The Great Moving Depression: Day Two

A few days after my adventure with movers extraordinaires, I rented a car to pick up my child (hamster) and the last few items from the old apartment.  My buddy agreed to help me move some furniture I was donating to the neighborhood scavengers and take stuff to the new apartment.  He is such a doll! Well, I leave my massive bedroom in the new apartment and travel about 45 minutes via public transportation (car rental didn't start for a few hours).  The plan was to get there 2 hours early and have everything ready to go when my buddy arrived. Yeah... Okay so here's where things go slightly awry.

First off, it was hot and humid.  I was sweating like a hoe in patent leather, crotchless panties, sitting in a Southern Baptist Church with her lesbian lover.  Of course, I thought the best way to dress for a move in terrible heat was to wear jeans... JUDGEMENT FREE ZONE!

So I arrive at the apartment at 1145am.  I started patting myself on the back from getting there in a timely manner.  And then I realized I did not have my keys.

The Great Moving Depression: Day One

Recently, I moved out of my cute little studio into an unfortunate but tolerable 2 bedroom apartment with a complete stranger in order to save money for school.  I really would like to have a career instead of a job, so I have to make some sacrifices... That is an entirely different post of its own! Anyway, it is just for summer, so I think I can survive. The unrealized level of filth and cluelessness was unknown to me for obvious reasons.  I moved 90% of my things using a very reputable (*cough* cheap *cough*) moving service I found on CL aka robabitch.com, hoesforchange.com, and weirdosunited.org.  One of the movers seems like a nice guy.  He was quiet but respectful. If I were to overlook the unfortunate neck tattoo, I would say he was cute.  That is until he removed his cap and revealed the glory that was his face tattoo.  It was clASSy with a capital ASS! In the middle of his otherwise cute face sat two crosses: one of them so elegantly placed upside down **SWOON/Le Sigh**.  Such an unfortunate situation! Anyway, as they packed the van with my stuff, I kept running the statistics on the chances of me being robbed, stabbed, or sold to the highest bidder at a street gang auction.  I kept coming up with pretty decent odds of that happening, but not enough to call off the move. HEY! I LIVE IN BOSTON! When it is time to move, you will sell your right knee cap for a cheap mover in an otherwise expensive city that gets away with scamming you into accepting dumps as fancy apartments.  Judgement free zone over here, people!

If Jerry Springer Hosted American Idol...

...It would go a little something like this:
A friend and I were on a subway recently.  Behind us was a lovely, handsome, silver fox that outfoxes Sean Connery and Anderson Cooper.  He was on the phone with his lady love.  He wanted her to come see a live band perform. The band he started.  He wanted to show her off and prove to the world he had himself a beautiful, sexy, woman whom he loved.

Now, let's leave make believe land and enter the harsh world of reality.  Imagine a scruffy, dirty, dingy, drunk, probably smelly, drunk, inebriated, slurring, dirty, and did I mention drunk Rico Suave.  The only way to truly explain this conversation to you is to just provide you with the transcript.

"Baby, I love you.  I love, love, love you. You my woman. I want to take you to this concert to see a band... a band I started. (pause)  No, fuck them other bitches. I want to show you off 'cause baby I love you. I could have any bitch I want, but I love you, girl. Baby, baby, baby (pause) Girl, do you know how much I love you!?!?! Even after you stabbed me, I am still with you.  Do you know how much I love you!?!  (pause) Baby... baby... come on girl! HELLO! HELLO! (I think he lost connection because we are underground) Hey, hey... well then fuck you! If you are ashamed to be seen with me, then don't come, but if you ain't then, let me know 'cause I love you, and I want you to come. (Who is he talking to? At this point that phone couldn't have one damn bar! anyway...) I love you!..."

Here is where he serenades her to prove that he A) really did start a band and B) in case she didn't know, loves her more than them other bitches.  I couldn't make out a fair amount of it because Brothers Jim Bean and Bud Light were singing all of over his melodious voice.

The sorrow is my hand
(gibberish)
IN MY HAND!!! 
Your heart is filled with sorrow in my hand 
(profanity filled gibberish)


"That's how much I love you. If you are ashamed of me, then don't come, but baby I want you to come! Baby, baby..."


Unfortunately, it was time to exit the train, so we do not know if he ever actually got her to come or if he ever realized that the phone was disconnected like 4 stops ago.  Whomever she was, she is a lucky lady.

JERRY! JERRY! JERRY! JERRY! JERRY! JERRY!

Olfactory 101: Delicious

So it has been awhile since I blogged.  Life has been hectic to say the least.  Well, I figured what better way to rejoin the blogosphere than to relay an interesting exchange, if you will,  I had today.

Part of my work responsibilities involve pH-ing water from its natural pH of 7 to a pH of 2 using hydrochloric acid. (Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz) Sorry, I fell asleep while typing that.  This water has to go through a vetting process that would shame John McCain.  Hmmm Sarah "You Betcha" Palin did that quite well on her own.  ANYWAY! So the water has to go through another facility for sterilization before entering our research room.  (No, you are not narcoleptic.) The supervisor I have to deal with was out today, so I had to talk to the other supervisor, Don Juan.  Don Juan has this aurora about him.  He reeks of Perve de Jour.  He is a man that winks at you while he is talking to you, you know that is undressing you with his mind, and that he is checking out your butt as you walk away.  Well, as I was leaving, he is walking behind me to take the water to the proper location.  He said, "I am not trying to be rude or inappropriate, but you smell delicious."

LAME with a capital AME!

A few years ago, I encountered this older gentleman while waiting on the train.  He spent the better part of an hour (yes, following me on the damn train) trying to impress me by saying he was going to be on Oprah because of his t-shirt slogan.  Now, there is nothing about me that says "dumb/gullible/desperate".  First of all, it takes more than a t-shirt slogan to get the Big O's attention.  The slogan was something like "I am stronger than my past" or "I am not my past"...  Basically, it was generic and LAME! He needed something that could not be found in the Hallmark store between the Sympathy and Sobriety cards.  He showed it to me on a piece of paper.  The layout screamed of MS word art.  In my mind, I was laughing in his face because he really thought he: a) had a chance with this. Homie no! b) really thought someone would buy into this.  At the time, I was polite because I assumed the guy was a nutcase.  Who else would think Oprah+word art+generic slogan= getting laid? After the longest hour EVUH!, I was free to laugh at this absurdity of it. I remember calling all of my people to share the details.

Over the years, I would see him pulling this same sad schtick with young girls.  Some looked to be in high school girls.  I always shook my head and kept it moving.

Vacancy at Our Ladies of Saint Santorum: Sister Wives Wanted

Here is a quick update on the hunt for a summer sublet.  Today, I encountered what could only be described as a cult! HA! Not joking! So I will take you through their robabitch.com (craigslist) posting. My thoughts are in red. Seriously, these are my thoughts as I was reading it.

Catharsis... For Cathy

There have been some events over the past few months... hell, let's be honest...YEARS! that continuously brought up the idea of milestones.  Yes, you can measure your life in years or accomplishments. However, years and accomplishments do not measure growth as a person.  As we grow, develop, mature, learn, harden, we also add, subtract, multiple, define the constants in our lives.  The thing we take for granted in our youth is that most of us have complete control over the variables in that equation.  


In this case, the variables I speak of are people.  We decide on our friends from the moment we can recognize another living being.  As we enter adolescence, we make new friends and let some go.  As we enter college and our early twenties, we realize that we were complete and utter morons in high school, and if we are lucky, we evolve, grow into better, more confident people. With a better grasp on our sense of self, we grow distant from some and closer than we ever could conceive possible to others. 


With this growth, milestones are reached.  Friends start to marry, have children, and start building a great foundation that we are just grateful to be a part of. For most of us, this begins around age 22.  As we approach our 30s, more friends are marrying, having children, but also realizing that maybe, they were not 100% right about everything in their early 20s. This continuance in growth sometimes lead to divorce, a change in career, return to school, or the decision to finally expand your family.  The one thing we rarely think about in our 20s or even our 30s is that we are rapidly approaching a time when that complete control we have over our equation is slipping away.  Those constants that we usually assume are our parents, caregivers start to become variables.  As we age, grow, accomplish, they age, slow down, and eventually, without our consent or participation... they are no more. 


This has been something I have been wrestling with.  How do you wrap your mind around this?  With the arrival of new life we must lose older, valued life.  I have my issues with my parents.  We all have our issues.  Some are more severe, grave than the norm.  For those of us that genuinely love and value our parent(s), how do we prepare for that day when you can no longer pick up the phone and call them?  How do we prepare for the day when you can no longer say "OMG WOMAN! YOU ARE KILLING ME!!!" because they know how to push your buttons to get a rise out of you? How do you prepare for that time when you can no longer hear their voice when it is to say something you know you don't want to hear but you need to?  


With these thoughts come guilt.  Guilt over not calling enough.  Guilt from holding silly grudges.  Guilt from deciding that today is the day I have to leave them behind and live for me.  


I believe most of us run from these thoughts because we assume we have forever with our constants.  We all have this fantasy of our parents growing old, wearing tracksuits, and pushing pimped out walkers. For the fortunate, that fantasy becomes a reality.  For the rest, they must live with the fact that forever came while their parent(s) still had so much life to live.  They had so much life to live because you were still becoming this person you wanted them to know and love. 


A friend of mines, Cathy, mother passed away.  She passed away a few days before the birth of her first grandbaby.  Life is so cruel.  This wonderful woman, who is sweet, smart, and funny, lost her mother days before she became a mother. Sounds like some sick twist of irony.  Situations like this always leave me wondering... Just speechless. It makes me grateful that I still have my mother, but nothing is promised and her forever is beyond my control.  So how do we reconcile those thoughts?  My conclusion at the age of 29: We don't.  We live. We let go of guilt.  We do the best we can with the life we have.  We let go of those destructive individuals in our lives.  We appreciate who we have and remember that we do not control when we lose them.


Cathy, your loss is something I cannot process.  The thought is more than I can truly bear.  What I can say is: I have control over my relationship with you.  I want to make it stronger. You are someone I value.  If you want me to be there for you in anyway, I will do my very best to be there.  You are going to be an AMAZING mom.  You deserve the peace and happiness your child will bring you. I am so sorry for your loss. 

The Hunt for Red October... Okay, more like The Hunt for a Summer Sublet so I am not sleeping on a Red Hot Sidewalk

First and foremost, I have never seen the movie, but Sean Connery is the original silver fox.

I am returning to school in the fall (fingers crossed!).  Before that can happen, my lease ends June 1st.  In order to avoid homelessness or near death from sleeping near my friends' cats, I MUST find a summer sublet.  Let's just say the experiences so far have been...   I will only share two with you, but believe me, if something else comes along, you will be the first to know ;).

Initial incident: I respond to a posting via my work email account to a posting on robabitch.com (craigslist).  I listed all of the reasons why I totally kick ass and would make an amazing roommate.  Basically, I told the truth and said I am an 80 yr old woman trapped in the body of a 45 year old, who happens to actually be 29years old.  Well she was excited, but she wanted to check out my facebook or linked in pages to verify my identity... Let that marinade for a minute. Now, I should tell you that I am employed by a reputable hospital, so this account is not yahoo, gmail, hotmail, or that decrepit AOL.  Take a gander at my response: