Welcome to My Quarter-Life Crisis

The To-Do List From HELL July 30, 2009

As you might have gathered from my last post, the move did not go quite as smoothly as I had hoped, and I have yet to sip a Mai-Tai by my pool.  When I arrived (after a leisurely six and a half hour drive in a 26′ truck packed to the brim and towing a car behind it) I quickly discovered that the air conditioner in my lovely new house is broken.  In Florida.  In July.  OH and did I mention the 26′ packed to the brim truck that had to be unloaded?  Not cool.  Literally.  So that was “issue” number one.  Number two was that I had a cooler full of food that I was trying to salvage and SURPRISE!  There’s no fridge.  And no washer and dryer.  You know what…  let me just save some time and type the list that I gave to the landlord.

Dear Landlord,

Things That Need to be Fixed Before I’ll Ever Sign a Lease

1) Fix A/C

2) Master Bath shower needs faucet (literally there was just a hole in the wall)

3) hall bath faucet neeeds to be turned right side up

4) pool needs new pump (old one overheats every 15 minutes)

5) remove water from dishwasher

6) bolt dishwasher to counter

7) guest bedroom door needs to be turned right side up

8)  need FRIDGE (for some reason it won’t let me type an “8″ with a thing behind it without making that ridiculous smily.  sorta takes away from the pissy tone that I am intending this list to have…)

9)  finish grout in master bedroom floor

10)  Master bedroom door doesn’t close

11)  Fans in living room and bedroom wobble to the point that I fear decapitation

But other than that Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?! 

So the first night, I have to admit, I was borderline hysterical and thought that I may or may not have needed to be sedated and admitted to a mental hospital.  I was sweaty and tired and pissed.  But the next day, I got up with a “Let’s do the damn thing!” attitude and got it ALL done.  Well, I got it all done with some help from the A/C guys and the weirdest plumber you’ll ever meet – who, by the way, had to cut into walls in two locations in my house to fix the showers.  Seriously this guy was so strange.  And he was here all.  day.  long.  At one point he literally just popped his head out of the door and looked at me and said, “Picture me ROLLIN”, and then went right back to work.  I looked around for a minute like, “did I just hallucinate that?!”… 

Anyway, so I have an A/C that’s kickin, a clean pool with a new pump, a shiny new dishwasher, fridge, and washer and dryer, fans that aren’t going to decapitate me, a bedroom door that closes, a beautiful master bath shower that you can actually USE, and a finished bedroom floor.  And now?  Dare I even say it?!  This place is actually really great.  Just needed a little (and by “little” I mean “a shitload of”) TLC!  And the best part is, along with a beautiful beach sunset, I see a Mai-Tai on the horizon…   

p.s. Although everything is fixed, I still haven’t signed the lease.  Sorta like unloading a truck in the Florida summer sun with no A/C, I wanna make that landlord sweat just a little…

I’m Baaaaaaaack… July 29, 2009

But only for a minute.  Just wanted you all to know that I am, in fact, alive and well (mostly).  I am finally all moved, and well, let’s just say that it has been a turbulent ride on the “fixer-upper” train, and I don’t even OWN this house.  Fascinating.  I have lots to say about the adventures of the last week – I will blog all about it tomorrow.  For now I have to go – I think I hear something (ELSE) leaking…

Late Night Antics at the Steak & Shake July 21, 2009

I don’t know about you guys, but usually at least once a day something happens that makes me feel older.  Allow me if you will, to tell you about an incident from last night that made me feel nothing short of prehistoric. 

I went to Steak and Shake for a late dinner.  Well, I thought it was late, but apparently it was still “within curfew”.  Anyway, this precious little girl is the hostess and apparently a waitress as well.  I remember thinking, “she is WAY too young to be working!  And especially this late!”  (It was like 10:15 – should have been the first clue that I’m old, I suppose.)  So at the table next to me were these two little kids.  Completely unaccompanied.  I only glanced at them at first, and went right on to ordering my turkey melt.  (Yeah that’s right – I ordered turkey at a burger place.  So what?!)  Then I start to notice that these little tykes are giving my precious angel little waitress a hard time.  They are playing in the ketchup and asking her for all sorts of things.  Basically just running the poor girl to death. 

I watch this go on for a few minutes and then I seriously start to get irritated.  Where are their damn parents?!  This is ridiculous.  Someone needs to give these tots their paci and make them go ni-night.  They are giving the sweet waitress a hard time, plus I’m pretty sure that, because she’s been so busy dealing with them, my turkey melt is sitting up there getting cold.  Finally, they leave her alone and I get my delicious din-din, but I still am like, “how can these kids be unsupervised?!”  (My concern didn’t stop me from eating, by the way.)

Then the unthinkable happens.  They stand up and one of them takes out a freakin’ set of CAR KEYS.  It would have suited him better to have those big plastic colorful Fisher-Price keys, but nooooooo, these keys were the real deal.  And then it all hit me like a ton of bricks.  They weren’t giving the waitress a hard time – they were flirting her.  And she was flirting BACK!  Unbelievable.  As it turns out, the kids that I was ready to put in a playpen are old enough to drive.  Damn it I’m old.

Now is it just me, or do kids these days look younger?!  There is just NO WAY that we looked that young when we were all awesome and sixteen and out wheelin’ around!  Is there?… 

Oh and I forgot to mention the best part…  the driver’s buddy (the other seven year old) was the tiniest pizza-face awkward stage little boy you’ve ever seen, and he was wearing a t-shirt that said, “Save Water – Shower with Me.”  Way to shoot for the stars, kid.  This generation of kiddos may be tiny, but at least they’re optimistic.

The BEST Invention… Just Be Sure to Bring Rubbers July 20, 2009

I don’t know if you guys have heard of the greatest invention of this (or any) century, but if not, let me enlighten you.  You may have seen it at Wal-Mart or outside the grocery store or some other similar location and just walked right by it without so much as a second glance.  I have to admit that I stupidly did that the first time too.  I don’t know why, but for some reason, whenever there is some new technology that I’m not privy to I get a little freaked out by it.  I did that with IPods & ITunes.  I thought “Eh – it’ll never catch on.  I’m not doing that.”  Now I can’t go a day without my precious baby IPod Touch.  I was the same way with texting.  I just thought,  ”No way.  If I have something to say, I’ll call ya.”  Now texting is hands down my preferred method of communication.  It’s just a statement.  No room for questions or someone interrupting you or three hours of bullshitting around on the phone when you have other stuff to do.  I love it.  It’s sorta like texting is Twitter and Facebook is a phone call.  Who has time for that kind of a commitment?!  Not me.  ANYWAY, when I first saw this shining beacon of an invention, I thought, “Umm I don’t get it, so I’m not doin’ it.”  But just like texting and the ipod, I came around.

I call it my DVD Hooker.  You just pull up to the curb, give her a dollar (that’s right, only ONE dollar for a whole 24 hours!), and she gives you entertainment for the night.  And the best part is there is no risk of venerial disease.  (Well I guess that depends on who you’re watching the movie with really…)  And they are on damn near every street corner!  Oh so convenient.  It’s sheer genius.  Much like the self check-out lane, it has taken literally every piece of human interaction out of renting a movie.  And there are no late fees.  It’s a dollar for the night, and a dollar for every night after that, UNTIL you reach the 25th night, and then it stops charging your card and you own the movie.  How great is that?!  No more fear of trying to “make it a Blockbuster night” only to find out that you have a $437 late fee from a video game that your little brother rented when he was eight.  And even then you didn’t own the video game.  They still expect to get that mother back!  Ridiculous.

So then when you’re done with the movie, you can return the damn thing anywhere!  It doesn’t have to be the same street corner, or hell, even the same state or town!  AND you can reserve the movies that you want online.  I just can’t say enough about my little DVD ho.  Now if only there was a way they could sell popcorn out of that sucker too… 

The only problem I have with this delightful creation is the name.  Maybe it’s just that my mind is constantly in the gutter or perhaps I got a little too hung up on the “no risk of VD” comment, but REDBOX?  Really?  Whatever.  I may not have chosen that name, but the DVD hooker will be the only way I rent movies from here on out.  I’ll just be sure to wear protection.

Some Clarification… July 20, 2009

You may (or may not) notice that I have taken down some of my previous blog posts.  It has come to my attention that the posts about my divorce might make it seem like I think that it is humorous and that I am not taking it seriously or am not deeply affected by it.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  My heart breaks every day in a different way and it sucks.  This divorce was my fault and I take responsibility for it.  I was married to a good man who deserves nothing but the best, and that is truly what I wish for him. 

Just wanted to clarify.

Home-Sweet-Quit Screwing with Me July 19, 2009

So I am trying to move.  Really what I need is to get out of this to-small-for-its-own-good town.  Every day here makes me crazier than the last.  PLUS, I am sick and tired of all of my shit being in boxes and wearing the same three outfits.  Seriously I have pretty much worn the same thing for a month now.  The whole experience has been exhausting.  After sending out about 50,000 resumes, I have three very promising interviews set up, only they are about 5 and a half hours from where I currently live.  So I have been trying to find a place to call home so that I can get this show on the road. 

The first trip down there was a complete waste.  I really just spent time driving in circles trying to figure out where I had the best chance of not being killed in a drive-by.  It took me 14 hours in the car and $120 in gas, but I finally got an area narrowed down.  So I accept the fact that I am going to have to turn around and drive 5 and a half hours BACK down there again within the next week.  I try to put on my positive pants and say, “that’s okay – at least I’m more familiar with the area and I can take the next week to work on some more job stuff and really narrow down my house search.”  So I work the internet day and night.  I line up a few houses that I really liked - one in particular – and get all set to make the trek again.  On the way down I call the guy who has the house listed that I really liked (for rent by owner) and he says that he won’t be available to show it until after 6.  GREAT.  I’ll just sit here then.  So I spend the day (and about another one jillion dollars) eating at a place by the beach, driving around in circles, and trying to find a few other potential places (to no avail).  I also have driven by the house that I really liked and peeked in all the windows – the house is just precious and the neighborhood is adorable and I am feeling great about the whole situation.  I can’t wait until 6 when I can get inside and give this joker a deposit so that I can get my butt down there and set up shop! 

So six o’clock rolls around and I still haven’t heard from the guy.  6:15.  6:30.  6:45.  Okay mother fucker, I still have to drive five and a half hours home.  WHERE are you?!  So I call him again.  Here’s our conversation:

Me:  Hi Mr. Douchebag, this is the person who’s been waiting on your monkey ass all day – I called you about the house earlier.  I was just wondering if we were still on to look at it tonight.

Mr. Douchebag:  “Oh ummm well I’m actually in VIRGINIA, (a mere 5 states away) so I’ll have to see if the property manager can get over there to let you in.”  (Keep in mind, it is now 6:45 p.m. and he has not contacted this “property manager” ONCE the entire day.  What do you think the chances are that she will just drop dinner with the fam and rush over to show me this property?  Slim to none, I’d say.)

Me:  OH.  I didn’t realize it was a property manager who would be showing it.  Does she not show houses during the day?  I mean I sorta have been waiting around all day to see this house and I still have to drive 5 and a half hours home…

Mr. DB:  No.  She doesn’t show houses during the day.  She has another job.  I’ll get in touch with her and call you back.

So I wait a few minutes and he calls back and SURPRISE frickin’ SURPRISE, guess who can’t come to show the house?!  Oh and p.s., he then says, “we also got an offer from someone who wants to buy the house today.”  UMMM WTF?!  I didn’t even know the mother effer was for SALE.  I calmly explain to him that I need to move like NOW, and that I’ve waited all day for him to show me this property and now I have nothing else lined up and the day is over.  Then (because this guy is clearly high and/or dillusional) he says, “well the offer may not work out.  Why don’t you go ahead and move down here and stay in an extended stay until we know if it’s going to go through or not.”  YOU SELFISH AND RIDICULOUS PIECE OF RENTAL TERD.  Is that not audacity at it’s finest?!  Sure dude, let me just rent a truck to the tune of $500, drive all of my shit down there and unload it in a storage building for $115 a month (just so I can have the pleasure of moving all of it a grand total of four times), and then stay in some grody stained sheet having dump with a kitchenette for $189 a week – all in the HOPES that the offer on your house doesn’t work out.  And Momma didn’t raise no fool –  I know how real estate is going right now.  If you are lucky enough to have an offer on your house, short of some ridiculous terms like demanding a b.j. from your wife on a weekly basis, ummm you’re probably gonna accept it and be damn happy about it. 

I politely told the guy to eat shit and die.  Then, I came to the realization that I was going to have to get a hotel room (just another $89 off the money tree) and start the whole thing again the next day.  Someone kill me now. 

So that’s exactly what I do.  Oh, but ONLY after going to Wal-Mart for a fresh pair of undies and a toothbrush (I had packed nothing, since I was only going to be there for a day – HA!).  The next day I get up, and after stuffing my face at the continental breakfast, I start driving around and stumble upon a cutie litte house – right side of town, right price, let’s do the damn thing.  So I go to the rental property office, fill out the paperwork, give them the $45 application fee and hit the road back home.  YAY!  All is right with the world again.  WRONG. 

When I got home I had to find my last two pay stubs (tons of fun when all of your boxes and files are in a no air having storage place) and fax them to the rental place.  Done and done.  So I call the rental agent the next day.  Turns out that if you don’t have a job, you need to prove that you have enough in the bank to cover a YEAR’S worth of rent.  A grand total of $13,200.  Sure.  No prob.  So naturally I start wigging out.  Then I realize that with some very creative statement printing, I can come up with $13,400.  YESSSSSSSSS.  SUCKAS!  I print everything out and run to Kinko’s (oh and by the way – screw you Kinko’s.  Where you get off charging $2.50 per PAGE to send a fax, I have no idea.  Money grubbing bastards.) and fax the papers back to the rental company.  Another day goes by.  I call the rental place to check in.  I’m REALLY ready to move I tell them.  I get a call back from some random lady (at 3:30 that afternoon – so essentially another day is over) and she says that she is “sorry about the miscommunication” but that the only way they can rent me the house is if write them a check for the full year’s worth of rent ($13,200 for those that aren’t paying attention) OR if I have two and a half times that amount in the bank.  (I’ll spare you the math – that’s $33,000.)  Okay, now I’m pissed.  Another four days of my life have been wasted waiting for these dumb asses at the rental place and I am no closer to having a new home sweet home.  FUCK.  So I tell this lady, “umm do you HONESTLY think that if I had $33,000 sitting in the bank I would be sweatin’ renting an $1,100 a month piece of shit house from YOU?!  No.  I would be on the water somewhere with some sort of drink with fruit chunks and one of those little umbrellas in my hand thinking, “I’m so friggin glad that I have $33,000 in the bank right now.  Bring me another Mai Tai!” 

So I have to drive ANOTHER five and a half hours BACK down there and loooooooooong story (just a little bit) shorter, I found two more houses that I liked.  Both were for rent by owner in hopes that they wouldn’t require me to be independently wealthy to rent a house from them.  And of course, they both couldn’t meet me until after 5:00 p.m.  Oh GREAT.  I’ve heard this song and dance before.  So I wait and wait and wait.  Five o’clock rolls around and the lady shows up at the first house.  The first thing she says is, “I hope this code works!”  Apparently she is relying on the code for the garage to open it up because she doesn’t have a key.  Well guess what?  It doesn’t work when the power is off.  So she goes to her car.  Miracle of all miracles, she has a spare key ring in her trunk.  So we go to the front door.  After she trys every key on the ring (she must work in janitorial services – I have never seen so many keys), she finally finds the right one.  She pushes the door open and BAM!  The chain lock is on from the inside.  Not a snowball’s chance in hell of getting in this house.  (Insert the sound of my heart sinking here.)  “Maybe you could come back tomorrow?” she says.  UHHHH what part of “I live 5 and a half hours away did you NOT understand?!”  No.  I’m not coming back tomorrow.  So I’ve got an hour to kill before the guy can be there to show me the next house.  I go to a bar by the next house and have a beer.  It was necessary.  I was down to the WIRE at this point.  Do or die, now or never, fish or cut bait, shit or get off the pot.  The next house is in a great location, cute neighborhood, 4 miles from the beach, and (here’s the kicker) has a HUGE backyard with a pool.  AND it’s on the cheaper side of the rent spectrum.  The beer was really just so I could prepare myself to see a dumpsville of a house on the inside, because I knew that no matter what, this was the one I was going to have to rent.  Provided that the guy could actually get IN the damn thing to show it to me… 

The guy shows up (right on time) and is as absolutely nice as he can be.  I am sweating bullets (and wishing I’d had one more beer) as he pushes the front door open.  I can’t believe my eyes.  HAAAAAAAAAAALLELUJAH!  Can you hear the angels singing?  This house is completely renovated.  The guy has done all the work himself and it is freakin’ immaculate.  Brand new tile, new granite countertops, all new kitchen appliances, brand new bathrooms – even new toilets!!!  Plus a POOL!  With a FOUNTAIN!  I was in heaven.  I tried not to cry in front of the guy, although I really wanted to.  So I told him that I would leave the deposit and the first month’s rent and he said not to worry about it, that we would start the least in August, but that I could come and sign the lease and start moving in my stuff any time.  He even took the “for rent” sign down and put it in his truck right then and there. 

In the end all of the agitation and time and MONEY was well worth it.  I am moving on Wednesday.  You can find me by the pool on Thursday.  Bring me another Mai Tai, bitches!

Happy Birthday! July 19, 2009

Just wanted to say Happy Birthday to my other mother – wish I could be there with you guys!  Have a blast and no drunk dialing. 

p.s. I don’t have any bail money, so you guys better behave!

I Have a Dream… But I’m a Bea Arthur Fan? July 16, 2009

back in St. Olaf...

So could someone smarter than me PLEASE interpret the dream that I had last night for me?…  Here’s the dream:

I am driving down the highway by my old house (where we grew up), and I am nearly getting run off the road by firetrucks.  They are blowing by me, lights and sirens blaring, and I’m like, “DAMN!  What’s the rush?  Where’s the fire, man?!”  (HA)  Anyway, so then I look up and I see a big plume of smoke.  I look to my right and see the Checker’s parking lot (there is actually a Checker’s on this road).  In the parking lot is one of those biiiiig huge fancy tour buses.  I keep driving and when I come to the stop light I can see that all of the firetrucks are parked around a Jeep that is on fire in the middle of the intersection.  There is a big crowd of onlookers and I slowly start to realize that they are all coming out of the tour bus.  And they are all Betty White look-alikes.  W. T. F.?!  They are standing around this burning Jeep, with their little curly blond old lady hair, arms crossed and shaking their heads in dismay.  Then I woke up. 

Try as I might, I just can not figure this one out.  I have a dream interpretation book, but strangely enough there is not a “Betty White look-alike” section.  I haven’t even watched Golden Girls in ages.  And I got rid of the Betty White poster that I had up in my bedroom a loooong time ago.  (Just kidding about that by the way.  Everyone knows I’m a Bea Arthur fan.)  I am going to attribute this strange dream to one of my good friends who loves The Golden Girls.  You know who you are.  And I’d just like to say – thank you for bein’ a friend.  Traveled down the road and back again.  Your heart is true -  you’re a pal and a confidant.  And if you threw a party – invited everyone you knew – you would see, the biggest gift would be from me.  And the card attached would say, “Thank you for bein’ a friend.”

(*Truly terrifying that I knew all of the words to that song without looking them up.  My love for Bea Arthur runs deeper than I knew.)

Show Me Your Tweets… July 15, 2009

So here it is guys – yet another project to keep my idle mind from going craaaaazy!!!  I love, love, love writing this blog.  It is the cheapest most wonderful therapy, and best of all, it does not involve sitting in a shitty shrink’s office with someone nodding (and judging) and saying, “Mmmhmmm.  Now how does that make you feel?”  My computer screen never looks at me with disdain and I LOVE that.  With trying to move and find a job, and having all of my stuff in boxes (as I have repeatedly bitched about), it is hard to find enough time to write every day.  You know I gotta get out on the streets with my “will blog for food” sign to rustle up some dolla-dolla bills to keep this show rolling, so I apologize that I haven’t been as dedicated as I’d like to be lately.  I should be moving this weekend (fingers crossed), so hopefully it won’t be too long before I’m good and settled (as much as an unemployed 27 year old divorcee can be I suppose), and blogging like a champ again. 

In the mean time, and because I’m lazy as hell and this is so much easier, I have come up with another blog that I hope you’ll all check out.  It is called “Show Me Your Tweets”…..  GET IT?!  Omg it still makes me laugh.  And basically it is just a forum for making fun of random stuff on Twitter.  Up until I had this idea (yesterday), I really didn’t even understand what Twitter was all about.  And honestly I still don’t.  But the good news is you don’t have to understand it to make fun of it.  So here ya go…  Pass it on!  I’ll be updating both bloggeroos as often as possible, so don’t forget about me.  (sidenote:  is it bad that I can never say that – or read it – without thinking of that song from the Breakfast Club?  Don’t you – da da da da da – forget about me – daaa – don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t you…) 

Oh, and if any of you Twitter, send me your funny stuff!  And if you don’t Twitter, you definitely should.  There’s nothing like a good set of tweets after all. 

I Think I’m Hungry! I Must Need a Hit… July 11, 2009

if they're smaller, they can't be as bad, right?!

Just in case any of you were wondering just exactly how fat we are as a nation, I have two words for you:  BURGER SHOTS. 

I was driving along yesterday, minding my own biznass, when I spotted a Burger King sign that said, “Burger Shots $3.99″.  Ummm what?  Really people, has it come to this?  Apparently they are mini-sized burgers, but you get like two or three, I’m not sure.  It’s kinda similar to the whole “Sliders” idea I suppose.  Most restaurants now have these sliders – they are mini-whatevers (burgers, turkey burgers, crabcakes, you get the idea), roughly the size of half a regular burger, and you get three.  Uhhh let’s do the fat math here.  You take one normal size burger, divided it in half, and then multiply it by three.  Now, I was never a whiz at fractions, but I’m pretty sure that this works out to a burger and a half, no?  So why do people order these things?  Does a smaller patty (times three) make you think that you’re actually eating less?  Perhaps even just the word “mini” in the description that leads us (and by “us” I don’t mean “me” – I won’t be fooled!) to believe that ordering “Sliders” is actually better than just ordering a regular burger? 

And speaking of regular burgers, when did they start making them a standard 13″ diameter?  I went to Red Robin the other day and got (it pains me to admit this) the Royal Red Robin Burger.  Yeah that’s right – I ordered a burger that has a fried egg on it.  And that burger was the size of my FACE.  And I ate the whole thing.  And it was delicious.  Whew!  I feel better just admitting that – I think I needed that moment of honesty for us to build on.  Anyway, for those of you who don’t know, Red Robin is a chain burger joint.  They literally have like 20 different crazy types of burgers, that are all HUGE.  And about 2,500 calories per greasy serving.  And what cracked me up was that the waitress said, “Welcome to Red Robin – we’re famous for our bottomless fries”…  I was like NO YOU’RE NOT, dumb ass!  You’re famous for burgers so big they have their own gravitational pull and make you hate yourself the minute you’re done eating them, duh. 

So I know that ordering the Royal Red Robin may have not been the best choice health wise, (definitely felt like I needed to snort a Lipitor or two after the meal) but at least I went for the whole shebang and wasn’t trying to fool myself into thinking I’d made a half way healthy choice by ordering “Minis”.  Which brings me back to BK’s latest and greatest – the Burger Shots.  Is it just insane to anyone else that we are soooo unhealthy and junk-food crazed that you can just be driving along, start to think that you may be the tiniest bit hungry, and pop into BK (the drive thru, of course – we’re not walking or leaving the a/c!) for what is essentially a hit of grease and ketchup in one of these Burger Shots?  There is no denying that we are total fast food junkies.  I can’t believe it’s come to this point.  Burger Shots.  Give me a BREAK! 

(p.s.  In case you’re wondering, I tried some – they’re delicious.  C’mon MAN!  I was jonesin’!!!…)