It's been a drama filled week in Odd Broad Land. Lots of jazz hands and leaping. Liza Minnelli even stopped by on Tuesday night to sing a rendition of New York, New York.
Mercifully, though, this flea business is almost over. After going back and forth with my infuriatingly negligent landlord, we finally came to a resolution. This was only after I threatened her with the Board of Health, of course, and informed her in writing that Hubby and I "view all of the expenses related to the health of our cat and ourselves as direct and consequential damages of her failure to treat our apartment and the building for fleas." I told her I'd spoken to legal counsel and as well as the health inspector, and she had 48 hours to take action before I set this process in motion.
She stopped talking about squirrels after that. Go figure.
Thankfully, I had a lawyer friend look over my email and help me with the terminology. I think the thing I was getting most hung up on was the fact that my landlord didn't seem to give a rat's ass that I was pregnant and my cat had gotten fleas and possibly parasites from the idiot downstairs. She wasn't looking at us as people, as Odd Broad and Hubby, but merely a rent check she collected every month. To her, we were cold hard cash, nothing more or less. Now, I sort of pride myself on being a "nice girl", and definitely have people pleasing issues, and I just couldn't comprehend why she was being such a douche bag.
In the end, I know this experience was good for me, because right now I couldn't care less about who likes me and who doesn't. Incidentally, why is it sometimes in our nature as humans to be concerned about a person liking or not liking us, when we don't even like said person in the first place? I think everyone involved in this situation is a giant, gaping asshole, so do I really care if they think I'm a hormonal hard ass? I do not. Not anymore, at least. No siree, Barbara.
This is such a freeing feeling! These days, the main thing I'm concerned about is the little wiggle worm squirming around in my belly. He deserves more, and I'm willing to have people think I'm unhinged to get it for him.
While all this was going on, I was meditating, praying and Qi Gong-ing my little heart out in an earnest attempt to stay Zen. And I was pretty calm at times, though it never lasted very long. Soon I was walking around the apartment in my pajamas and high heels (click! clickity! click! How do ya like THAT, dingleberries down below?) and spouting unholy words and sinister declarations with terrible abandon. (Wicked, bizarre proclamations, such as my landlord could drop dead tomorrow and I'd "dance on her grave.") And then I'd go back to being Zen again, with a forgiving, loving heart. Om.
The professional exterminator comes tomorrow to treat the entire building, top to bottom. We're moving out the first chance we get, of course; but for now, I'll take this little victory. I'm considering it a small win for good tenants everywhere. I plan to celebrate this occasion by consuming an entire package of Oreo cookies. (Of course, I'd probably be doing that anyway, but at least now I have a valid excuse.) xoxo
PS: This Kittie girl may have gotten fleas from the filthy pigs who live below, but she can certainly still work it for the camera. Although her expression suggests an air of pissy weariness, her spirit remains sassy and indomitable. She's on about a trillion different medications right now, which hopefully means she's on the up and up. My poor little friend.
PPS: Yes, that plant looks dead, but I watered it afterwards and it came back to life. It's been a stressful week, okay? Don't judge!
xoxo
