You know you are completely OVER being secretary of the strata committee when you put a message in group WhatsApp chat saying: “Can I request that people in the chat speak respectfully to each other. The committee members are volunteers who are doing their best to help. Thank you.”
The latest drama was sparked by the strata manager only giving two days’ notice that the windows were being cleaned. Our building’s resident crank has requested that all communications be sent via snail mail and therefore requires two weeks’ notice for everything.
She sent this message to the chat: “They will need to come again because you have requested an expensive cleaner and a worse job is being done.”
FFS.
This year’s window cleaners were chosen because last year’s window cleaners did a crap job. Unfortunately the latest ones appear to have missed a few windows. So there’s another battle for me to fight this week.
Meanwhile, the plumber has been on the phone because there’s an issue with a laundry pipe in unit 2. He just finished repairing the damaged pipe in the backyard.
Never a quiet moment in strata committee land.
Anyways, that was my Friday. Not my favourite. Especially since I didn’t get much sleep on Thursday night after doing something very ill-advised.
One of the owners posted this pic in the WhatsApp chat of a car that had mounted the curb and parked on our garden.
On plants.
FFS.
I was feeling totally over everyone’s shite by that point and was suddenly overcome with white hot rage.
I stormed downstairs and wrote “DO NOT PARK HERE” across their windscreen in lipstick.
Is that illegal? If it is, pretend I never told you.
I was elated by my audacity as I stomped back upstairs, but went to bed worrying: “Will they return for retribution?”
Literally the rest of the night was spent thinking about it. Every little noise outside made me think the car’s owner had returned to spray paint ugly words on the building in retribution.
That was the first and last time I will deface a window.
The weekend was spent preparing for my colonoscopy, blaaaaaah. I almost died from starvation and misery on Sunday as I forced down cups of bone broth and Pico Prep and dealt with the consequences.
Actually, give me Pico Prep over bone broth any day – soooooo disgusting, why is even a thing? I was supposed to drink four cups of it, but lost the will to live after the first one.
I tipped the rest of it down the sink. Even the smell of it turned my stomach.
I was also scheduled for the first procedure of the day on Monday, so DD had to get me to the gut clinic by 6.30am. It must be love.
The gastroenterologist was very impressed with my prep and described it as “excellent” in his report. I received 9 out of 9 on the Boston Bowel Preparation Score. Go me!
Oh … actually … go him. After mentioning my excellent score with Dr Google, I’ve discovered that it might have been a pat on the back for the doctor rather than me.
Ah well, he did an excellent cleaning job, my colon was pristine in the happy snaps he handed me.
As for what he discovered … the initial findings are mainly signs I’m getting old and my body is failing me, which was a bit depressing.
I’ve also been prescribed daily pills that are as big as the last segment of my pinkie finger. Joy.
Six months ago I was pill free, now I’m on three day day. Rack off middle age.
Next stop is a CT scan while various samples are off being tested or biopsied or whatever is done to them.
I was feeling pretty tired and sorry for myself yesterday afternoon.
Although this comedian’s take on colonoscopy prep gave me a laugh, it can be my “song of the day” …
xx
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