We're Getting Six Inches of Snow Today

The owner called from Hawaii because he's shitty like that.

Me: What's up dude?
Owner: I'm a little chilly. It's only 83 degrees.
Me: I hate you.
Owner: I love you, I just want to punch you in the face most of the time.
Me: Whatever, you know it's negative degrees here today right?
Owner: Yep, and I'm here on the beach with my tropical lemonade.
Me: You know, you call and harass me every time you go to Hawaii.
Owner: I know. That's because you're the only one who's still dumb enough to answer the phone.

He texted me later:

Owner: Don't u hate when u get too much sand on your feet? It's uncomfortable.
Me: I hope a shark bites your kneecap.
Owner: Oh nice! I hope spiders attack you in your sleep!
Me: I feel your love from here!
Owner: Hopefully that's the spiders you feel.

I am Moving Somewhere South and/or West of Here

It was 32 degrees this morning, and it felt like a freakin' heat wave. I'm hoping it warms up further and melts the ice on my stairs so I can stop almost killing myself every time I leave or come home.

The owner is in Las Vegas and had the audacity to call me last night and complain about the weather. "It's cold here!" he said.
"No, it is not. It's cold here."
"No, I mean it's cold for Vegas. It got down to 40 degrees last night."
"It's a desert, ass, of course it's cold at night. There's hardly any moisture in the air, so they can't hold their heat overnight."
"Whatever. But I'm telling you it's cold here."
"And I'm telling you that during the day today, it was like 20 degrees."
"Oh, it was 65 during the day here."
"I hate you."

I Can Make a Federal Case Out of Just About Anything

ring ring.
The bartender answers his phone. “Hello?”
“I need your scientific opinion on something.”
“Ok.”
“Were you the one who told me centipedes can’t get out of the bathtub?”
“Yes.”
“Ok. When you said that did you mean they can never ever ever get out of the bathtub, or they usually can’t, but if they try really hard they could get out?”
“No, they can’t get out.”
“Ok. Are you sure though?”
“Look, it’s not going to get out. I’m not coming all the way home just to kill a bug.”
“No one is asking you to. I just want to know if I can put my makeup on in here, or if I have to take it with me because I need to run away from the house.”
“No, it’s fine. Even if it did get out, it’s going to run to a crack somewhere. But it won’t get out.”
“Ok. Thanks. Go back to work.”
“(audible sigh) Bye.”

I hung up the phone and stared at it. I believed him, that it wouldn’t get out, more so because I’d already seen it try and fail a dozen times before I called him than because of his reassurance. Also I’d already pulled the bathmat and the shower liner outside of the tub so it couldn’t climb onto those and get out. So I wasn’t terribly worried that it would get on me. I was more freaked out over the fact that I had JUST GOTTEN OUT OF THE SHOWER and it was probably in there with me the whole entire time. Also because it was both hideously ugly and ginormously huge. They’re like a dozen spiders fused together into one long strand. I sent a text message to Heather, because I needed someone to feel my pain and not make fun of me: There is a CENTIPEDE in my bathtub!! I considered putting a cup over the top of it so the bartender could kill it when he got home, but realized that meant getting within a cup’s reach of it which was not going to happen.

The theme song from Super Mario Brothers.
I looked at my phone and saw it was the owner calling. “Hello?”
“Hey man! What’s going on in your life?”
“There’s a centipede in my tub.”
The owner cracked up laughing. “I just talked to [the bartender] and he told me if I called you that would be the first thing you’d say to me.”
“It’s huge. I called him because he told me they can’t get out of the tub and I wanted to verify that.”
“And he’s right, they can’t. Are you just standing there staring at it?”
“Yes.”
“You should just drown him. Wash him down the drain.”
“I tried that already.” This was true. “I threw some water on him, but he won’t die.”
“That’s because you have to actually throw water on him and not just spit into the tub.”
“I did! I used a big cup!” The centipede was frantically trying to climb the walls of the tub from every angle. He was so big that every time he fell I could hear him hit the bottom of the tub.
“A cup is not going to work. You need a bucket, or a cup and then another cup, but I already know you won’t do it.”
“Well, because if I use too much water it might splash out on me!”
“It’s not going to splash out on you. You’re a freak. What else is going on?”
I left the bathroom and continued chatting with the owner while I got dressed. When I got off the phone I went back in the bathroom to put my makeup on.

No centipede in the bathtub. I looked everywhere. I checked the walls, the faucet, the ceiling. I looked in the sink. Still no centipede. Stupid tricky, huge-ass, ugly, motherfucking disgusting bug!

I was later assured by the bartender and MrSteve that it had probably accidentally fallen or intentionally crawled into the drain and drowned in there. I’m pretty sure they really believe that and were not just patronizing me so I’d shut up. But I’m not taking a shower in there again until after the bartender does because holy crap.

If You Want Something Done Right...

You know you're turning into a total bitch when you fire someone from painting their own new house. Which is what I did yesterday while trying to help the owner add a little color to his recently purchased condo. Dude can't paint, seriously. I demoted him to moving the ladder around for me. It was all he could be trusted with.

Amber's Birthday Wish List!

The owner (of Tai's) called me last night while I was on my way home from work. Our conversation went like this:

Me: Well hi there.
Owner: What's up, man? (he calls everyone "man'.)
Me: Nothing. Where you at?
Owner: I'm sitting on the beach. (fucker's in Hawaii.) Where are you?
Me: Fuck you. On the train.
Owner: That's sort of the same. (he's also a sarcastic little shit.)
Me: Kind of. Except I'm wearing a coat, and I bet you're not.
Owner: Nope. It's 83 degrees here. (asshole.)
Me: Asshole. Is this the point of your call? To remind me that you're in Hawaii and I'm not and be a dick about it?
Owner: Well, not entirely, but yeah, that's the main reason. (see?) Seriously, though, what are you doing Wednesday?
Me: Working. I'll be home by 6. Why?
Owner: I was thinking maybe Wednesday night I could pick you and your paint brush up and we could go out. (for paint.)
Me: That could work. I'll call you. I can't actually do any painting on Wednesday though, I have to work in the morning. But I'm off Friday AND Monday. I could paint then.
Owner: Oh don't worry, we'll be spending plenty of time together in the next couple weeks. (Tai's has been closed since the day after Christmas. The owner is remodeling the entire back room, which is the room we are discussing having me paint. The work has been going on while the owner is vacationing in Hawaii. They are scheduled to open up again on Wednesday night, though there is some doubt about the work being done by then, which makes me nervous.)
Me: Are you really going to be open by Thursday?
Owner: Oh, yeah. We have to be, it's your birthday! (Yay! He remembered! Probably because I've been threatening him about being open on my birthday since Halloween.)
Me: You remembered!
Owner: I've been telling the workers they have to speed it up, because it's very important that we're ready to open by your birthday. I won't have it another way. (ok, now he's just mocking me.)
Me: Alright, I can't tell how made up that is, but I'm going to choose to believe you because it's sweet of you.
Owner: Isn't it? (such a dick sometimes.)

Anyway, the point of that story is that it seems likely Tai's will be open for my birthday as I'd hoped. Which means the first item on my birthday wish list has come true! In the event you've waited until the last minute to pick up a gift for my birthday (which, to recap, is Thursday), here is a list of things that would be appreciated:

1. A new roommate. Specifically the bartender, who has been planning a possible move into my storage room since early October, but so far has moved only a set of mixing bowls, some pots and pans, a few kitchen utensils and his golf clubs. If I can't get the whole roommate, I'd like to at least receive
2. His shower curtain. The first time I was ever at the bartender's place, the first thing I noticed was his shower curtain. It is made up entirely of 2 inch tall pictures of old Playboy covers. Oh, it is so very, very cool. He took it down months ago, since his current roommate couldn't seem to learn to keep the curtain closed so as to prevent mold. They are now using a plain black curtain instead. I know he still has the Playboy one. I vote it should be the next object he moves.
3. In addition to Tai's being open, I would like for all my Chicago friends to show up (Dave, I can't believe you. Your choices are my birthday party or a play and you chose the play? Is Keri in on this slap in the face as well? You guys are dead to me.) I'm baking a cake and everything.
4. Surrounded by my loving entourage, I would like for my birthday party to turn out better than last year.
5. Lots of blog comments. Especially from the two funniest bloggers I know: Heather and Jennie Smash. I have, like, the worst writer's crush on Jennie Smash. I mean, she is so cool she actually has cough syrup delivered. Mmm, cough syrupy Jennie Smash comments...
6. Giant dildos are, of course, always appreciated.
7. And I could use a digital camera, at least on loan, so my buddy Daniel can have a peek at my melons.
8. Ass-less chaps.

Tai's Til Noon

Hey, you know what's weird? Being in the neighborhood bar all by yourself. And I'm not talking about when the bar just opened, the bartender is in the corner playing video games, and you're the first person to show up. What I'm talking about is, it's 7:30 in the morning, the staff has left, the sun is shining and the only noise is coming from the TV that the owner left on for you, which is blaring a story about Danika Patrick only being 100 pounds for the 15th time in a row on ESPN News. You are in the bar and you are alone. Dude, it's really weird.

I found out that being in a bar all by yourself on a Sunday morning is weird this past Sunday morning, when I was in Tai's all by myself, feeling weird.

No, I didn't pass out under the pool table unnoticed and get locked in. And no, no one suggested that since I'm there all the time anyway, I might as well just stay there. No, I was there all alone because I was painting the bathrooms. And I was painting the bathrooms because, well, because they really needed painted.

The owner had patched the walls some three months ago, but never got around to painting them. And, you know, I'm always taken care of in that bar. My friend the bartender has been known on occasion to pay for my drinks, and even when he doesn't, I don't have to worry about having cash on me, because the owner is always cool with me paying my tab at some point in the future (the reason this works, for those of you who are thinking about walking out on a tab at Tai's, is that he knows I will, in fact, come back and pay it). So I got to thinking about that, and the half dozen people who were quickly tossed out for their inappropriate handling of me by the wonderfully attentive staff, and I felt like I should give something back for all their generosity, so I decided to offer to paint the bar.

Aw, who am I kidding? The walls looked like seven kinds of shit and it was driving me up a fucking wall every time I had to pee. I had to paint them. I begged to paint them. For free. Anything. I would have done anything to get those walls painted.

Luckily, the owner was sympathetic to my plight*, and agreed that indeed I should paint the walls, I should paint them whenever I wanted, and I should paint them whatever color I wanted. So after much consideration, I painted the walls a very dark blue right after close on Saturday. After close to give them the maximum time to dry before they opened again, and dark blue because it seemed like one of the more difficult colors to write people's phone numbers/leave kiss marks with lipstick/draw cartoon penises on. And they look really good. The owner and the bartender and others all stopped by during the day just to check out my handiwork, and all called to say how nice of a job I did.

But man is it an eerie feeling being locked in a bar by yourself for 6 hours on a Sunday morning.

*wanted his walls painted inexpensively