A disgruntled librarian packs it up and leaves fabulous New York City behind,
going on random adventures through South America,
while simultaneously promoting literacy
and spreading the love of the written word.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

the curse of the spare room

so my beloved bolshevik and i were united this week after his SIX WEEK stint in the motherland.  urgh, let me tell you it is not fun to be without my man for 6 weeks.  but this was the last time!  from now on we will be partners in adventure and intrigue. 

so the bolshevik and i are staying in the spare room for a night, and then the next day we go for a walk on the boardwalk at jones beach (despite the bolshevik's aversion to sunlight).  and then when we are about to go back to brooklyn to be with our own kind, i realize that i have left the front door to the house unlocked.  so we drive all the way back to the house, lock all the doors and such. 

and then as i am packing out of the driveway, animatedly chatting to my man about plans for our trip, i wind up tapping a parked car.  it turns out that this parked car belongs to the neighbors across the street, and upon inspection very very very little damage was done to the car.  there were some scratches that the car owner admitted were there before, and then there were a few bits of chipped paint that were caused by the tapping which can be easily fixed with one of those little jars of touch up paint.  so i explain the situation about me leaving next week and tell them my step-father lives across the street, yada yada yada.  and i give them my email address and tell them that if they just tell me what i owe them for the touch up, i'll send a check to them.

so then the next day i get a call from my ex-step-father saying that there's a message on the machine from an insurance company about my "accident." really?  they had to call an insurance company about this?  so now i fear that they are somehow going to try to take me for a ride and get me to pay for an entire new bumper even though there is no physical damage to the car beyond two or three pea-sized spots of chipped paint. 

i hate the suburbs.

beware the spare room, dear blog readers.  only misery and drama will befall those who stay there.

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