She bought some kind of death notice published online and maybe in a paper somewhere. She says she had to drive to Burien (a far flung suburb) to pay for it. She has now told me about this 4 times. Three of them today. Each time she tells me the 'web thing is funerals.coop' only one time she told me it was funeral:cop. Each time I smile and nod and try to look interested and sympathetic. It makes me feel mean and horrible every single time.
I think the new rule is to make all my journey's outside my own unit before 10 (she sleeps late) or after 6 (she doesn't go out after cocktail hour).
Also while out, I ran into the building manager who gave me a long, convoluted, totally not understandable diatribe on the terrace upstairs. It sounds like the bottom line is that sometime next week he's going to give it a temporary patch which he hopes will prevent it from raining in my living room. What.Ev.Er.
I sent a note to the board president saying that if, in fact, this is true, then I'm totally cool with my unit as it is. The inside fix that Greg did yesterday looks great. The outside rust stains on the wall aren't worth fixing. If there is mold in the walls, I'll take my chances that it's not killer mold and/or at least won't kill me. I asked her if the board would be willing to pony up $100 of Greg's bill from yesterday. If yes, great. If no, no biggie.
Partly Ann, partly that stupid building manager, some of my not great swim this morning... something just has me generally unsettled and cranky. I need to get that over with. Maybe the Mariners will win tonight. That would do it. Time to put the chicken in the oven for dinner.