And We Don't Even Own the Place

Holy fucking shit.

Have you ever had one of those days where it is absolutely imperative that you curl up in the fetal position and have a good cry? Things have gotten a tad overwhelming and so it's good that "my face scrunches in a cute way" when I cry, according to M, because he sees that look more often than I'd like these days.

We got back from our baby shopping weekend in Singapore last night to the oh so pleasant odor of all the food in our refrigerator having spoiled. Our latest maintenance woe is the refrigerator. That mother fucking refrigerator. The seal on the freezer sucks major ass, and so it becomes unsealed regularly. Well, it became unsealed while we were gone over the weekend, causing the fridge to essentially crap out, and everything thawed and spoiled in both the fridge and freezer. We went to the grocery store on the way home, so not only was all of the food in the fridge spoiled, but most of the food that we came home with ended up having to be tossed out as well. M finally got it back working later last night, but not before I calmly walked in the bedroom, laid down, and cried. It was just the straw that broke the camel's back. Everything seems to be such a pain in the ass these days. Nothing is going smoothly. And so it goes on and on like this, until I have to release some of that stress. Some people throw things, some people yell. I cry.

Then, this morning, our power converter imploded as M was making pancakes for our Superbowl breakfast. (Quick aside: What is wrong with that statement?? Superbowl = beer and queso. Not pancakes and juice. It also means Superbowl commercials, which we don't get here. That's just fucked up not to get the commercials. I mean, why even watch the game?) The whole apartment filled with smoke. It still smells.

Then, to continue my lucky streak with maintenance issues, we had the telephone guy come over today to do some work. Here's the deal: We have like, six phone jacks in this place. But, we can only have two of them work at a time. (No, I don't know why. Because it's Malaysia.) So, we want to turn off the jack in the bedroom and turn on the jack in the gym, because we will be moving our computer in there to turn the office into the nursery. So we explain all this to M's administrative assistant. She calls the phone company. The guy comes over, and then proceeds to explain that he can't do anything because it's not a cable issue, and it's inside the apartment. Apparently, the admin told him incorrectly. Whatever. So he has to get management's approval to do anything in the condo. Fine. So we went down to the management's office, and, my good luck for the day, she was actually in the office. I spent the next 45 minutes listening to the phone guy and the manager argue over whose job it was to change the damn jack, and the phone guy explain to the condo's contractor over and over again what we needed done. I kept thinking to myself, "It shouldn't be this hard. It's essentially unplugging a plug from socket A and plugging it into socket B." I mean, if I get it and the contractor doesn't, then it doesn't bode well for us to have a working jack anytime before Chinese New Year. Then a few internal screams later, the contractor told me he would come tomorrow, then started raising hell with the manager again. Okay, so the contractor is supposed to come tomorrow. It remains to be seen, however, if he a) shows up, b) knows what the hell to do once he gets here and c) brings the proper tools.

Wankers.