Random Things

One of the few Latina chica characteristics I retain is a love of stupidly large earrings. Those, in the photo above, are Andean, a couple of hundred years old. The bottom ones are so heavy that the chain connected to them is meant to go over the head and support the earrings so they don't tear open the earlobes. I love them, so I took their picture when we visited the International Folk Art Museum in Santa Fe.

And then there was this:

I'm still house and dog sitting, and it's wearing me out, this not being in my own home. I feel tired all the time, am surviving on coffee and vitamin tablets and frozen dinners. I'm counting down the days until I'm finished with this job. Maybe it's a cable TV overdose.

Two days ago, in the afternoon, I was at the house-sitting job house and someone rang the doorbell. The dog went nuts, barking and jumping, and when I reached down to pull her away from the door, she reared up and knocked me in the eye, hard.  I picked her up (she's about twelve pounds), and opened the door and it was an exterminator. I told her the people were out of town and that I'd have them call her. She said something like, "Oh, that's okay, I'll bill them." The dog was still barking and I said something like, "Sorry, the dog just knocked me in my head," and she said, kind of rudely, "Oh, she'll calm down in a minute," and made to come in the house. I kept the door part way closed and said that I'd have the owners call her when they got back and she said, "Well, when will they be back?" And I said, "Next week." She asked when next week, and I said I'd have them call her, but that she wasn't going to come in the house now, and then I closed the door in her face.

Dude. I'm sorry, but I don't know you. The dog clearly doesn't know you. The owners didn't tell me to expect you. You're not coming in the house. Period.

What would you have done?

I'm telling you: If I'm housesitting for you and you expect someone to come into the house and do some work, whatever it is, I expect you to let me know. (And most of the time I expect you to reschedule that work, because I am so super paranoid that I am not letting a stranger into the house when I'm there alone. I don't even let strangers into my own house when I'm home alone.) Maids, I'm fine with. Most of the time they have their own key and that tells me that the owners trust them. Plumbers, no. Landscapers and gardeners, no. Exterminators, no. (I'm also not down with poison being sprayed in my environment, however temporary. I mean, what the fuck?) And what's more: I never give out information about where the owners have gone, when they left, or when they are coming back. I mean: Hello? Here's a schedule of when the house will be empty and shall I show you where they keep their valuables, too? Oh, and by the way: If you pull your van right into the garage, no one can see a thing from the street.

And then there was this:

On Saturday, Dave and I taught a ten-person class at the studio. It was fun but exhausting. Ten people is right at the edge of what is possible with a one-time, beginner class. After that, everyone just gets frustrated because they don't get enough individual attention to succeed, and I get frustrated because I'm being pulled in too many different directions.  I haven't taught in a while and my demo on the wheel was somewhat lacking in substance as a result. (Although it almost doesn't matter because it's so much information that most people end up needing to be told the same thing over and over when they actually sit down at the wheel.) It was such a long day that we ended up closing the studio early.