Monthly Archive for October, 2008

this is ridiculous

Apparently 23% of Texans still think Obama is Muslim. Hey, um, 23% of Texans? First of all, how dumb are you? and second of all, even if he was Muslim, so fucking what? and third of all, you suck.

i’ve lived with window units before

I’m in my old apartment right now, borrowing someone’s wifi while I clean everything and take the last of my stuff.  I don’t like being here.  My new apartment is gorgeous and clean and has all the stuff I like in it.  The kitchen is huge, and the bathroom is covered in green tile and has an old medicine cabinet with a slot for razor blades.  Last night I opened all the windows and did the dishes to the sound of wind chimes and chirping crickets.  Last night I also did laundry without having to wait for someone else to be done, and as I put the last load in I looked out the window at my assigned, covered parking space and sighed with happiness.

Tomorrow night I will walk to the grocery store.

If my landlady called tomorrow and asked me if I wanted to buy my new apartment, I’d…well, I’d probably say no, because we’re in THIS economy and I’m in THIS town and in THIS financial situation.  But I’d really WANT to buy it, which I guess is my point.

So screw you, old apartment.  Screw you for the following reasons:

1. You were built after 1980.

2. Despite your large parking lot, you never had a free space near my building unless I got home before 5 p.m.

3. You were too yellow.

4. You contained the following residents:

a) The guy who asked if I’d date his friend, who is the same guy who offered me cocaine.

b) The guy who asked me three times if I watched “the game.”  What game?

c) The upstairs neighbors who stomped around as if wearing cement shoes, who are the same neighbors who threw water onto my patio, who are the same neighbors who broke some glass right outside my front door and did not clean it up.

d) The guy who kept his German shepherd locked on his patio.

e) The adjacent neighbors who had a video camera installed outside their front door (or they did until I reported them), who are the same neighbors who 1. had a food fight right outside their front door or 2. projectile vomited outside their front door. I couldn’t tell which.

f) Anyone who walked past my patio while I was sitting outside and chose to stare at me and/or talk to me and/or get into a shoving match with each other while I was trying to read or write something.

g) Various shouting people.

5. You are in the same complex as the apartment I lived in with my ex.  Not that I feel negatively about it, but who wants that kind of reminder?  It’s time to move on.

6. Your trash was always full.

7. Your recycling was very far away, as far away as the mailboxes.

8. You are in a neighborhood that doesn’t contain many things I like to do.

9. Your TV-antenna reception left much to be desired.  I know, I’m a dinosaur, and this complaint will be obsolete in four months, but still!

10. Your sidewalks flooded every time it rained, which meant that after every rainstorm I had to consider what sort of shoes I could wear that would protect my feet from rainwater.

11. You only had three windows.  THREE!  (My new place has six.)

12. Your patio had a five-inch gap underneath the fence, so every time the landscapers came, they’d blow armfuls of leaves onto my patio.

Old apartment, I will miss your friendly landlord and your dishwasher and your central air and the size of your patio, but I will not miss anything else.  I’m going to load up the last of my stuff and go home to play with the friendly cat who hangs out near my assigned parking space, take a bath in my green bathtub, and drift off to a nice, quiet sleep.

(Maybe a lot of this makes me sound like one of those creepy watchful neighbors who looks out the window through binoculars and writes down the license-plate numbers of suspicious people, but I’m not! I swear!)

where else will I get my pie-maker fix?

Dear Internet,
If you ever loved me, you will watch Pushing Daisies a bunch so it doesn’t get canceled and I can avoid a repeat of the dark, drunken day of November 11, 2006.
Love and delicious pies,
Alison

’cause I’m movin’ out

A history of moving to new apartments, told in types of boxes used:

December 1998: liquor and wine boxes: Kahlua, Jose Cuervo, etc.
I was a waitress/bartender at the time, and I pilfered most of my boxes from work.

May 2000: computer boxes: Dell, etc.
These boxes came from work, too, except I was working at my first web-design job.

June 2005: online shopping boxes: Amazon, Overstock, flat-rate USPS, etc.
Unemployed, broke, selling/buying stuff on eBay.

August 2005: same
These were the dark times.

August 2006: mostly the same
Except with the addition of some computer boxes from my contract web design job.

October 2008: laser-printer paper boxes, online shopping boxes: Xerox, B&H, CB2, flat-rate USPS, etc.
Web-design job, a little more money, new photography habit, still buying stuff on eBay.

I don’t know what any of this means, except that what sort of moving boxes you use says almost as much about you as your compulsion to collect and store every single box that crosses your path just in case they’ll be needed for moving. Seriously, who keeps so many boxes?

P.S. if all your moving boxes are plain brown ones with a nondescript return address, you’re buying too much porn.

girls say whatever they want

Where’s my ‘Straight girls say yes to, and sometimes even initiate sex with, boys they find attractive for any number of reasons’ T-shirt?”  I’m not fond of this “Girls say yes to men who say Obama” poster, either.

good luck moving up

As life would have it, I’ve come down with a severe cold five days before I’m scheduled to move into my new apartment. My days should be full of packing and Goodwill trips and scheduling, but instead they’re full of naps and nose-blowing and sneezing and aching, aching, aching.

Most of the time I’m okay with being a single gal, but I’m never so bothered by it as when a) I have lots to do and not enough time to do it in, or b) I am sick. When one or the other of these things occur, and there’s nobody to pick up the packing slack or run to the store for hummus and feta and a Coke (oddly, the only things I want right now), my happy-independent-girl facade crumbles a bit, revealing the shoddy craftsmanship of the building underneath.

This will be the first time I’ve ever moved without a boyfriend or family member around to help me. Saying this makes me feel like I’m from the 1950’s or something, like I’m one of those women who went from their father’s house to the sorority house to their husband’s house. I’m not one of those women by any stretch, but I still feel guilty for wondering if I can get through this move without a boyfriend or a dad around.

And I feel guilty for not going to work today, and I feel guilty for not packing while not at work today, and I feel guilty for feeling guilty because I’m fucking SICK, RIGHT? I’m not supposed to do anything. But things won’t get done if I don’t do them, so I feel guilty anyway.

Recently, a friend of mine received some terrible news that has redefined (for the worse) some events that took place in the past few months. She’s been great about keeping her friends updated on the situation via e-mail and text and phone calls, and she’s been even greater about telling everyone she needs help.

I possess no such skill.  When I need help, my first instinct is to pretend like I don’t need help.  And maybe I won’t.  Maybe I can make it to the store myself, maybe I can pack everything myself, maybe I can walk to the U-Haul place and drive the stupid behemoth truck back to the apartment myself, and so forth.

But when I’m spending hour 23 on the couch next to 50 crumpled tissues and a box of Sudafed, it’s hard for me to think I can do anything at all.




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