Bad Days Made Better by Good Food....

So, the saga of the air conditioning continues.

Alas.

Today, I woke up, feeling rather warm considering that I'd set the thermostat to 74 degrees in an attempt to keep the house cool after yesterday morning's failure of the AC and the afternoon's success in getting it started again.

I got up with a heavy heart. I let the dogs out and looked over at my air conditioning unit which sits on the side of the house. It wasn't running. Again.

More to my chagrin, I discovered the carpet around the furnace which contains the evaporation and blower system for the AC was absolutely soaked. What I'd thought was a roof leak a few weeks ago must have been a minor furnace leak. Now I have a major one.

Naturally, I was not happy. I've now had the air conditioning fix-it-man come twice to my house only to tell me that my air conditioning unit was not working because it was old. He didn't do anything to look at the furnace; he just showed me the magic switch to hit when the system tripped itself off.

Not being a completely stupid Monkeypants, I did ask him if he knew why it kept tripping but all I got was a shrug and, "I don't know. These things happen." I wasn't happy but he wasn't about to tell me more so I had to trust him.

So, this morning, I was a wee bit angry with him. Since my furnace was leaking quite a bit of water, clearly something was wrong with my system. I ended up calling the company who originally installed it and used to do serving on it for the lady who sold me this house. I found their number in the large amount of paperwork she left me. When I spoke to them, the man was a little brusque but as soon as I told him the switch was tripping AND the water was coming out, he said, 'sounds like you need a service. You've probably got a clog." I told him I'd had someone else look at it and he didn't think anything was wrong with it and the man paused for a minute and then said, "he didn't clean it for you?????" in a clearly surprised tone. Nope, he didn't clean it. Seems like he just wanted to sell me a new system and be on his way.

So, tomorrow morning, I have to stay home from work AGAIN to wait for another AC man to come take a look at my system. While I normally like the chance to not go to work, it's starting to get annoying that I'm using my precious PTO to take care of a problem that should have at least been acknowledged the first time I stayed home from work. If the repairman tomorrow does find a clog, you better believe I'm calling that first company and demanding a refund.

On the plus side, it rained almost all day which meant that it didn't get nearly as hot as usual. It's pretty humid but without the accompanying wall of heat, it's tolerable. The puppies and I have the fans going and it's not that uncomfortable. I'm hoping I say that when I try to go to sleep tonight.

The problem is when it's muggy in the house, it's hard to get too motivated to do much. I really need to clean but the house just feels messy, no matter how much I clean. I want to write but, again, my office is stuff and it's hard to work anywhere.

Rather than be a complete sloth, I decided to cook a nice dinner tonight. That usually cheers me up. I decided to try making spiced Moroccan veal patties with a cilantro-lime chutney accompanied by roasted red potatoes and zucchini. Yes, I've been watching far too much Top Chef.

It turned out nicely, I have to say. I didn't have to turn the oven on because I cooked the potatoes in the toaster oven. The veal patties were just seared in a saute pan and the chutney was cold. It was pretty delicious and a nice way to console myself about my stupid air conditioning woes.

I've never made veal before in any way, shape or form. I used to be opposed to it because, you know, it's baby cow. I know my sister who's a vegetarian would be a bit cross at the idea of it. Yet since my taste buds have become more adventurous, I'm a lot more open to what I eat. And I hate to admit it but baby cow is pretty tasty. It's juicier and slightly richer than beef. Yes, PETA, you can start insulting me now.

Speaking of PETA, (and on a random tangent), I heard once again last week how evil KFC was and how they abuse their chickens. They do cruel things like boil them alive and breed mutant chickens. At least according to PETA, Pam Anderson and the internet. Since I found this to be something that seemed a little, well, silly, I did some research. As I suspected, KFC doesn't have chicken farms. Nope. They don't have huge death camps for chickens in which they're abused, tortured and killed. Like many restaurants, KFC relies on local chicken farmers in areas where they have their restaurants to provide the meat. So unless all these farmers have a secret underground Chicken Torture Centre, I'm having a hard time believing those propaganda videos. I do believe there is chicken cruelty out there. I just don't think it's really KFC's fault. Also, I greatly enjoy KFC's coleslaw, biscuits and sometimes, when it's not too greasy, their original recipe chicken so my research was, I admit, a way of self-justification about why I continue to go there. Not that I go there very often but it's nice to be somewhat guilt-free when I go there.

But, I digress. Long story short, a bad day can always be made better with good food. My evening was greatly improved by my dinner. Of course, having two very sweet little puppies doesn't hurt, either. They've been much cuddlier since their spaying and it's rather nice to have their warm fuzzy bodies curled up next to me in the evenings.

At least when the AC works. Ah well, tomorrow's another day and another air conditioning repairman.

I'll keep you posted.

Happy Wednesday!

When I am Perky, I Frighten People....

I sit in an office area in which there are three cubicles, all in a row. One end of the cubicle row faces into the hallway. The other end, my cubicle, in fact, faces a space at the bottom of the staircase. Each end of the cubicle row has a door that could, in fact, close, shutting out the hallway and the space at the bottom of the stairs. However, if the doors were closed, the area would instantly lose its openness and begin to feel like we were trapped in a box.

So, we keep the doors open. Since I am at the bottom of the stairs, I have learned to recognize the sound of who is coming down. For example, my boss is instantly recognizable by his loud clomping that actaully shakes some of the pictures on the wall. He has a heavy tread, that one. Some of the technical staff also have heavy treads but they are decipherable by the speed in which they come down. The sound of slow, steady high heels means a specific female coworker is coming down; she moves slowly in case her backless shoes slip off her feet.

We get a lot of traffic on those stairs. Our break area is just around the corner from where we sit and so in the mornings, a steady flow of coworkers comes down to see if there's any coffee made. As the bottom-of-the-stair sitter, and the first person in my area in the office, I am often the recipient of the coffee in the bottom of the pot. It's rather a luxury, actually, even if the coffee isn't exactly Starbucks level. I get served, waitress style, by whichever coworker wants to make a new pot of coffee. They want an empty pot, you see, and they don't want to dump it down the sink. I suppose if I look at it another way, I'm the equivelent of a garbage disposal.

Which, actually, is probably rather true if you ask my family. I hate to see food go to waste and when I'm at my mum and dad's, I usually have the treat of a delicious Sunday lunch. I'm usually the last one eating, picking slowly at the leftover potatoes, or finishing the enormous bowl of salad.

Anyway, aside from being the dumping grounds for leftover coffee, I also get to hear conversations, all day. Mostly they're very social, catching up from the weekend, discussing the latest weight-loss scheme, babies, husbands...all of the normal stuff you get in an office. We don't have a watercooler but we have a fridge, a sink and a coffeepot. Here is the social hub of the office.

Of course, when I and my two coworkers are trying to concentrate, it gets to be a bit distracting. Most of the time, I just pop on my iPod but occasionally, it gets to the point where we tend to just look at each other and roll our eyes. Days like this, it's hard to get as much work done. Yet we try. For better or for worse, we try.

We have a couple of new people in our office. One is the CEO who lives above me. The other is our new HR-type person. They both are very perky people. I am not a very perky person. As I've mentioned, when I am perky, people around me tend to check to see how much coffee I've been drinking or if I've been exposed to high-sugar content. Extreme perkiness gives me goosebumps and not in a good way. I just don't really know how to be perky without frightening people. If I try it and I say "Good Morning!" very brightly, people get this wary look in their eyes and begin to back away slowly. I can tell I've scared them because they won't make direct eye-contact. Those who know me well will say, "Uh-uh, what's wrong?" even when I'm just trying to be friendly.

This leads me to believe that I was not born to be perky. I was born to be the person in the corner who observes, listens, makes mental notes and occasionally interjects something mildly dry-humoured bordering on sarcasm. I do have days where I am a little chipper but it manifests itself in ways in which...I tend to worry people. When I'm happy with something, I say "Party in my Pocket!" Usually, this leads to a discussion on whether I'm being crude. I am not. I just like to say "Party in my Pocket" because it sounds funny. I picture a party in my coat pocket, if you have to know. I think it started when I kept a small stuffed meerkat (Timon from the Lion King- free with a Happy Meal years ago) in my pocket and I pictured him gathering friends to have a party. Yet, if I tell people this, I get that look, the one that says, "Oh dear, Sam's gone mental." When, really, I haven't. I mean, that's how I always think.

I'm not trying to be weird or funny, it just happens. It's the curse of having an imagination. Yesterday, my friend who is having construction done on her house told me that they were putting a hole in the roof. I started to wonder why. First, I thought, maybe they were putting a chimney in. Then I wondered if maybe it was a skylight which naturally made me think of a crazy person climbing onto the roof and staring down at the inhabitants of the house. Finally, I thought how cool it would be if they put one of those air-tubey things in the house like they have at drive-through banks; you know, you put your deposit in the tube, it sucks it up with a "Thwupp!" sound and then moments later, it's in the bank teller's hands. I love those; they're like high-tech banking at its finest.

Then, once I came up with the air-tube-in-the-house idea, I began to think what my friend my use it for. Notes to her mother was the most obvious reason since she'd be living in the back part of the house, her mother in the front. Then, naturally, I started to think of little baby chickens with helmets on, harnessed for safety, going for rides in the tube. No chickens would be harmed in the usage of the air tube.

My friend, being the great sport she is, discussed this with me, pointing out the flaws in my plan. Finally, the discussion digressed into whether it was ok to deep-fry baby chicks and eat them on a stick. I think that's a horrible, cruel thing to do and would never endorse it, just for the record.

I'm telling you all this because that was a normal, chipper, perky conversation for me. It took less than ten minutes to have this conversation over email. I'm glad it was with my friend who knows me because if it was a discussion I had with my coworkers, they probably would have stopped when I said "air tube thingy". Actually, they might have been alarmed when I started talking about the skylight and the person staring down. It's hard to say.

So, you see, although I am exposed to perkiness and trying to smile through it instead of mentally choking the person, I simply am no good at being perky. Chances are, I've probably alarmed you with oversharing how my mind works. I promise, I wouldn't really hurt those chickens. Really.

Oh, and by the way, the hole in the house was for some mundane purpose like a support column or something. I prefer my chicken-in-an-air-tube theory, personally.

Please don't be scared away.

Happy Tuesday.