2005-05-23 - 4:30 p.m.

Does anyone know if Jamba Juice does a Ritalin smoothie? I am so overwhelmed at work with stuff that needs to be done that I can’t keep anything straight. Combined with the stresses of trying to plan a wedding in the city cheap… I have officially lost my shit. I actually had a meltdown today when I got back with my lunch and they had put dressing on my salad. It’s a fact that I have never liked salad dressing and even if there is just a little bit on there I may as well be eating a bowl of salad dressing because that is all I can taste. So I took it back. The woman behind the counter just could not wrap her head around eating a salad without dressing. She kept asking if I wanted a different kind. About two seconds before I reached across the counter and slapped her she understood. I am sure she spit in my salad.
Enter uncomfortable segue-
When P and I moved into our apartment we were happy that it came with an air conditioner for the living room. Granted it would have been considered state of the art around the time Gasohol was sold… but it meant we didn’t have to buy a new one. We were less happy when we found out it shorted the entire apartment out if it ran for more than twenty minutes. Inexplicably we have a clause in our lease that states we are ultimately responsible for its upkeep. Whatever, that thing had to go! As luck would have it our friend J moved to Australia and offered us the stuff he wasn’t taking. His brand new air conditioner was the first thing we tagged. It has sat in our closet since January because P didn’t want to deal with it in the winter. This weekend we decided that it was time to make the change.
Being an old school air con, it is roughly the size and weight of a Yugo. P and I trying to get it down five flights of stairs was full on comedy; mostly because I insisted on wearing my yellow vinyl gloves. What? There was pigeon poop all over it I wasn’t going to touch that with MY BARE HANDS! Anywho, it was an awkward shape so while P was holding the back half I had to crouch down like a humpback to carry the top half. We get down to the ground floor and open up the vestibule doors and our half wit neighbor stands in the doorway blocking us just watching. First I was pissed he didn’t even offer to help (I am a delicate lotus blossom) and second why would he stand in the doorway? That is the last time I open the door for him when it’s raining. I’m just saying.
Last Wednesday P and I decided to give the happy clappys another chance. We honestly thought that their traditional service might not be so… well, happy clappy. And we were right… sort of. It was still a little bit too granola for our tastes. Plus, during the sermon the Reverend sat down and asked us to help her understand the passage she had just read.* I instantly felt like I had just walked into the final exam of the class I hadn’t bothered to attend all semester. But I needn’t have worried… the god squad was all up in there. For about 15 minutes there was an impromptu scriptures lesson with the holy rollers offering up what they thought Jesus really meant. I have issues with this. I know she was trying to get us to really think about what she was saying and not take it at face value. However, it is a slippery slope when people start making their own interpretations of the bible. Passages get taken out of context and twisted to fit one’s own personal beliefs. This my friends is how fundamentalism begins.
And anyway they want just as much money as the other one. So it looks as if P and I will vow to love each other forever and ever under the giant portrait of JW Marriott. Good times indeed.
*is it just me or should she already know the answer to this… you know having gone to seminary and all.

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