I am a big, pissy baby today.

I'm tired and grumpy and frustrated and just all around cranky. I should probably be put down for a nap with a bottle of nice, warm soy milk and a pacifier and just be left alone.

I know that part of it is just that I didn't sleep very well last night. (Note to self: do not drink coffee at 10pm when I go to bed at 11:30pm.) I'm sure another reason is good ol' PMS. (Why, yes, it is almost that time of the month.) But also, this weekend just didn't go according to plan and I'm still stewing over it.

Let me back-track a bit. For a little while the bathroom faucet has had a little drip. I didn't call the landlord about it right away because, frankly, my apartment has been a disaster area and I didn't want him to see it such a mess. It wasn't ready to be condemned, but with papers, books and clothes strewn everywhere (and I do mean everywhere), plus the unvacuumed carpet and the floors not quite as clean as they should be, I was embarrassed to have anyone see it. And I just didn't have the energy to do anything about it. I'd get home from work, look at the mess, be overwhelmed at the very idea of trying pick it up, so I'd veg in front of the TV instead. Yes, I know that if I had done a little bit of cleaning each night the apartment would eventually be back to its former sparkling self. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. So the landlord wasn't called and the faucet continued its little drip.

Until last week. Suddenly there was a constant splashing noise. Hmmm, that can't be good. I looked in the bathroom and saw that the formerly dripping water was now a full-fledged hot water stream. Well, I had to call the landlord now. So I left a message on his machine on Tuesday. I figured I'd at least have the bathroom looking halfway decent before he came by.

He called back Thursday and left a message on my voicemail, saying that he'd checked out the faucet and the plumbing and saw that the valve which closed off the hot water had disintegrated. (The plumbing in my triplex is rather old, so that made sense.) He'd have a plumber fix it within a few days. No problem, I thought. Except that, with the emotional roller-coaster I was going through last week and working two jobs and not getting home until close to midnight pretty much all week and being physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted, I hadn't gotten around to picking up the bathroom by the time he stopped by, and the trash basket and litter box needed cleaning. Badly.

But I still thought I had a little time, and, after talking to sis Teresa on Thursday, I knew I'd be cleaning on Saturday. See, with Ryan being born earlier than we anticipated, Teresa could no longer keep the three kittens in her bedroom. The kittens that she'd been feeding by hand because their mommy cat, Jingle, was unable to nurse them properly, since she was only about seven or eight months old when she gave birth and is a terribly skinny cat, though healthy, according to the vet. (Jingle is my niece Jessie's cat -- long story as to why Jingle was at my folks' place.) Teresa asked me if I could keep them at my place until we found homes for them (I've already claimed the girl kitten, I hope she gets along with my boys). Two of the kittens are already eating from dishes. Me being the big ol' softy that I am, I said, sure. Teresa has a couple of (tentative) homes lined up, as do I, so they shouldn't be at my place too long. (Famous last words, I know.)

I got home from working That 70's Show! Friday night, really tired, and checked my messages. Mr. Landlord called, saying that he and a plumber should be stopping by on Saturday morning to replace the pipe/valve/whatever. They would probably be at my place around 10am. 10am?! On weekends I don't get out of bed until about 11am, unless I absolutely had to be somewhere early. With the little sleep I'd had all week, there was no way in the world I was going to wake up early. Dammit.

So I went to sleep around 1 or 2am, and stayed true to my resolve to not leave my room until I was good and ready. I heard plumbing type noises and my landlord's voice around 10ish, so I made sure my bedroom door was open only a tiny bit so the boys could come and go as they pleased (for food and litter box needs), then stayed in bed in a half-asleep/half awake daze until all bathroom work ceased. I considered getting up and maybe starting sorting the papers on my art table or dining table, but there's still a part of me that's horribly shy and I just didn't want to meet Mr. Plumber.

Finally, around noon or so, I hear Mr. Landlord calling my name. I sat up in my bed, but I think he heard me rustling around, so he told me not to get up, he just had to tell me a couple of things. One: they were done with the plumbing. Apparently the sink and all the pipes around the sink had to be replaced, so he had bought a brand new cabinet type sink that was expensive. My sleep-dazed mind started working. Uh oh, where the hell am I going to put the litter box? And why did he have to point out that the sink was expensive? I don't care, as long as it's fixed. Two: the condition of my apartment was unacceptable. What?! He knew that I was busy and that I had been out of town and that I wasn't feeling well (?), but he expected my apartment to look better and had (apparently) discussed with neighbor Billy how disgusting my apartment was (it was messy when Billy looked after the boys, but I had made sure to clean the kitchen and bathroom before I went on vacation).

I mumbled something about today being cleaning day anyway, to which he replied, "Good, maybe the new sink will be an inspiration for you to clean." I was a bit put out by that, but since my brain hadn't quite got going yet, I didn't say anything. He talked a bit more about my messy place, and that he knew that wasn't normally like me, then he left. I went in the bathroom to check out the new sink, and instantly realized that Mr. Landlord's definition of an expensive sink is anything that costs over $30. Because this cabinet sink, besides being completely unnecessary (there's already a built-in cabinet on the other side of the tiny bathroom) is very cheaply made. Everything's either plastic, particle board or Formica. All he needed was a wall-mounted sink, but he'd been pushing for a cabinet sink almost since the moment I moved in.

Then I started thinking about what he said about the condition of my apartment. I got furious. How dare he?! Look, I wasn't under any illusion that the place wasn't a disaster area. But he doesn't have to live here, nor have there been any unwanted insects or rodents due to my sloppiness, so how dare he tell me that he expects it to be a certain way? Especially since I'm usually pretty clean, which he knows. So that not only had me pissed off for most of the weekend, but delayed my cleaning by a full day. (I tend to get really stubborn when I feel I'm being pushed or criticized in a non-constructive way.)

Now I had to find a new place for the litter box, get some spackle for rough part of the wall where the old sink had been, hunt up the paint that my ex and I had used when we first moved into the place 2 1/2 years ago (luckily there was still some in the garage and it was still ok). Plus I had to rearrange a few things in the bathroom, and get rid of the mirrored medicine cabinet that Ex and I had put up, but that we really didn't need, and move the stuff in there to the new cabinet under the sink (hey, I was still angry, it made sense to me at the time) and...

In retrospect, I'm glad I had to do some of that, because the bathroom does feel airier now. But I ended up having to put the litter box in the hallway and partially cover it with a cloth. I hate that. I believe that litter boxes belong in the bathroom or garage, and nowhere else. The garage, being detached, was out of the question, and there was no more room in the bathroom. So in the hall it goes. (I wonder if I could fit a little screen around it.) And I hate that the sink is so cheap and that the cabinet storage space is too small for me to but any organizers in there (I tried, I've had to return normal sized organizers because they're just too big).

Is Mr. Landlord a bad guy? No, not really. He lets me pay rent over the course of two weeks if I need to (and I frequently do) and I really can do nearly anything I want with the place, since he knows I'm not going to destroy it. Plus he usually fixes stuff in a timely manner (though I suspect that's because I'm a woman living alone, I know he's not as timely with Billy). He's just very cheap and he got on several of my bad nerves at the end of a stressful week.

I'm still pissed at him, though, and I think I might mention something (diplomatically, of course) when I give him the rent on Wednesday. Or, um, half of it (second half next week). But after this month, I'm going to make sure I give him the full rent on the first of each month. I really don't want him to be able to hold anything over my head after this.

I got most of the cleaning done yesterday, but I was still off-kilter, and I woke up this morning with too little sleep (about four hours), couldn't get moving to save my life, so I got to work much later than I wanted to (was planning to show up at 7am, hah!). And to make myself more miserable, I decided to wear a wool pinstripe blazer (not stricly vegan, I know, but I bought it many years ago and it goes so well with my wool-looking polyester pinstripe pants). Wool. On a hot, smoggy L.A. day. During which I had to run errands on my lunch break. At a time when every idiot driver seemed to get in my way. Thank heaven my office tends to be over-air-conditioned.

Oh, and I'm picking up the kittens tonight and anticipating some friction, which is why they'll be shut off in my bedroom for the first few days. The boys won't be happy about not being able to go in my room, especially at night, but they'll be ok. Eventually.

*sigh* I want my Bankie and Teddy! *commencing sucking thumb*