thought it would be safe to call the power company to come check it out...AGAIN! This time my cousin came out. He works for the power company and right when he pulled up in his utility truck, Grumpy comes driving up in his mafioso-esque Cadillac. And I thought, oh shit, now he’s going to yell at me AND my cousin. But my cousin, who is a supervisor, dealt with him really well. He had discovered when he went in the basement that there was a fan not working within the furnace. Grumpy Corleone said him and his son would fix it within the next week. This was a year ago.

Fast forward to two days ago. The heat coming out of my hot water baseboard heaters was so sickly, that it was barely warm to the touch. And lets see, what else? OH yeah! Every frickin’ window in my house had thick ridges of ice clinging to them. Hey Frank, need some ice for your soda? Wait, I’ll just chip some off my bathroom window for you.

I did finally climb out of the blanket cave about 11 a.m. and headed to the bathroom. And for the first time in my life, I wished that I could stand up to pee, because sitting on that toilet seat, was about akin, to plunking my naked ass down on a giant ice cube. Fruck! So I finally decided to call the Corleones to complain. I live right behind their house, so its not like they have to travel a great distance to see what’s going on. I quickly ran around...you know, like you do when you have to clean your entire house in 2 minutes before the landlord arrives. So clothes were jammed in drawers. I quickly vacuumed up chunks of Guard Cat’s voluminous fur (she sheds terrible!!). I washed an entire sink of dishes. I even emptied the cat box. How good am I?

Fortunately Grumpy moves kind of slow, so my time stretched in 10 minutes, but he soon rung my doorbell. I was still in my jammies, unbrushed, unbathed (it was too freakin’ cold in the bathroom). I told him how cold it had been in my apartment and preceded to show him all the iced over windows. He stopped short at my bedroom door. I guess he thought he was invading the wittykitty den of iniquity, but I wanted him to see the bedroom window because it was the worst. The entire window was encased in ice. The handle was frozen. And there was an additional element which was really intriguing. It was snowing into the bedroom. There was a small pile of snow on one corner of my window ledge and you could see tiny crystals swirling around. It was obviously coming in around the edge of the window.

He cautiously backed out of my bedroom and then looked at the thermostat (which isn’t functional, as far as I can tell). He said, “Well, it says its 72 degrees in here.”

Me: Yeah, and the reason its snowing in my bedroom is??

He then went on to blame me for having all my furniture up against the baseboard heaters. Well guess what hon? They all line the entire apartment. What am I supposed to do, pile the furniture in the middle of the room and call it Feng Shui Madness?

I then said, “What about the bathroom? There’s nothing against those heaters." And he went in, stooped over, put his hand on the heater and said, “There’s heat coming out”.

Look slumlord-a-saurus, I have ice everywhere, it’s freezing ass cold in here, can you at least look at the furnace downstairs? Him: grumble, grumble, grumble, all right, grumble, I’ll, grumble, grumble, call my, grumble, son.”

FINE!


Man, trying to get an Eye-talian to part with money is really difficult evidently, because after another two hours of shivering on the couch with Guard Cat buried deep between my thighs, Mrs. Corleone finally rang my doorbell again. “We had to fix the fan in the furnace”.

Me: (to myself) Oh, you mean the one that was broken over a year ago that you never repaired???

And then she just left. Didn’t even say she was sorry for the inconvenience or gee, can I help chip the ice off your toilet or anything.

But I knew the heat was starting to work because I could hear the water rushing through the pipes and my tacked up Kandisky poster over the piano was flopping around (the heater is underneath it and it blows it around). So I laid on the couch and watched the rest of “The Wedding Singer” with my cutie Adam Sandler. Yes, I am a weird child for thinking Adam Sandler is yummy and delicious and possible masterdebating fodder, but I am all about those dark eyes, dark curly hair and that winning goofy smile. I absolutely love that combination plus I love funny men. If you can be funny, you’ll be getting a little something special from The witty. Guaranteed! :-)


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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty

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