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Where the heck did March go? I want to say I’m shocked but can’t because I watched it go, day by day. In retrospect I should have taken my own advice and checked my horrorscope (yes, you read that right…horror) as in not good. I found out that Mercury was retrograde and that alone accounted for the craziness of the month. That link’s for you if want a quick read on Mercury retrograde.

If you’re not into astrology, I understand, neither am I really. But like praying to St. Anthony when I’ve lost something, I’m inclined to believe in energy. Since we can’t see the energy, it seems occasionally someone manages to identify a source of power/energy and enables others to focus on it by giving it a name or location. I know, sounds all new age-y, hippie-ish, and crazy California. My Father would think so.

But seriously, remember when I went to see the head of ortho at Cedars-Sinai and have him check out my knee? Well, in talking to him, he mentioned the fact that he was Jewish, had a huge ego and despite that still prayed to St. Anthony whenever he lost something. So there’s something going on with that. Just pointing that out….

Now where was I? Oh, yes, the furnace/gas event was followed by the pilot light on the water heater going out for no reason. Turn the shower on, wait the usual time, but only lukewarm to cool water is coming out. Now, I have an appointment I must go to and I haven’t showered in two days. My hair is that limp, straight as a poker, blonde type that shows an oil slick if not washed every day. So I leapt into the shower to catch any hint of warmth that’s left. It has to be the quickest shower I ever took. Didn’t even bother with conditioner, just soap up the hair and rinse. I figured the shampoo and rinse would have to do since I wasn’t staying to scrub the bod.

Photo Source

Photo Source. Unknown.

Dried off, threw on my flannel robe and crawled into bed under the layers of covers in hopes of warming up.

This is what my bathroom mirror "should" have looked like after a shower.

This is what my bathroom mirror “should” have looked like after a shower. It didn’t.

Finally I did and quickly combed and dried my hair. Ffffrrreeeezzzziiinnggg. But at last dry and warm, I dressed and rushed off to my appointment.

Upon my return, I call Nubs twice about the problem.  After four hours, no response. I’m sure her excuse is going to be that she’s too busy showing available rentals to return my call. So the third time I left the following message in a very sweet, polite voice:  “I’m afraid you’re too busy with the other properties for rent so I will call you in the morning and if I have no response, I will be forced to bother Eric with a call, which I hate to do.”

Amazingly (not), she called back in ten minutes. Her response? The usual. She’ll try to get hold of her guys. Now, mind you, it’s six p.m. so what are the odds she’ll pull that off? Slim to none. And, surprise (not really), I’m right. She says they’ll be here in the a.m. which I knew would happen.

Morning dawns. The noon hour comes and goes. Tea time passes. No guys. Finally at six she calls and says one can come by at about eight p.m. I know full well she’s counting on my saying it’s too late. But surprise again, my response is “fine, send him over”. I’m sure she’s muttering “drats” at the other end of the phone.

I really should have titled the post about the furnace “The Nubian Chronicles, Episode One”. If you’re a regular reader, you know how I try to see things in a positive light and not dwell in negativity. Well, it just seems easier to keep my sanity and not scream 🙂 if I can tell a tale humorously. Somehow, using this title works for me and I don’t dread my next encounter with Nubs or her people. Am I crazy? Perhaps. But it makes me smile and diffuses the stress and rage that, I’m sure, send my cortisol and blood pressure sky high.

Next day, Tito shows up at 9:30 a.m. but…without matches. (I’m rolling on the floor laughing at this point, seriously folks). He asks if I have any. Why no. I don’t. (I actually do but I’ve become fed up with workmen who show up without tools and wind up borrowing my flashlights, shovels, screwdrivers, pliers, ladder, well the list is endless.)

Photo Source. He has plenty of matches.

Photo Source. He has plenty of matches….

So he asks if I have some newspaper. No. How about a note pad? Okay, I’ll bite. His “brilliant” idea is to turn the gas stove on, light the paper on fire and then walk through the kitchen out the back door to the little closet containing the water heater with this flaming object. Seriously. Of course by the time he gets there the entire piece of paper is in flames and he can’t get it in the little slot, so he drops it. (See my eyes rolling at this point….) Next he makes a tube of paper, lights it on fire and repeats same failure. He goes in for number three and spots my tongs by the stove. Grabs them without asking and is off again. This time he succeeds thanks to the tongs.

So he closes the little door on the water heater closet and starts to leave. I stepped right into his path. Not so fast buddy, clean up the mess of burnt paper and put the tongs in the sink so I can wash it. But he doesn’t have anything to put the mess into. I relent and hand him an open Trader Joe’s bag with instructions to put it in the garbage can outside. With that I bid him a fond fair-well.

As far as March and it’s madness, The Nubian Chronicles will continue (yes, there’s more, this is where the month of March went) in the next post and involve the actual landlord, Eric the Red as Nubers calls him. It’s where I teach him a plumbing skill. Yes, me, believe it or not. 🙂

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