I don't think I've mentioned anything about our recent furniture situation. It would seem that when Mom and Steve came to clean a few weeks ago, they decided having just one loveseat with one arm torn to sad little shreds by the cats was just not how people live. We discovered this on the way to go talk to the middle school anime club, and Steve asked us how we'd like a couch. As far as I could tell, we were pretty obviously not very gung-ho about the idea, but since we didn't say no, I guess that meant "Oh you want to give us a couch? Please, save us from our wretched, wretched misery! Oh yay, whatever will we do without you?" (only sounding sincere.)
I don't know if this was a happy coincidence or something they just happened to remember when Steve's friend's family decided to replace all their furniture with fancy leather stuff from La-Z-Boy or whatever that brand is. And so it was decided, without much input from us, that we would be getting not only a new couch, but a new loveseat, and our old loveseat, which has served us very well these past few years and is a token of our being assigned an awesome home teacher who paid far more attention to our needs than some people seem to be doing even now, would be thrown away. Now, it's true that the arm of the loveseat is torn to sad little shreds, but we can still sit on the thing, and it's been a big help to us for three years, so we hate to give it up. We're thinking we'll give it a cover, but for now, it's sitting in the spare bedroom.
That's right, it's in the spare bedroom. Because this morning, while all the women were busy rehearsing the song we're going to be singing in church tomorrow, Steve, his son, Aurora's husband, and Sarah's boyfriend came to deliver couches. And the first thing they said when they came in was, "So is this the one we're taking out?" We got into an argument, because I was still upset that Steve hadn't really consulted us, and I wanted to make it clear that our opinion really does matter in an instance where you're rearranging people's furniture (and yet we're such big fans of While You Were Out... hm...). All the sensible people were either just keeping quiet because they were just brought along as muscle, or, in the case of Celeste, offering to design the room herself. But anyway, we needed to get back to rehearsal, so we just had them leave the furniture (it's not that we didn't want more furniture--just that we would like to have some say in the arrangement) and we got back to practicing.
I guess Steve was feeling bad that we weren't as thrilled about the furniture as he'd hoped, because it would seem that that's when he decided to go talk to the management about the light in our living room. It's still not working, as Mom discovered when she came over to practice on Wednesday. We first heard the story when we were getting ready to go out to lunch with everyone. We were heading to the cars when Aurora spotted a dog hanging out in the parking lot. It looked injured and possibly sick, so we tried calling animal services, but they wouldn't talk unless it was an emergency. We weren't sure it was, so instead, Athena and I went to inform the management about it, since we knew they care about that stuff after the incident with the cat downstairs.
The manager was there, and she looked a little concerned and said we needed to talk. We started freaking out internally because we thought we might be in trouble (that's usually why people would tell us "we need to talk"), but apparently it was just because Steve had been in there. They said he made a big scene and threatened to get the Law involved and how dare they not show him the lease, he paid first and last month's rent (which, incidentally, he did not; I have clear memories of being taken to the bank so we could by a cashier's check with our own money) and all sorts of things. We had a laugh about it, and we actually told them that they could tell him we said they're not allowed to show him the lease. That may turn out to be ginormous mistake, however.
We rejoined our family, someone was sent out to check on the dog, and we all went to lunch at In and Out. That was when we made the offer to get Aurora and her husband a Wii, and, understandably, they convinced Mom that we should be Questing for it. We tried a few places, called a bunch more, they were all out, and we didn't have a whole lot of time because when Celeste parted ways with everyone, she ended up hitting her head really hard--hard enough to bleed and make her feel nauseous--so she had been ordered to go to Mom's house and wait, awake, until Mom could check on it. So we drive to Mom's house, but we weren't allowed to go into the house because Steve is really, really hurt about what happened.
As Aurora's husband drove us home, he described what happened from Steve's point of view, and it was pretty much the same, only with the addition that the management said that we had specifically told them that they don't have to listen to anything he says.
This is where things get a little fuzzy. It's true that when we went to put stuff in the mail after Mom and Steve were over cleaning, that the manager was concerned about whether or not things were okay, because "our dad" was in telling them about how so much was wrong but we were too shy to come ask them to fix it and blah blah blah. As many of you probably know by now, hearing "your dad" in reference to Steve tends to get us a little on edge. We didn't go crazy or anything, though--we just said (sharply) "He's not our dad." I don't remember what else was said, though, so it's possible that we did say, "Oh don't listen to him." But we weren't singling him out or anything--we would have said that about anyone else who tried to do that. But Steve, knowing that we don't get along all that well, is pretty sensitive about that, so now that he's been told that he has no say in what goes on in our apartment, he thinks we did single him out and he's very hurt. (Though I guess you could say he was singled out, in the sense that he's the only one we know who would go so far as to yell at our managers, and thus the only one to whom the "don't listen to those people" would apply.)
Frankly, we think he's acting very childish about the whole thing, but we've been told, and we agree (for the most part), that we should at least apologize for any misunderstanding. But I have to rant about it on Live Journal because it's so extremely maddening that he doesn't bother to find out how we feel about anything, and then it's our fault when we don't like it. What is that? Of course, if he really does think he paid first and last month's rent, that would explain why he thinks we've been unfair all this time. I just wish that Steve would try to find out what exactly our battles are before trying to fight them for us, because as it is, it seems like he's just picking unnecessary fights. And I'm still annoyed that I have so much furniture to walk around to get to the piano now. I actually do play that piano, and I liked being able to get to it easily. Come to think of it, we keep the phone on the piano. Oh boy.
Oh wait, they were thinking of putting an end table in the corner between the couches. This is something that Steve decided with Mom after I yelled at him about not talking to us about how we want our furniture. Sigh.
The really frustrating thing is that I want to make certain things clear, but I know that once we apologize, any further discussion will be cut off by all the other people, trying to prevent us from saying something stupid. I'm actually at a point where I want to argue it out, but I guess they're right in that arguing is not the best format for getting people to listen. Sigh.
So even though we were banished from the house, Aurora and her husband said they'd come get us for dinner over there so we don't have to go out of our way and make a phone call, which is nice. I just wish that Steve would realize that if he doesn't do these things that make him seem like a jerk, he would stop seeming like a jerk. And we know he's just trying to be nice, but man, could he please please please try to consider what we actually want? It's like that random acts of service movie they made on On The Lot, where the lady washes the homeless guy's clothes, only he only has one set of clothes, so instead of giving him more clothes, she takes him to the laundromat where he stands in his underwear, waiting for the laundry to finish, but the laundromat closes before it does, so they're kicked out and he's still naked, so she gives him a sandwich and he's allergic to peanut butter and he dies. You have to think before you can effectively serve, and thinking usually involves finding out what the person really needs.
Today I'm thankful for rehearsal going smoothly, people listening to our side of the story, getting to have lunch at In and Out, free mint chocolate truffles from See's, and having lots of fun happy things to calm us down.