tedwords

"Fashion is the armor to survive the reality of everyday life." Bill Cunningham

Breathe...breathe..breathe...

Oh, hi! I'm just sitting here reliving the time spent yesterday helping Corb's mom prepare the apartment for her 44-year old boyson that apparently has become our responsibility, too.

We were at the apartment for two hours--and if it had been up to Corb's mother, we would have been there for twice that. That woman had five of us there ready to take on the horrors of a relatively nicely cleaned small four room apartment. We spent the entire time trying not to get in each others way.

Oh! It was VITALLY important that we get there to help out, because there was oh so much to do! For example, her car was just crammed with stuff that needed to be moved into the apartment. That is, if your idea of crammed consists of two chairs and some cleaning equipment.

And! The apartment totally had SO much that needed work. For example, while we were there, she wanted us to:

--Add a privacy film over all the lower windows because the landlord allegedly wouldn't allow for curtains, and only had blinds that could be open and shut, meaning people might be able to look in to...what? Watch Greg microwave food naked? I dunno. We had to fight her to only put one in, in the bathroom. She wanted more.

--Cut up a car carpet rug so that it could be placed under the kitchen sink, because the bottom of the cabinet was uneven and...what? A rug would even it out?

--Attempt to take the refrigerator doors and reverse the way they open, to provide greater ease in case Greg wanted to place a microwave near the fridge. This was attempted but not possible as the fridge did not have the correct hinges to reverse it (silly landlord).

--Dust the hanging fans because apparently a 44 year old man is incapable of doing that sort of thing.

--Oh! Oh! My favorite. The kitchen (on old Yankee sort of location) has a small ironing board that comes out of the wall. And it..gasp!...isn't painted inside! So she wanted Corb to spray paint the inside and make it look more appealing for those many times that Greg is sure to be looking to iron his clothes as a pizza delivery guy and is going to be offended by the eyesore that is apparently the inside of his ironing board storage area.

Of course, each of these ridiculous requests was accompanied by endless conversation and many different opinions about how best to do it, whether it was necessary, etc, etc. And also, many photos sent to that special little fellow Greg by his mom to show him that he had five determined little elves working as hard as could be to help get his little dream apartment whipped into shape. Because we love him so!

Tina was probably the most sensible, because when people would start to argue, she would say "Yes, you are arguing logic, but there is a crazy lady that wants you to do it, so it'll take less time if you stop arguing and get it done." I was probably the worst, because I knew that a fifth opinion was totally not helpful, and would sneak off to the deck to try and breathe and not say something offensive. Like, "this is bullshit."

After about two hours of this, I knew I had to find a way for Corb and I to get away. And Josie had asked me to sign a check that was in both of our names (even now, almost a decade divorced and she still gets things in our name), so aha! I texted her:

ME: With Corb's mom getting super frustrated. So, you need me to go over there and sign that check over to you, right?

HER: I'm at my mom's right now having dinner.

ME: You misunderstand what I am saying.

HER: Oh! Yes.

"Ooops! Like we have to go, Corb," I announced, looking at my phone. "Josie needs us to go over and sign that check."

Corb's mom frowned. "Can't you tell Josie that you need to be here for a couple of more hours?"

I tried to look sad. "Wish I could, but we have to do that and then get our suits fitted for my sister's wedding in two weeks."

"Oh..." she looked around the kitchen, desperately trying to find something to do. "Well, if you could do two more things to help Greg out...put that carpeting under the sink and line the very top draws with shelf paper."

"Well, we don't have much time..."

"Oh! Okay. If you could just do the carpeting then...I guess I will do that shelf paper myself..."

Corb's brother Scott chimed in. "Maybe Corb should do the shelf paper, since he is the tallest?"

"Yes, but he is the best rug cutter. He just NEEDS to do that! No, I guess I'LL do the shelf paper..." She sighed dramatically.

And I am not going to say that this next part was a deliberate plea to make Corb feel guilty about leaving "early" (and I only put that in quotes because a) the things being asked were so meaningless and b) he had only been ordered to come over to do two things, both of which had been accomplished), but she then proceeded to deliberately climb up a small ladder, step onto the kitchen shelf looking really uncertain, and start papering the top shelf while complaining the entire time about how shaky her hands were. I tell you, she has the mother guilt thing down perfectly.

After that charming floor show, I made sure we got out right away after Corb had finished with the rug. Corb says I sounded cranky at the end of this, and he's right. I was.

After that, we met with Josie in a church parking lot for the check signing and some venting. It felt good to vent, although she was sympathetic to Corb's mom using the moving situation as a way to pour her attention into something other than Jim. And also, appease some of the guilt Corb's mom felt over getting divorced and some of the choices Greg made in life. A sort of emotional therapy, if you will (in addition to signing on a co-signer on the apartment contract and paying part of the rent each month). But Josie also said that perhaps these are decisions the average person would want to take care of and make selections about once they actually moved in.

Josie's been dealing with her own man/boy challenges lately. She had asked her boyfriend Andrew to move out six months ago, and he left with all his stuff sitting in her basement. Finally this weekend, she got tired of texting him and him making excuses and boxed it all up, then told him he has a week to find a place to put it or it's being thrown away.

And then? Retail therapy! My sister Laurie is getting married to her partner Jen in two weeks and Laurie told us that it was a mandatory requirement from the resort that all the gents wear black suits. So we had ordered suits and had to go get fitted.

While at the suit place, I called Laurie to see what color shirts we should be getting--or ties. Turns out Laurie wasn't really the best person to answer these questions-her partner Jen was. And Jen let us know that it turns out black suits aren't a mandate at all. Or ties.

Oh well. That's okay, more creativity on our end! And after the day we had been through, I needed some sort of creative outlet.

Never underestimate the healing power of paisley.