|new apartment updates
||[May. 22nd, 2007|11:23 am]
A short skinny fiftyish man with terrible teeth and a scraggly gray ponytail and cigarette breath, who reminded me powerfully of my high school Greek teacher, showed up to patch the hole in the screen and reattach the bathroom light fixture and put a showerhead in the shower and explain that the reason the blinds don't work is because they are secured by a sneaky little catch at the bottom, and promise to send someone around later to look at the stove and oven. So that's good. Also he is ordering a storm window for the window with no storm window. Huzzah, functionality!
My parents came by with my great-grandmother's kitchen table and chairs, and my rocking chair from college, and yet more bookshelves, and folding chairs they got free with purchase points from the grocery store, and some daisies and larkspur and Queen Anne's lace in a vase ("looks like your china pattern, see?"), and a newspaper article about black-eyed Susans for the wedding (from the farmer's market, we're getting them in tin pails, it's going to be great).
We are going with a pescetarian reception, by the way. Shrimp hors d'oeuvres and vegetarian goodness. My parents didn't make a fuss, beyond asking me why if I have such a powerful revulsion towards shrimp (it's the only food I hate so much I can't even stand eating anything that's ever touched it or been cooked near it) I was willing to have IT at my wedding reception but not meat. I patiently explained that while I find shrimp utterly loathsome and cannot bear the thought of eating them, I have no moral objection to killing them, because they are clearly insects (numerous legs, antennae, eyes on stalks, freakish crackly exoskeleton, scuttle-type locomotion, generally vomitous) and therefore it is okay to kill them just as it is okay to stomp on cockroaches, and what people want to do with them after they are dead is their own concern and none of mine, as long as they don't try to make ME eat them or touch them in any way. My mom evinced some heretofore unsuspected scruples about dietary restrictions in the Old Testament, which I think is more a function of my mom's superstition than anything, but I told her she didn't have to eat them either.
Also we got a couch from the Salvation Army store (along with ten paperbacks for 25 cents each [!!!]), so we have ample seating now. Raqui and Annie came over pre-couch (they're about five minutes away now) and brought baklava from the Greek festival and I made them rooibos tea and we all chattered for awhile about wedding planning and cartoons and how ridiculous Lost has gotten. I'm sad Raqui's moving away.