OK, everyone, play nice

I am in the middle of renovating my new apartment. For some reason, I thought that buying a "fixer upper" would be better because then I would be able to renovate it the way I wanted. Things seemed to be going well. I hired a contractor recommended by the Sponsor from whom I purchased my apartment. I was told that he was really good, had worked on several apartments in the building, was very attentive to details, and worked very clean. His name is Pedro.

Pedro gave me a quote for the work I wanted to have done: upgrading the wiring, sanding all the floors, skim coating all the walls and ceilings, removing the old linoleum tile on the kitchen walls, and painting all the rooms. His initial quote was quite high. I was able to bargain him down almost halfway -- I found that not returning his calls was quite effective. When I did pick up the phone, he would inevitably lower his price. I thought I had quite the bargain, until he finally sent me the description of work to be done -- it left out the electrical work. He was asking for an additional $5,000 to have a licensed electrician do the work or $2,000 for a non-licensed electrician. Poor wiring and the threat of an electrical fire really freaks me out, so I knew that I wanted to have the work done by someone who was licensed. However, $5,000 was a little high for my budget, so I found my own licensed electrician who would do the work for less. That's when the trouble started and it became Pedro vs. Pedro.

Pedro the contractor is from Mexico. Pedro the electrician is from the Dominican Republic. I was naive enough to think "Hey, they're both Latino, they'll get along." According to my contractor, Dominicans are sloppy, lazy, and can't be trusted. According to my electrician, Mexicans don't know what they are talking about.

The reason for the controversy? In order to upgrade the wiring, the electrician had to open up the walls in certain places in order to run the new power lines and also had to remove the old fixtures and receptacles so that he could upgrade them. My contractor thought that the electrician and his workers were trying to rush the job and were making the holes bigger than they needed to be. I had no idea who was right. All I know is that I had to wake up extra early last Tuesday so that I could mediate. The contractor was the first to arrive, then me, then the electrician (maybe Dominicans are tardy as well as lazy?). Without going into details, the conversation became quite heated and after the electrician asked the contractor if he was a licensed electrician (he's not, but he was an electrician in Mexico for 10 years) I had to physically separate them. I had the electrician go into the kitchen while I talked to the contractor in the living room. I felt like a preschool teacher telling one of her kids to go take a "time out." In the end, I had to pay an extra $600 in order to fix the holes.

I also had to decide on who would do the work on patching the holes -- I decided to go with my contractor since he was doing all the other plaster work already. When I called him later that afternoon to let him know, he was still upset. And he was slurring his speech. When I first met my contractor, he told me that he couldn't call me on Wednesday nights because he had to go to AA meetings. I think that the incident with the electrician caused my contractor fall off the wagon. This has been the general tone for the work the renovations. The only thing that keeps me going is the idealized image of the end product.

White is for mourning

According to Korean tradition, the mourning family wears white hemp clothes, white head dresses, and white ribbons in their hair. The Europeans that emmigrated to the USA share a different tradition of only wearing white in the summer. And I, have adopted my own tradition of limiting the color white to my unlimitless supply of Hanes white t-shirts and cotton underwear. Of course my reasons are embedded more in practicality than symbolism.

Today, I decided to deviate from the norm and wear a white buttoned down shirt sans sweater. Crazy, I know. But here are a few color mistakes I have made (and it is only 5pm): Brown coffee, red strawberry jam, tan soy sauce, black bicycle grease, orange thai ice tea and coomassie brilliant blue.

Mourn for my poor white shirt.

A little more porridge, Sir.

Part of the student bill of rights, is the right to mooch food. That means doughnuts left in conference room, pizza to attend a lecture, and leftovers from my roommates cooking experiments. It is my duty to scam meals off of my friends, who chose to earn a living instead of stay in state of perpetual adolescence. And sometimes this right is confirmed by the universe.

Becasue the weather was so nice yesterday, I decided to take a walk to Stop and Shop located a few blocks away from school. The nice thing about the layout of this grocery store is that the produce aisle is the first thing you see when you enter. So instead of the chips I was craving, I chose an ice tea and a banana. When I went to check out, the lady running the register asked me for $1.99 and I dutifully handed over two dollars. But then I realized that she did not charge me for my banana. She told me just to take it. Strange.

Then, later that night I went running with V. I was so hungry that I ran to the Shwarma King dressed in my t-shirt and shorts. When I walked a man showed me all the prepared foods for that night. Oooh I thought when he lifted up the cover to the eggplant stuffed with lamb. I'll take it. It was the last piece after all. but then I realized I only had ten dollars in my running shorts. I told the man to change my order to a shwarma, and when he asked why I confessed my lack of cash. He said no problem and said ten dollars was the perfect price. (Although all the other specials on the board were $11.95). He even gave me extra bread for my dinner platter. Weird, that it all happened in one day. Normally, I like to spread out these fortuitous things.

Some things never change

Hi. My name is Evil Twin #1...

Hello ET#1

...and I am a procrastinator.

Even though I knew I had a month to write my report on Daniel Boone for Ms. Watson's fifth grade social studies, I remember the front cover of my rendition of his biography still moist and flexible since the glue stick had not dried yet when I handed it to her. (I had assembled it during our math quiz) A month ago when my advisor asked me for my comments on a paper that I was supposed to review, I e-mailed them to him at 4:59pm the day they were due.

The book club I belong to, assigned the "History of Love" as the book for November. We were given one whole month to finish.

Week One
I look on Amazon.com for any used copies of the book. Have food poisoning and am out of commission for every activity for the rest of the week.

Week Two
Forget to go to library to see if I can just borrow the book. Forget that I even have to read a book for bookclub. Go to SS's house for game night. Am reminded by everyone there that we have a book to read. However, am relieved when it is revealed that two other people also have not purchased the book yet.

Week Three
Fresh of my game night reminder, I go back onto Amazon.com only to realize that it is too late to buy it off the internet. Vow to go to Booksmith. Even go as far as to leave work early one night to make it before the store closes. Get distracted by meeting friend on the street and go out to dinner instead.

Week Four
Things start to get crazy at school. Contamination runs rampant. Go out Friday and Saturday nights. Decide to leave book for the next weekend.

Friday (48 hours before we meet)
I attend a science symposium at our school. Endure many bad talks. Enjoy a few. Go to the reception to symposium for some awkward socializing. Need to wash science geekiness off of me. Convince lab people to go out for a beer. End up drinking more than one beer.

Saturday (24 hours before we meet)
Still attending symposium. It goes on from 9am to 5pm. Make an ass of myself at lunch when I tell one of the speakers about a paper, and she informs me that I am citing her work. Ooops. Also, attempt to make use of time being spent in the building by doing one simple experiment in the lab. Somehow things go awry and am forced to stay until 8pm. Am hungry so go out for Indian takeout with H.

Saturday night (14 hours before we meet)
Rush to the Booksmith before they close. Am talking to ET#2 on my cell phone. I say, "Don't you think it is ridiculous that I am 30, and I am so set in my ways that I'm going to pull an all nighter to finish a book for a club." The boy wearing a tweed jacket and a multistripe scarf and is walking a few paces in front of me, turns around and starts laughing. I am hoping his friends said something funny.

I run into the store and ask a clerk for the book. He replies, "This one?" while picking up a book right next to the register. Yay! I start reading at about 11pm. Have a hard time concentrating due to already using my brain to listen to speakers earlier that day. Skim through to then ending frantically.

Sunday morning (4 hours before we meet)
Get ready to go on a run with D and S. During the run, we talk about nonsense and therefore the majority of what I remember about the book is left somewhere on the esplanade in exchange for knowledge about Japanese artwork detailing squid and women in compromising poses.

By the time I got to SS's house, I was an hour late. Of course, I did not get in trouble for not reading the book well. Its not like this is high school. Except I still can't understand why I just did not start reading the damn thing 4 weeks ago or skip reading it all together.

I really am going to have to start my own support group: Procrastinator's Anonymous.