My Life is a Sitcom, My Stuff Has Arrived and My First Spam Encounter

Talking to my friend Smitty today, he quipped that living here with Sarah's dad and the unique dynamic that presents itself has all the makings of a sitcom.

This was before I told him about the cleaning lady.

Unintenionally entertaining is the only way I can explain it. You know those people who just don't have off switches and who say whatever it is that comes to mind, without sorting it out in their head to make sure it's not offensive or able to be misunderstood? She's one of them and I nearly pissed myself listening to her this morning.

Understand this: she arrives at 9 AM and from the pace she rambles on at has been up since 5 and had 47 cups of coffee before she got here. Wired!

So the non-stop talking machine blows through the door this morning and offers up some Mexican candy to both Garry and I right off the hop. I accept a piece with every intention of throwing it out when she isn't looking (which I did) just to save any further interaction. Somehow, Garry doesn't pick up on this tactic and simply declines.

Her response? "What's wrong Garry, you don't like Mexicans?"

I nearly fucking died. If I wasn't heading out the door for the morning 'bucks run (Venti Komodo Dragon Bold Blend... my new fav) I would have jumped in with a "Yeah Garry, what do you have against Mexicans?" as if declining a piece of candy makes you opposed to an entire nation of people. That wasn't it though.

Around 11 or so, my stuff arrived, finally.

So the delivery guy and I are bombing it into the kitchen when the cleaning lady fires out, "Oh, this must be the boyfriend's father. Hi there!" Note: I'm only referred to as "The Boyfriend" since asking my name would be way to simple...

Laughing, Garry counters by explaining, "No, that's the shipper."

"Oh, hi Shipper!"

I peed my pants a little, I'm not going to lie.

Toss in her insistance that I remove myself from the kitchen table 45 minutes before she got around to cleaning it, her belief that I'm "awful fancy" for having coffee and a piece of toast in the morning and telling Garry on the side to make sure I know to stay out of her way because she needs to clean, as if I was trying to box her out the whole morning and you have to agree that somewhere in there lies a potential sitcom.

Or lawsuit.

One of the two.

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As mentioned, "Shipper" arrived with my stuff today, a few days beyond the weekend delivery date I was originally given, but I kind of expected that.

You do, in fact, get what you pay for and since I didn't pay very much for the transit of all our worldly possessions from St. John's, a couple extra days sans full wardrode wasn't a big deal at all.

Everything is here, despite the mismatched counts of boxes; 25 left Newfoundland according to the boys loading it and 23 hit the kitchen floor today. I've unpacked it all and have come to the conclusion that the boys in Newfoundland didn't do so well in math class, which probably explains why they're working for the discount shipping company...

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Yesterday's post garnered a rather unique initial comment.

As my man Newt astutely points out, I received my first spam comment, a benchmark for any blogger.

It's reassuring to know that my work is "likeable" and "very interesting," garnering me "a hug" from the sender.

Needless to say, I didn't click the link and don't recommend anyone else try it either.

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"Be-da-be-da-be-da-be Dat's all folks!"
-Porky Pig