Unmarking the Spot

Calls to the car insurance company start with one of those directory trees and devolve. Inevitably, there's an exchange like this:

Tata: Mr. Paulie Gonzalez does not live in the apartment.
Not-Listening Dickhead: You did not tell us that. It's not noted on your records.
Tata: I notified you in writing and kept a copy.
Not-Listening Dickhead: It's not in your records. Where does Mr. Gonzalez live?
Tata: He sleeps on the couch of a friend but he'll be moving into the apartment when I move out.
Not-Listening Dickhead: So he does live there!
Tata: He does not live there. I live there.
Not-Listening Dickhead: He has his own insurance so technically it doesn't matter if he does or doesn't.
Tata: Then...we might as well talk about our imaginary friends. I've outgrown mine but yours might need a paper trail.

There's always one question I cannot answer.

Phone Representative: What's your home phone number?
Tata: ...
PR: Ma'am?
Tata: ...
PR: Do you have a home phone number?
Tata: I think so. There's this plastic thing and sometimes it makes an odd jingling noise. God! I hate when that happens!
PR: Ma'am, is your minder nearby?

There's a lot on my mind. Unless my phone number spells something I'll never remember it. A few years ago, my phone number spelled AIR YOSA, which doesn't mean a thing but Siobhan used to call me and exclaim...

Siobhan: AIR YOSA!
Tata: AIR YOSA it is!

...so I didn't need to pin my address on my coat when I left the house. My brand new phone number has no zeros in it but it does have a pile of ones. I'm doomed! Ones have no letters on the phone keypad. Seven and nine have extra letters. Couldn't one have a few of theirs? Anyway, I'm sick of New Jersey Cure and their fixation on my ex-boyfriends. It's time to take my excellent driving record to an insurance company that doesn't kick me while congratulating itself for great customer service. Sybaritic chipmunks! They'd use metal spatulas in my non-stick pans if I let 'em!

I spent most of Saturday afternoon and some of Sunday searching for my cell phone charger. As far as I can tell, it's gone straight to Heaven. This is because Mom helped me pack up on Friday. Daria was supposed to come but she woke up with strep and called in sick.

Daria: Ah feel ahhful.
Tata: You better stay home. I fear increased congestion.
Daria: Ah callt Bom. She'lb be dere ad den.
Tata: Hoorah! The cavalry!

Funny thing about two hands packing: at least one person doesn't know what things are packed together. After about five hours, we'd moved almost everything to our well-insured motor vehicles, up Route 27 and to my new digs. Mom seldom likes my apartments but that's because some of them have been real slums. When I turned the key and she saw for herself the new place was spacious and clean she was relieved.

Mom: I'm relieved.
Tata: It's a nice place, isn't it?
Mom: Yes. Let's go get your TV.
Tata: Mom, have you noticed we have - like - freakish upper body strength?
Mom: As compared to whom?
Tata: To the people who are not us.
Mom: Don't be silly. Here, hold this anvil.

Okay, I made up the anvil. The other day, Siobhan and I were moving a few small things. She lifts weights three times a week with a trainer. I handed her my barbell and she lurched sideways. There was actual lurching! So, I can't recall what ridiculous thing Mom handed me but it was pretty heavy. This is in stark contrast to yesterday when two of my brothers-in-law turned up to heave a dresser from a truck to my living room. They were both sure I couldn't lift one end of it. I shrugged and held the door open, thinking of my former mother-in-law. The Fabulous Ex-Husband(tm) used to say she lifted the house to sweep underneath it.

Paulie has returned from Italy to an apartment that's mostly his. I don't know where anything is at my place. An hour later, I know where a few somethings are. An hour after that, I can't remember what I knew an hour before. Friday night, I slept in the new apartment for the first time. At 2:41 a.m., I awakened to the sharp, persistent squeals of a carbon monoxide detector running out of battery power. I pulled the batteries out and went back to bed. Yesterday, I turned on the oven and the smoke detector went off. To amuse myself, I bought the cheapest cordless phone I could find and doubt somehow I'll get my money's worth before I throw it in a dumpster. This apartment is filled with screaming plastic gadgets and batteries on the floor like the cat's taken up log rolling.

I have fallen hopelessly in love with my new apartment. This morning, it took twenty-five minutes to find my shoes.