You wash my hair, I'll wash yours

Or something like that.
Here's the thing, sometimes you need favors from people. And as my grandmother always used to say "You'll catch more flies with honey than will vinegar" (ok. Grandma never really said that. But doesn't it punctuate the story nicely? Much better than saying "They say..." For several reasons. Not the least of which is that I don't trust random nameless mobs.) Ok, so taking Oma's advice under advisement, I called the management office at our apartment complex and left the following message: "Hi, this is Kate from apartment XX. It appears there is something wrong with our air conditioner. It has been running for days and the temperature has only dropped from 95 to 90. Would it be possible to have someone come check it out and make sure it's working correctly?" When I came home from work, I found the following note: "Temp @ vents is 73. Temp outside is 96.2. System seems to be working." Rough translation? "Hi, bitch, it's hot out. Of course it's hot in your apartment." Huh. Now here I was under the impression that running the AC for 4 days straight should actually cool the apartment. I'm so silly. N-Star is going to love us this month. Bye bye sparkly new necklace. Also, he failed to note that the temperature in the apartment (according to the thermostat) is 85. That's down 10 degrees in 4 days. Hmmmm....could something be wrong? Anyway. My next message will be something like this: "Hi, this is Kate. I'm calling from Hades. It's bloody hot in my apartment. Have you ever seen a fat girl melt? It's not pretty. And you will never get the stains out. Try renting that place to someone with a big smear of me in the carpet. Please come fix my AC. Don't do it for me. Do it for you." I bet that'll get a response. Because really, who wants honey or flies anyway? I'm all vinegar baby. Pour me on fries and call me delicious.

Know who is actually pure honey? My friend Jess. I love Jess. (See Lill? I TOTALLY have other friends. I'm well rounded. In a good way. Not in a you can roll me down the stairs kind of way. Even though you can.) I'm pretty sure she doesn't have a mean bone in her body. However, she's as crazy as I am. I know, not exactly a resounding endorsement. But she's crazy good. I'm crazy...crazy. But that's not my point. She called to tell me about a girl she met tonight who is apparently actually crazy. Like bat-shit crazy. She has dividers in her drawers to separate her socks. Now, I'm anal. I like things orderly. Sometimes, we go to happy hour after work and my co-workers move my napkin around just to watch me neatly line it up again. But I don't even know where one would go to find dividers for your sock drawer. I bet Ikea has them (note to self: schedule trip to Ikea). Ikea has everything.

Ok, Ok. Jess actually called to tell me about a mind body program to reduce stress she's participating in. She thought it might be good for me. Is she saying I need stress reduction? What would give her the idea I need stress reduction? DO I APPEAR STRESSED TO YOU???? Does the fact that I can't sleep without taking a xanax mean I'm stressed? Perhaps it's the fact that I nearly dislocated my middle finger on the way home today. I whipped that puppy up so quickly, I nearly took out an eye and lost permanent use of my left hand. In my defense, Boston traffic is not known for it's calming features. (point of reference: http://www.boston.com/news/nation/articles/2007/05/15/miami_tops_rude_drivers_list_again/?p1=MEWell_Pos5) So perhaps some yoga would help. If twisting myself into a pretzel would help. I wonder how many people it would take to untangle me. And is that part of their de-stressing program or will they charge me extra? Yoga mat: $30; Yoga class: $15; Watching 15 people peel my heals from behind my ears: Priceless.

But you know what does calm me some? Bad reality TV. MTV, Bravo, TLC...all synonymous with Valium as far as I'm concerned. "If I can't grow in this competition, like where do I go from here? This is, like, it for me." I love reality TV. This week's obsession? The Search for Elle Woods on MTV. And that little gem of a quote came from a 19 year old. I want to crawl through the TV and smack her. And then say, "Oh sweetie. You'll have so much to offer someone someday. You don't need to be Elle Woods. Someday you'll give it up on a casting couch and get on another reality show. This doesn't HAVE to be it for you. Heck, there's always the Bachelor if this doesn't work out." Ok, but seriously. I love this show. Where else can you find 10 girls who think the world revolves around them and is hanging on their every word? All on TV! Fan.tast.tic. Better than a drunken sorority party. (Why am I addicted to this stuff?)

And so, my love for bad TV has brought me to this confession: I love me some Snoop D-O-Double G. The HG just now found this out. How'd that never come up before? I swear. I'm like a closet 16 year old. From the 'hood. In pearls. Is this why I don't have children? So I don't scar them (or scare them) with my choice of stress relieving activities? Probably. But then again, my mother weaned me on the John Davidson Show (**swoon** my first love), Donahue (Phil rocks) and The Young and the Restless (remember "Blue Suede Shoes". Danny from Y&R. Oh yeah.). And she had 4 kids. I think I get a pass.

You know what the funniest thing about all of this is? When I was little, I thought life was a soap opera. I mean, what little girl didn't? I pictured my wedding (Though in my memories, I was a lot thinner and had better hair). Cinderella had nothing on me. Except no prince charming. I wasn't about to share the crown. But why doesn't "happily ever after" ever include kids? You watch the movies and the prince and princess walk away hand and hand as the little heart closes over them. "THE END". Why can't fairytales be more like Shrek? With a follow up movie, complete with baby trolls. I got the troll. I gave up the dream of a crown. Where's my sequel? Did the animators of my life go on strike? And if so, can I lure them back with promises of royalties and residuals? I'll even do my own voiceovers.

So now I watch too much TV and watch other people having their dreams come true. How is that normal? Not that I've ever been one for normal. Maybe I'm just twisted enough that I enjoy reality TV so much because it involves a heavy component of disappointment for the "contestants" (I'd call them what they are: attention grabbing wannabe actors. But hi. I'm blogging my life for all the world to see. Those in glass houses....shouldn't walk around naked. Or throw stones. You especially shouldn't throw stones in glass houses if you're naked. Make a note.) But I don't want to be "that" girl. I want to be happy for other people. And you know, it's not that I'm not, in general, happy for other people. But I think there is a twisted little part of me that feels better when other people have failures. Like I'm not alone in my sadness. On the other hand, I'd love to fix the world and make everyone happy. And have all their dreams come true. Then on the other hand....ok, I have no hands left. I'd like to buy the world a coke...

I wonder how many flies I could catch with coke.

And in closing. It has come to my attention that I was off my game last night. I apologize. If it happens again, please tell me. I am perfection in my own mind and won't otherwise know I've lulled you all to sleep. Plus, if you do it nicely enough, I'll probably even change for you. I'm a giver like that.

PS: [Note to First Response: There is NOT such as thing as being "a little bit pregnant". For realisies. Either you are or you aren't. Period. No pun intended. (Yes, Mrs. Kerr, I know. That wasn't technically a pun. You're no more fun now then you were in 11th grade English)]