Humanity Overload



The day before yesterday my neighbors, the only ones I like, emailed me to tell me they were going to have a moving sale and invited me to come. Yes, my favorite neighbors are moving OUT, AWAY, BACK TO CIVILIZATION. Yes, I see it as a betrayal, although I'm more envious and understanding than offended. Naturally, being the queen of garage/yard/estate/moving sales I immediately volunteered the use of my signs and tables. They said, "Bring some stuff to sell and join us!" How could I pass that up?? I had been planning a garage sale all summer, but never got around to it. Maybe I can sell a few things and lighten my materialistic load.

I have to say it was the most stressful garage sale I have ever encountered. First, they just wanted to get rid of stuff so everything was cheap. Before we even opened, people were grabbing things and bundling them for a better price...the few things I brought just started disappearing!

"So how much did you get for my silk scarf?"

"What silk scarf?"

"The one that woman is carrying away with her?"

My friend began screaming at the woman who is about ten feet away and heading to her car, "Did you buy that? Come back here! How much did you buy it for???"

I frantically whisper to her, "Don't worry about it! Not important! We'll figure it out later."

The Hispanic woman returned with her whole family in tow, embarrassed beyond belief and with fear in her eyes tried to explain in broken English she bought all of it for $32.00.

At one point my friend told Woman Number One she would save the living room set so she could run home across the street to get money, then sold it to Woman Number Two as Woman Number One was racing back up the walkway. Woman Number One yelled "You are so rude!" to my friend and stomped away. Woman Number Two returned to get more of the cushions and my friend tried to give her back her money so she could sell it to Woman Number One, but Woman Number Two said she already paid for it and most of it is in her truck, HELL NO! It's MINE!

In addition to the interesting customer service style, I tried to give my friends tips like don't use a money box, well, OK, if you must, but don't leave it unattended. Where is the money box? Are you sure you want to leave it on the table on the other side of the yard unattended? or Since there is nothing for sale in the house, don't let people in to wander around freely or you might lose your cell phone, iPod, Kindle or anything left on the counters or tables, uh, hmm...do you know those people who just walked into your living room? They were too hyperactive to listen. After a while I felt like I was babysitting grown-ups and being obnoxiously bossy so I just shut up and tried to keep an eye on everything including the merchandise which was impossible.

Good GOD! I was about to tear my hair out, but I should have expected it. As delightful as my friends are, they weren't very organized and this sale was just a means to an end. I think they might have been as happy to throw it all in the garbage. It was chaotic. I should have known. Lesson learned.

And then there were all the neighbors. A yard sale is cause for celebration in our little town so all the people I work very hard to avoid most of the year are now in my face. By 3pm nearly everything was sold and I was exhausted.  More mentally and emotionally than physically.

After the sale, I headed to the hardware store and who do I run into but the Rapist of Rathole, formerly known as the Sleazeball Construction Scammer. What a way to end the day. No, I didn't confront him. It was difficult to hold my tongue and every time I see him I feel uncontrollable rage, but I walked away without saying a word. I'm working on forgiving him and letting the universe take care of it. Still, the need to unload the stress forced me to scream what I wanted to say to him in the confines of my van. I berated and humiliated him all the way home.

By that time all I wanted to do was drag myself to safety, lock the gate behind me, lock the door behind me, and seclude myself in the isolation of my fortress. I did not want to see another living soul for at least a week and I wished I was living in the middle of forty acres...surrounded by a moat...filled with crocodiles.

Why am I telling you this story? It got me thinking if I can't handled one day of neighbors, how on earth would I be able to live in a eco-village with chemically-sensitive neighbors in close proximity? We as MCSers deal with all kinds of illness symptoms that often make us not-so-sociable and down-right-difficult a lot of the time. We are compatibility-impaired in general. Is my eco-village dream even rational for most chemically-sensitive people? Neighborly encounters on a daily basis and unable to get away from people...that sounds like my personal hell. I like my option of isolation and I'm not sure I'm willing to give it up for a fantasy.

Hmmmm....?

I'm re-thinking my MCS eco-village fantasy. After it gets built and started, I'll step away and go live on my own acreage next door!

 

By the way, the working name for my fantasy is Canary Haven Eco-Village. What do you think?

Registered Sex Offenders, or My Construction Karma

When I first considered moving to this area I checked the Registered Sex Offender list for my county. I wanted to make sure I wasn't going to be living next to a rapist. I always think my instincts would flare up if I ever encountered one or if my registered-sex-offender radar would send me invisible warnings to protect me.  I remember looking at the mug shots and thinking, I hope I remember these faces. Or at least remember to check back if some sleaze ball took to slithering around my house being friendly. I did check the list a few years ago, again, just as a precaution. I really don't care for any of my smelly neighbors, but they at least they aren't rapists.

Remember the sleaze ball, lying-sack-of-shit construction worker the local hardware store recommended to me last year? I just found out not only is he an ex-convict, but he's a Registered Sex Offender. LEVEL 3. Not level one or level two, but level 3. That means is they expect him to re-offend in the future.  All the other listed sex offenders posing for their mug shots look fairly embarrassed by their predicament, perhaps remorseful. Not this guy. Sleaze Ball's mug shot shows  him with glaring eyes and a sarcastic grin on his face that makes me want to slap him. I'm still livid that those hardware flunkies sent this low-life to my house and especially now since I have found out not only is he a thief, but a rapist. He's been on the registry for as long as I've lived here, but I did not recognize him and my sex-offender radar failed me completely. I'm also pretty horrified that every time I see him I confront him about the money he owes me for the lousy paint job he did...

Recently I ran into him again at another hardware store out of town. He looked at me and almost started to smile thinking he recognized me. Only when he saw the glare in my eyes and the scowl on my face did he realize who I was. At that point he averted his eyes and quickly walked away.

Within minutes he walked back up to the checkout counter where I was and got into the lane behind me, keeping his back toward me. I glanced in that direction and saw him. I thought, Don't confront him. It'll just make you angry.

As I was heading out the door I glanced back over at him again and saw he was buying a can of paint. All rationality left me. My evil alter ego burst forth. I spun around and marched right up beside him.

"SO...WHO ARE YOU RIPPING OFF THESE DAYS?"

No answer.

"WHO. ARE. YOU. RIPPING. OFF? GIVE ME THEIR NAME SO I CAN WARN THEM.

We were standing in front of the checkout girl and there was a whole line of people behind him. I was yelling loud enough for everyone to hear.

He didn't look up, but whispered, "Just walk away."

"OR WHAT??? WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? YOU OWE ME A REFUND. PAY IT AND I'LL WALK AWAY."

He whispered again, "Walk away."

"YOU OWE ME MONEY, ASSHOLE, FOR SCREWING UP THE PAINT JOB ON MY HOUSE."

He ignored me. I started walking away. Knowing I was walking away, because he's such a coward, he mumbled something sideways over his shoulder at me. I have no idea what he said but I recognized the whiny, sarcastic tone he used to use with me. I'm pretty sure he didn't know I have superhero hearing. I rushed back at his side.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?"

"Nothing." It was a wimpy little whisper.

"SO, YOU WERE MUMBLING AND WHINING INCOHERENTLY, AS USUAL.  ASSHOLE. YOU OWE ME MONEY."

I left.

What the HELL is wrong with me? I'm normally so non-confrontational. This is YATNA.

Yatna, the brave
Yatna, the reckless
Yatna, the crazy
Yatna, takin' no shit from sleaze bag

Good lord, don't ever screw me over unless you want the banshee from hell in your face with every casual encounter. I really didn't seem to have any control over myself. If I had, I might have thought of more interesting insults to throw at him.

Then I find out he's a sex offender.

This just makes me highly motivated to move...keeps me focused. And I'm not hiring any construction workers this year. I don't care how highly recommended they come.

Yatna will do all construction herself.

Construction Slimebag

Good news! I was in the hardware store yesterday buying construction supplies for the projects I must complete this summer. Unfortunately, since there are no decent construction workers within a 50 mile radius, I'm the one that gets to sling wood, hammer nails, paint house parts, and haul heavy things. Blah.

Joe, the hardware helper and village gossip, asks how I've been and I tell him I just completed fixing the mess that slimebag ignorant sleaze did last summer [thank you, Joe, for recommending him]. It's been my mission in the past year to let everyone know every chance I get what a fine job that scuzbucket did on my house. And to make sure they don't forget, remind them. Joe tells me slimebag is no longer around. I asked if someone finally sent him back to prison where he belongs. Joe laughs and says no, he went to Portland. (Warning to Portlandians...)

"Hooray!" I cheered. I guess my one-woman anti-advertising campaign worked. More than likely no one would hire him around here. Word spreads fast in small towns. I knew that.

So I went home and looked up his state license online. As you may recall, I turned him into the authorities and he was forced to get a license in October of 2012. He got his first infraction in November. HAHAHA He didn't last long. Accountability is a back stabber to dishonest people.

Got to run. Time to roll out a five-gallon bucket of aluminum coating on my roof....

Bad Construction Karma = Me

Saint Barbara

I've come to accept my bad construction karma. It's just the way it is. Any project will cost me twice the amount of money as any other customer and there is something about me that makes men want to rip me off.  I have addressed most of my construction issues in my former post from July 2012 entitled, "I'd Rather Smell Like a Man."


I just need to process my latest bad experience now.


Why I have to hire construction workers:

1.)  I own a house. I'm seriously wondering why this is a good idea. I know with owning my own home I don't have to deal with stinky, stupid landlords and I have control over what happens, but at the same time, I never had to deal with construction before so I am now questioning if owning my own house is safer than renting? It's nonstop. Relentless. Get one thing done and another problem rears its ugly head demanding to be fixed. So is home ownership worth it? Wouldn't it be safer, less expensive, less stressful, and less toxic to rent and not be responsible for maintenance?

2.) If I just let the repairs go, my house will fall apart creating twice the problems which may also contribute to air space contamination and health issues.

3.) For a woman, I think I'm pretty strong, but I'm not as strong as a construction worker so it takes me twice as long to complete a project. If at all! Some things I cannot do because I can't lift it or move it. I watch men handle drills with one hand and drill a screw in seconds. It takes me holding the tool with two hands and using all my weight to push and often I STILL can't get the damn screw in the wood!

4.) I'm usually not as skilled or knowledgeable as a construction worker so I screw up more often so it takes me twice as long and twice as much money to complete a project.

5.) The chemicals they use for whatever they are doing are toxic and make me ill. Since they can usually complete a job in half the time, I'd rather they breathe the fumes instead of me.

6.) I don't have most of the tools and they are too expensive to buy or rent. Even the ones I could rent, many of them are too heavy to lift or move, let alone handle them!

7.) I want things fixed or improved to make my life easier and more enjoyable.

8.) I don't always have the energy or stamina to do physical labor, especially big projects.



The problem with hiring construction workers:

1.) Most of them stink of chemicals. Even if they say they don't, they do.

2.) Most of them are unprofessional, untrustworthy, and incompetent sleazeballs.

3.) Their sleaziness often costs me twice the money.

4.) Their incompetence costs me twice the time.

5.) The whole experience is more often than not very stressful.

5.) I can't concentrate when they are here working so this is a huge imposition on my time affecting my income.


Obviously my very good construction experience was followed by a very bad one and I am processing. Processing helps me not to seek revenge, and therefore, put myself in the line of fire. I've been shopping for a gun. Well, to clarify, this latest construction worker was a master manipulator and come to find out, a convicted felon. I was warned by the police not to mess with him. Great. I'm trying very hard to fly low and avoid being a target, but I'd really rather rip this smug, condescending, arrogant, ignorant slimeball a new asshole and report him to the powers than be. The Labor and Industries representative said if I report him for ruining my roof eaves with a lousy paint job they will fine him $1,000 for every address I can provide because he isn't a licensed contractor. I know of four addresses he's worked at. I can find more in this little town. Every time I see his truck out in front of a neighbor's house I wonder if he's pretended to know what he's doing with them, too. Yeah, I know. Out of all the people I hired or got quotes from this summer, he's the only one whose license I thought I checked but didn't. Damn. I've been bad mouthing his name all over town. If he shows up at my house unhappy with my anti-recommendations, I want to be armed. Besides, I'm American. Guns R Us.

But a gun isn't going to help me if he chooses to seek the ultimate revenge. What would the ultimate revenge be? What am I most afraid of? Perfume. Cologne. My greatest fear is if he completely understood the ramifications of perfume exposure and throws perfume on me or on my property. I find that so strange that is my greatest fear. Let him beat the crap out of me or shoot me with a gun, but perfume exposure scares the bejeebies out of me. I'm sure this is totally incomprehensible to the average, non-chemically sensitive. I'm hoping as sleazy as he is, he's also not real smart and he didn't register or understand the seriousness of my fragrance-free requests. One of his workers smelled like a toxic waste dump and I told him to get off my property.


So what to do? Continue to lay low or demand my money back and deal with whatever repercussions come flying my way?


I decided I needed some kind of divine intervention so I checked online to find out who is the patron saint of construction. Saint Barbara.

BARBARA?

BARBARA?

Wow.  I should have known. Barbara was the name of my evil babysitter. Barbara was the name of that ugly doll I hated and gave to my little brother in hopes he would tear her head off. (I named her after my evil babysitter.)  Barbara was the name of my wicked stepmother. I have bad Barbara karma, too.

I am so DOOMED...