I am computerless.
My fucking building blew up my fucking computer.
My building is old. O-L-D. And it has weaksauce electricity. My entire apartment is connected to one fifteen-amp breaker, which means if I run the microwave and the vacuum, or the air conditioner and the oven, or two lamps, a TV, and the computer...POOF. Lights out. Also, apparently there are two floors--mine and the one below--which have POOF events on a random, daily basis.
Well, one of the POOFs fried my power supply. At least, I HOPE that's all it fried. I caught the building manager and told him "your building killed my 'puter!" and he seemed to imply they'd pay for repairs, but STILL.
Taking away my computer sucks all the joy out of life. No blog, no Wiki, no random screwing-around; NO MahJong!! NO QBeez!! I might have to do HOUSEWORK, people!
Actually I just don't like it when my stuff gets broken because of someone else's inaction, or that I've got to run all over creation to get it fixed.
Bah, I say. BAH.
Showing posts with label housing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label housing. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
New Scene
AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaand....we're back.
(Okay, MOSTLY back. I'm at work right now. But tonight's task is to reconnect the computer, and the Internet is already in place (as is the cable, installed as the movers hauled things in...happy, happy me!) and once I'm reconnected fully, THEN I'll consider myself COMPLETELY back. But right now, that's a small thing.)
And NOW I'm excited. NOW I'm happy. NOW I am not so ambivalent anymore.
I have three lamps and two small boxes left at the old place. I'll pick them up on Saturday, after work. But otherwise, everything I own is either in my new place or snugly tucked away in Mom's basement.
The cats, having spent yesterday in carriers, have been giving me dirty looks since I let them out to explore. They also, however, decided to share the bed last night, in a rare show of feline solidarity; all three of them managed to spend half the night with no hiss, no spit, no growl nor yowl. Cassidy slept on my left arm, which I found adorable. (Poor kitty has been through a lot, and he's got a lot more to go through; apparently, apartments not being a possibility, Tim and Squeaky are going to live at Squeaky's dad's. Cassidy will join them once they're settled, in a couple of weeks; in the meantime, I'm kittysitting. I don't mind--he's a love, actually.)
When I finally let them out of their carriers, Cass ran around the house investigating everything; Bad ran under the bed and stayed there til dinnertime; and Snick was nowhere to be found. He finally emerged when I put out food, but he'd clearly had enough of this ordeal; I plucked him off a bookcase at one point, and for the first time in his life he HISSED at me. Snickers NEVER hisses at me. He's clearly stressed. (Not stressed enough to affect his appetite, though!)
I am very, very happy with my new place. I will be happier once things are unpacked...but it's DONE; it's OVER; I have moved. (Hallelujiah!)
(Okay, MOSTLY back. I'm at work right now. But tonight's task is to reconnect the computer, and the Internet is already in place (as is the cable, installed as the movers hauled things in...happy, happy me!) and once I'm reconnected fully, THEN I'll consider myself COMPLETELY back. But right now, that's a small thing.)
And NOW I'm excited. NOW I'm happy. NOW I am not so ambivalent anymore.
I have three lamps and two small boxes left at the old place. I'll pick them up on Saturday, after work. But otherwise, everything I own is either in my new place or snugly tucked away in Mom's basement.
The cats, having spent yesterday in carriers, have been giving me dirty looks since I let them out to explore. They also, however, decided to share the bed last night, in a rare show of feline solidarity; all three of them managed to spend half the night with no hiss, no spit, no growl nor yowl. Cassidy slept on my left arm, which I found adorable. (Poor kitty has been through a lot, and he's got a lot more to go through; apparently, apartments not being a possibility, Tim and Squeaky are going to live at Squeaky's dad's. Cassidy will join them once they're settled, in a couple of weeks; in the meantime, I'm kittysitting. I don't mind--he's a love, actually.)
When I finally let them out of their carriers, Cass ran around the house investigating everything; Bad ran under the bed and stayed there til dinnertime; and Snick was nowhere to be found. He finally emerged when I put out food, but he'd clearly had enough of this ordeal; I plucked him off a bookcase at one point, and for the first time in his life he HISSED at me. Snickers NEVER hisses at me. He's clearly stressed. (Not stressed enough to affect his appetite, though!)
I am very, very happy with my new place. I will be happier once things are unpacked...but it's DONE; it's OVER; I have moved. (Hallelujiah!)
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Captain Cranky's Bitch-O-Rama
I am really, really conflicted.
After all the go-around with Countrywide Bastard People (my former mortgage company and the current owner of the former Chez Gladys), it became evident that I needed to get my portly butt in gear--getting an apartment, packing, and moving--as soon as possible. So I started squeezing in apartment visits at every available moment--before work, after work, lunch. I went to look at a studio with my old landlord, in the building where Tim and I lived with CR; not only did the building itself give me the screaming heebie-jeebies, thanks to its CR memories, but the apartment itself was a)beyond teeny, and b)just barely north of squalid. Not dirty-squalid, but please-strangle-your-decorator squalid. I would have died a trillion deaths trying to live with that kitchen for a year.
The same night, I had an appointment to look at what sounded like an AWESOME place. One bedroom, garden apartment, sunny, good area...I get to the appointment (which required juggling my schedule, leaving work an hour early, and driving to the entirely opposite end of the city during rush hour) only to be informed by the assclown owner that "oh, THAT apartment has been gone for MONTHS...All we have is this two-bedroom." Which was nice, but: no. Too much opportunity for unwanted guests. I was really, REALLY disappointed--more than I thought I'd be, and definitely more than strictly necessary--and so I walked around the neighborhood, which I liked very much, taking down numbers. There was one place that had a "for rent" sign out, so on a whim I called the number and asked if there was anyone who could show me the apartment; it turned out to be a tinier-than-tiny studio in a building with a WHOLE lot of problems, including exposed electrical wires ("Enrique is an electrician!" the custodian enthused. "We do ALL our own wiring!") and an alley view containing one of the largest rats I've ever seen. I went home with a headache.
The next day, I started looking, just for fun, at the area around my job.
(Here's where I get ambivalent, part one. See, to go into more detail about the neighborhood will pretty much be to reveal where I work; it's one of those neighborhoods defined by something within it. It's like, if I say "Evanston", everybody thinks "Northwestern"; if I say "Northfield", everybody thinks "Jewel" or "Dominicks"...well, if I say the neighborhood, every Chicagoan will instantly know the institution for which I work. But if I DON'T mention the neighborhood, it's gonna be really hard talking about WHY, exactly, I'm conflicted. )
I found a building (one of those managed things, with the move-in incentives and the elevator and the fitness center and the nice video presentation on its website and all that) walking distance from work.
WALKING distance.
As in, "I need to be at work at 10 AM and it's now 9:05 and I can hit snooze three more times before I even have to THINK about getting up."
So I went to look at it. It was a one-bedroom, fourth floor, pretty nice place. It was about $80 a month more than I'd hoped to pay, but again: WALKING distance. No need to burn gas driving to work, no need to keep my bus-pass deduction, no need for ANY transportation-related expense, really, over and above......
And here's where I get REALLY ambivalent.
See, this neighborhood has no grocery stores.
That's not an exaggeration--that's a fact. There is the This Neighborhood Co-Op, which has had a monopoly on groceries in This Neighborhood since approximately forever; from everything I've read and heard, it's apparently very pricey and very understocked, and it's also fairly distant for a quick grocery walk. But there's no Jewel, no Dominicks, no Food-4-Less; no Treasure Island or Meijers or ANYTHING, for at least a twenty-block radius on all sides. (This is due to the political activism of the denizens of This Neighborhood; they're a pack of rabid liberals, which is all well and good since I'm one of those myself, but my liberalism ends when my inability to buy groceries cheaply begins. They don't want Big EEEEEVil Capitalists encroaching on their happy little Utopia, and apparently they're willing to forego groceries in favor of this principle. (Or at least, they'd have you believe they would. Actually that's 100% bullshit--either they shop at the Co-Op and pay extra for a smaller selection because they can afford to support their principles, or they subscribe to Peapod and get their expensive groceries delivered because they can afford the convenience, or they drive their Volvos and their minivans to Whole Foods or wherever they go. So the only people inconvenienced by this piece of liberal quixotism are the students (oops!) and/or the disadvantaged of the neighborhood. Gee, THANKS, wealthy liberal folks! I'm beginning to see why we're not well-liked...))
Politics aside, though, one of the reasons I'm actually almost GLAD to leave my current 'hood is just exactly that: no grocery stores for miles. So for the new neighborhood to have EXACTLY the same deficiency, albeit for a totally different reason...disappointing.
But that can be surmounted. There are two car-sharing services I can subscribe to, where I can rent a car for a couple of hours to go to the store on a Sunday or whatever, and not have to worry about keeping a car for myself. So the grocery thing: irritating beyond belief, but not the end of the world.
However, there's the OTHER thing: the thing I'm totally not proud of, the thing that's got me questioning "Who are you, and what have you done with Gladys?"
I don't know all that much about This Neighborhood. I mean, in terms of the important stuff--like, what is there to do for fun? Where do I go on the fourteenth boring afternoon, when I've exhausted all the very obvious stuff and don't feel like making the trip downtown? (There's plenty of that--but eventually you can't GO to the same bookstore for another day. Eventually you exhaust the museums.) What, other than Place Where I Work and the politics and the architecture and the landscape...other than that, what makes this place special? And what about the other considerations. For example: where is it safe to walk after dark, and where isn't it? (Of course, there are those who would have me believe that NOWHERE is safe after dark. I'm definitely not one of those, but I AM aware that around my potential new abode, there are some pretty rough spots. I'm just not sure exactly where they are.) Up in Edgewater and Rogers Park and Andersonville, I KNEW where all those places were. I even knew it where I am now, although the answer was a very simple blanket statement: "I wouldn't." But in my new neighborhood, I don't know the boundaries as well. I've been told to avoid Stony Island south of 60th; anything near the Green Line tracks after 55th; stuff like that. (Yeah, that's right. I'm moving to Hyde Park. Which means you now know where I work, if you're a Chicagoan, or know Chicago very well. I'm associating with, shall we say, People of the Maroon Persuasion. This is the closest-together that I've ever allowed my "real life" identity to get to my Gladys-ness, and it's scaring the crap out of me; I feel like Clark Kent would feel if he mistakenly walked out in tights and a cape one morning on the way to work at the Daily Planet.) But safety's generally something I'm good at--I've lived HERE for four years, after all! But as far as FUN--Okay, there's the Museum of Science and Industry--that should be good for the first six months of weekends!--and the DuSable, and I know the University has a lot of movie fests and whatnot--but other than that, I know JACK about Hyde Park, really, and it makes me nervous. That's the point I'm making here.
Normally--and by "normally" I mean "several years ago"--the element of surprise and new adventure would have been exciting. Now? It's just...daunting. And that scares me. When did I get old and scary about new experiences?? What the hell? When did that happen, and more importantly: WHY? And even more importantly than THAT: How do I make it stop happening???
That fear, though, may just be an indicator of how godawful stressful this situation is for me right now. I have just--in putting down the deposit on this apartment, which I did (at the rental agent's behest--"I have a lot of people looking at it," he warned me)--in putting down that deposit, I have accepted the necessity of taking the contents of a seven-room house with basement and garage, and deciding which of my entire collection of personal belongings are important enough to merit squeezing them into three tiny rooms, and which can be exiled to my mom's basement. I am coming face-to-face with the fact that this is all actually HAPPENING, and it's happening NOW, and I have anywhere from twelve to nineteen days to get my shit together and haul it out of there. I am not happy about this. I have coordinated moves before---many, many, many times!--but never quite this fast, and definitely nowhere NEAR this big. Really, the two parts of the process which are giving me the most anxiety are: one, the contents of the basement and the garage; and two, dividing and marking everything according to its eventual destination. And the speed at which this needs to happen is not in any way helping.
"But you have roommates to help you!" you say. And I laugh.
To be fair, Tim offered to help. But his "offer" seemed to be a blatant attempt to use helping me as a completely transparent excuse for why he couldn't go looking for a job, which could later be used as a very good reason for why I would have to help him after the move. "If I hadn't been doing YOUR packing...." I can just see it now. So I told him "Worry about your own well-being first: go get a job. If I need help packing, I'll ask for it. In the meantime, take care of yourself."
Well, THAT possibility evaporated anyway, because ever since I said that, he's been ministering to Squeaky, who we took to the emergency room last week. Again. This time, it was for seven large boils on her butt and legs, which at one point had been ONE boil, a few weeks back when I told her she needed to get that looked at and get some antibiotics before it got worse. Nobody listens to me. Anyway, she ended up with stitches and packing and multiple doctor appointments and Vicodin, which she and Tim fought over non-stop til it was gone, because HE has a sore shoulder and he can't do anything because it keeps him awake.
(If there are two things I hate, they're these: hypochondriasis, for one; and for the other, people who talk and talk and talk about their infirmities, real or imagined, but then never actually do anything to take care of them until the situation is so bad it requires an E.R. visit. I have had so many of BOTH kinds of people in my life that it makes me nuts. I recognize that I have been blessedly healthy, especially considering the amount of crap I've done to my body, but the one time I required an E.R. visit for a non-drug-related reason, it was because the actual PROBLEM--my gallbladder--had been previously misdiagnosed, not because I didn't TRY to get it dealt with! Tim won't go NEAR a doctor; he just crabs about this pain and won't get it looked at. And Squeaky, had she gone to the E.R. back when it was ONE boil, could have avoided a WHOLE LOT of pain...but she didn't want to go by herself, and she didn't want to wake Tim up to make him take her, and... I am SO GLAD to be getting away from their relationship!!! I may be a low-self-esteem-having, low-maintenance woman, but I don't think I ever neglected my own medical needs to avoid pissing off a GUY!)
Anyway, Tim HAS managed to put out a few job applications, and so has Squeaky--but neither of them has any promising leads. I worry about them--but I would worry more if I wasn't so mad at Tim for the way he's been treating me. For the first time in our friendship, I actually FEEL taken-advantage-of. Not because of anything financial, but because he's treating me like an irritant, whereas with Squeaky (when he's not pissed at her) he's fun and chatty and enjoyable to be around--the Tim I know. I try to talk to him, I get monosyllables and eye-rolls. (Unless he needs something.) And forGET trying to actually spend any time with him. The other night, he was watching TV in the living room while I was playing on the computer. We were actually having a conversation for the first time in a while--nothing important, just chatting. Squeaky was in their room, watching something else. She comes out and starts wheedling him to come into the room to watch TV (because she cannot STAND to be alone, even just in a separate room, for even a short time--last week, when Tim went out to put out applications and she was stuck at home healing, she IMed me at work repeatedly, about nothing, even though I told her I was busy). He follows her, and for the rest of the night I can hear them laughing and giggling and talking. Hey, whatever, you know? But it's like that all the time now. I am the least high-maintenance person I know, but one of my unwritten rules is: if you're living in a house with me, be prepared to at least have conversations. I don't require entertainment or company, but I cannot STAND being actively ignored for a long period of time. And this is a person who is supposedly my friend. Well, the past couple of months--since Squeaky appeared--have really injured this friendship, from my standpoint. I'm sure we'll talk it out, eventually, but right now I'm pissed and hurt and can't wait for this move to be over, so I can get some peace and quiet.
As for my fear of a new neighborhood, I keep reminding myself: this is NOT Scientology; I'm not signing a billion-year contract on this apartment. (Actually, I don't think I'm even signing a one-year lease; I think it's a month-to-month thing, given that they cater to so many students.) If I hate hate hate it, I can move. And then I think about going through all THIS again, albeit on a smaller scale...
I really hope I like it. But anything's better than THIS.
After all the go-around with Countrywide Bastard People (my former mortgage company and the current owner of the former Chez Gladys), it became evident that I needed to get my portly butt in gear--getting an apartment, packing, and moving--as soon as possible. So I started squeezing in apartment visits at every available moment--before work, after work, lunch. I went to look at a studio with my old landlord, in the building where Tim and I lived with CR; not only did the building itself give me the screaming heebie-jeebies, thanks to its CR memories, but the apartment itself was a)beyond teeny, and b)just barely north of squalid. Not dirty-squalid, but please-strangle-your-decorator squalid. I would have died a trillion deaths trying to live with that kitchen for a year.
The same night, I had an appointment to look at what sounded like an AWESOME place. One bedroom, garden apartment, sunny, good area...I get to the appointment (which required juggling my schedule, leaving work an hour early, and driving to the entirely opposite end of the city during rush hour) only to be informed by the assclown owner that "oh, THAT apartment has been gone for MONTHS...All we have is this two-bedroom." Which was nice, but: no. Too much opportunity for unwanted guests. I was really, REALLY disappointed--more than I thought I'd be, and definitely more than strictly necessary--and so I walked around the neighborhood, which I liked very much, taking down numbers. There was one place that had a "for rent" sign out, so on a whim I called the number and asked if there was anyone who could show me the apartment; it turned out to be a tinier-than-tiny studio in a building with a WHOLE lot of problems, including exposed electrical wires ("Enrique is an electrician!" the custodian enthused. "We do ALL our own wiring!") and an alley view containing one of the largest rats I've ever seen. I went home with a headache.
The next day, I started looking, just for fun, at the area around my job.
(Here's where I get ambivalent, part one. See, to go into more detail about the neighborhood will pretty much be to reveal where I work; it's one of those neighborhoods defined by something within it. It's like, if I say "Evanston", everybody thinks "Northwestern"; if I say "Northfield", everybody thinks "Jewel" or "Dominicks"...well, if I say the neighborhood, every Chicagoan will instantly know the institution for which I work. But if I DON'T mention the neighborhood, it's gonna be really hard talking about WHY, exactly, I'm conflicted. )
I found a building (one of those managed things, with the move-in incentives and the elevator and the fitness center and the nice video presentation on its website and all that) walking distance from work.
WALKING distance.
As in, "I need to be at work at 10 AM and it's now 9:05 and I can hit snooze three more times before I even have to THINK about getting up."
So I went to look at it. It was a one-bedroom, fourth floor, pretty nice place. It was about $80 a month more than I'd hoped to pay, but again: WALKING distance. No need to burn gas driving to work, no need to keep my bus-pass deduction, no need for ANY transportation-related expense, really, over and above......
And here's where I get REALLY ambivalent.
See, this neighborhood has no grocery stores.
That's not an exaggeration--that's a fact. There is the This Neighborhood Co-Op, which has had a monopoly on groceries in This Neighborhood since approximately forever; from everything I've read and heard, it's apparently very pricey and very understocked, and it's also fairly distant for a quick grocery walk. But there's no Jewel, no Dominicks, no Food-4-Less; no Treasure Island or Meijers or ANYTHING, for at least a twenty-block radius on all sides. (This is due to the political activism of the denizens of This Neighborhood; they're a pack of rabid liberals, which is all well and good since I'm one of those myself, but my liberalism ends when my inability to buy groceries cheaply begins. They don't want Big EEEEEVil Capitalists encroaching on their happy little Utopia, and apparently they're willing to forego groceries in favor of this principle. (Or at least, they'd have you believe they would. Actually that's 100% bullshit--either they shop at the Co-Op and pay extra for a smaller selection because they can afford to support their principles, or they subscribe to Peapod and get their expensive groceries delivered because they can afford the convenience, or they drive their Volvos and their minivans to Whole Foods or wherever they go. So the only people inconvenienced by this piece of liberal quixotism are the students (oops!) and/or the disadvantaged of the neighborhood. Gee, THANKS, wealthy liberal folks! I'm beginning to see why we're not well-liked...))
Politics aside, though, one of the reasons I'm actually almost GLAD to leave my current 'hood is just exactly that: no grocery stores for miles. So for the new neighborhood to have EXACTLY the same deficiency, albeit for a totally different reason...disappointing.
But that can be surmounted. There are two car-sharing services I can subscribe to, where I can rent a car for a couple of hours to go to the store on a Sunday or whatever, and not have to worry about keeping a car for myself. So the grocery thing: irritating beyond belief, but not the end of the world.
However, there's the OTHER thing: the thing I'm totally not proud of, the thing that's got me questioning "Who are you, and what have you done with Gladys?"
I don't know all that much about This Neighborhood. I mean, in terms of the important stuff--like, what is there to do for fun? Where do I go on the fourteenth boring afternoon, when I've exhausted all the very obvious stuff and don't feel like making the trip downtown? (There's plenty of that--but eventually you can't GO to the same bookstore for another day. Eventually you exhaust the museums.) What, other than Place Where I Work and the politics and the architecture and the landscape...other than that, what makes this place special? And what about the other considerations. For example: where is it safe to walk after dark, and where isn't it? (Of course, there are those who would have me believe that NOWHERE is safe after dark. I'm definitely not one of those, but I AM aware that around my potential new abode, there are some pretty rough spots. I'm just not sure exactly where they are.) Up in Edgewater and Rogers Park and Andersonville, I KNEW where all those places were. I even knew it where I am now, although the answer was a very simple blanket statement: "I wouldn't." But in my new neighborhood, I don't know the boundaries as well. I've been told to avoid Stony Island south of 60th; anything near the Green Line tracks after 55th; stuff like that. (Yeah, that's right. I'm moving to Hyde Park. Which means you now know where I work, if you're a Chicagoan, or know Chicago very well. I'm associating with, shall we say, People of the Maroon Persuasion. This is the closest-together that I've ever allowed my "real life" identity to get to my Gladys-ness, and it's scaring the crap out of me; I feel like Clark Kent would feel if he mistakenly walked out in tights and a cape one morning on the way to work at the Daily Planet.) But safety's generally something I'm good at--I've lived HERE for four years, after all! But as far as FUN--Okay, there's the Museum of Science and Industry--that should be good for the first six months of weekends!--and the DuSable, and I know the University has a lot of movie fests and whatnot--but other than that, I know JACK about Hyde Park, really, and it makes me nervous. That's the point I'm making here.
Normally--and by "normally" I mean "several years ago"--the element of surprise and new adventure would have been exciting. Now? It's just...daunting. And that scares me. When did I get old and scary about new experiences?? What the hell? When did that happen, and more importantly: WHY? And even more importantly than THAT: How do I make it stop happening???
That fear, though, may just be an indicator of how godawful stressful this situation is for me right now. I have just--in putting down the deposit on this apartment, which I did (at the rental agent's behest--"I have a lot of people looking at it," he warned me)--in putting down that deposit, I have accepted the necessity of taking the contents of a seven-room house with basement and garage, and deciding which of my entire collection of personal belongings are important enough to merit squeezing them into three tiny rooms, and which can be exiled to my mom's basement. I am coming face-to-face with the fact that this is all actually HAPPENING, and it's happening NOW, and I have anywhere from twelve to nineteen days to get my shit together and haul it out of there. I am not happy about this. I have coordinated moves before---many, many, many times!--but never quite this fast, and definitely nowhere NEAR this big. Really, the two parts of the process which are giving me the most anxiety are: one, the contents of the basement and the garage; and two, dividing and marking everything according to its eventual destination. And the speed at which this needs to happen is not in any way helping.
"But you have roommates to help you!" you say. And I laugh.
To be fair, Tim offered to help. But his "offer" seemed to be a blatant attempt to use helping me as a completely transparent excuse for why he couldn't go looking for a job, which could later be used as a very good reason for why I would have to help him after the move. "If I hadn't been doing YOUR packing...." I can just see it now. So I told him "Worry about your own well-being first: go get a job. If I need help packing, I'll ask for it. In the meantime, take care of yourself."
Well, THAT possibility evaporated anyway, because ever since I said that, he's been ministering to Squeaky, who we took to the emergency room last week. Again. This time, it was for seven large boils on her butt and legs, which at one point had been ONE boil, a few weeks back when I told her she needed to get that looked at and get some antibiotics before it got worse. Nobody listens to me. Anyway, she ended up with stitches and packing and multiple doctor appointments and Vicodin, which she and Tim fought over non-stop til it was gone, because HE has a sore shoulder and he can't do anything because it keeps him awake.
(If there are two things I hate, they're these: hypochondriasis, for one; and for the other, people who talk and talk and talk about their infirmities, real or imagined, but then never actually do anything to take care of them until the situation is so bad it requires an E.R. visit. I have had so many of BOTH kinds of people in my life that it makes me nuts. I recognize that I have been blessedly healthy, especially considering the amount of crap I've done to my body, but the one time I required an E.R. visit for a non-drug-related reason, it was because the actual PROBLEM--my gallbladder--had been previously misdiagnosed, not because I didn't TRY to get it dealt with! Tim won't go NEAR a doctor; he just crabs about this pain and won't get it looked at. And Squeaky, had she gone to the E.R. back when it was ONE boil, could have avoided a WHOLE LOT of pain...but she didn't want to go by herself, and she didn't want to wake Tim up to make him take her, and... I am SO GLAD to be getting away from their relationship!!! I may be a low-self-esteem-having, low-maintenance woman, but I don't think I ever neglected my own medical needs to avoid pissing off a GUY!)
Anyway, Tim HAS managed to put out a few job applications, and so has Squeaky--but neither of them has any promising leads. I worry about them--but I would worry more if I wasn't so mad at Tim for the way he's been treating me. For the first time in our friendship, I actually FEEL taken-advantage-of. Not because of anything financial, but because he's treating me like an irritant, whereas with Squeaky (when he's not pissed at her) he's fun and chatty and enjoyable to be around--the Tim I know. I try to talk to him, I get monosyllables and eye-rolls. (Unless he needs something.) And forGET trying to actually spend any time with him. The other night, he was watching TV in the living room while I was playing on the computer. We were actually having a conversation for the first time in a while--nothing important, just chatting. Squeaky was in their room, watching something else. She comes out and starts wheedling him to come into the room to watch TV (because she cannot STAND to be alone, even just in a separate room, for even a short time--last week, when Tim went out to put out applications and she was stuck at home healing, she IMed me at work repeatedly, about nothing, even though I told her I was busy). He follows her, and for the rest of the night I can hear them laughing and giggling and talking. Hey, whatever, you know? But it's like that all the time now. I am the least high-maintenance person I know, but one of my unwritten rules is: if you're living in a house with me, be prepared to at least have conversations. I don't require entertainment or company, but I cannot STAND being actively ignored for a long period of time. And this is a person who is supposedly my friend. Well, the past couple of months--since Squeaky appeared--have really injured this friendship, from my standpoint. I'm sure we'll talk it out, eventually, but right now I'm pissed and hurt and can't wait for this move to be over, so I can get some peace and quiet.
As for my fear of a new neighborhood, I keep reminding myself: this is NOT Scientology; I'm not signing a billion-year contract on this apartment. (Actually, I don't think I'm even signing a one-year lease; I think it's a month-to-month thing, given that they cater to so many students.) If I hate hate hate it, I can move. And then I think about going through all THIS again, albeit on a smaller scale...
I really hope I like it. But anything's better than THIS.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Countrywide
Countrywide Mortgage Co. (or whatever their official name is) can SUCK IT. (I have several "it"s in mind, none of them pleasant.)
I got a letter a few days back, in legalese, telling me basically what I already knew: my house was sold. The letter said that there had been a motion made to take possession of the building (okay, fine) and it contained the following phrase:
"The Sheriff cannot evict until 30 days after the entry of this order."
The order was dated Sept. 18th. I had been told on several occasions that it takes approximately forever to evict someone; when Tim was evicted, it didn't actually happen til nearly 6 weeks after the date he was originally given. So figure, October 18, plus an unknown period of time. Not un-doable, but I was hoping to leave at the end of the month--and that's saying nothing for Tim and Squeaky, who don't have JOBS yet, let alone a place to go. For them, I was thinking December 1st would be more reasonable.
So I called the lawyers. "Well, we don't handle the evictions," they said. "You'll have to call Countrywide." (They're the original lender; they apparently got the building back in the sale. Dunno how that works, but after today I can only tell them Good luck to you, bastard people.)
I called Countrywide. The first department gave me the number of a second department. The second department advised me to call the REO department, who in turn advised me to call the Foreclosure department, which turned out to be the department I'd spoken to first. Needless to say, this did not improve my attitude at all. But finally I got a person. I explained the situation to her. "Well, how long would you need?" she asked. I told her "I'd prefer December 1st, but I'll settle for November 1st."
She went away to consult with someone. Ten minutes later, she returned.
"They said you need to move out. Today."
I informed her that no, that was NOT the case; I had before me a letter saying clearly that I had 30 days.
"Well, you need to move out by October 18th, then," she countered. "They're not going to extend it."
I explained to her the history, as follows:
I was out of work for ten months.
When I lost my job I told them "I need to make arrangements."
I was told "We can't make arrangements unless you have a job."
I told them "If I had a job, I wouldn't need arrangements."
When I finally GOT a job, I called and said "Okay, I've got a job; I'm ready to make those arrangements."
They said "We can't make arrangements unless you have $10,000 to get caught up."
I told them "If I had $10,000, I wouldn't BE in foreclosure."
So finally (I said) the house was sold, and now I'm asking for thirteen stinking days, and you can't give me THAT? And this from a company whose name has been all over the news as one of the WORST offenders in the subprime mortgage crisis--from the SAME company who encouraged me to exaggerate my income so that the loan would go through--and this SAME company now can't even work with me so that I have the time to find a place to stay now that they've got their building back and have the power to put me on the street?
Needless to say (I told her) I will not be speaking positively of Countrywide in the future. In fact, I will make it my business to tell everyone I know, and possibly total strangers in the street, about my experience with your company, and its total lack of empathy or corporate accountability.
"Have a good day, ma'am," she said.
At this point, aside from being wrathfully pissed, I was also having a minor freakout. Seventeen days is not a long time to find a place to live, to pack all your worldly belongings, and to find a moving company--particularly while working what, when commute time is added, amounts to a ten-hour day.
I took a few deep breaths.
Then I called the Sheriff's Department. I picked the "Evictions" option, and after letting the phone ring one hundred times, I hung up. Next I tried the "Operator" option. After eighty rings, I was fairly sure that everyone there had been overcome by poison gas and were sitting at their desks, slowly decomposing.
Next I randomly picked a department; miracle of miracles, a HUMAN answered. "I really don't NEED this department," I told her. "I need Evictions, but I can't get them to answer the phone for love nor money, and I have a really general question but it's REALLY important," I said.
"Let me transfer you," she said.
After three rings: success. I asked what the real situation was, and finally got a little good news: Apparently the Countrywide Bastard People Co. cannot even FILE for an eviction til thirty days after that order--so, October 18th--and from then, it takes between one and eight weeks for the actual eviction to take place. The odds are in my favor, at least.
She also told me I could go downtown and talk to a judge, who might be able to give me a little wiggle room. So the proverbial wolf, although he is quite near the door, is not quite breathing through the peephole just YET. Small favors, and all that.
The last thing I did was to call my old landlord, to see if he had any studio or one-bedroom places available. And so Wednesday morning before work, I'm going to go look at a studio in my old building--$535 a month, all utilities included.
As for Tim and Squeaky--I told them the whole story later, since they didn't roll out of bed til nearly 3-- and if that's not a wake-up call, nothing ever will be. But right now, I can't worry about them--thanks to Countrywide, I now have QUITE enough to worry about on my OWN account.
I got a letter a few days back, in legalese, telling me basically what I already knew: my house was sold. The letter said that there had been a motion made to take possession of the building (okay, fine) and it contained the following phrase:
"The Sheriff cannot evict until 30 days after the entry of this order."
The order was dated Sept. 18th. I had been told on several occasions that it takes approximately forever to evict someone; when Tim was evicted, it didn't actually happen til nearly 6 weeks after the date he was originally given. So figure, October 18, plus an unknown period of time. Not un-doable, but I was hoping to leave at the end of the month--and that's saying nothing for Tim and Squeaky, who don't have JOBS yet, let alone a place to go. For them, I was thinking December 1st would be more reasonable.
So I called the lawyers. "Well, we don't handle the evictions," they said. "You'll have to call Countrywide." (They're the original lender; they apparently got the building back in the sale. Dunno how that works, but after today I can only tell them Good luck to you, bastard people.)
I called Countrywide. The first department gave me the number of a second department. The second department advised me to call the REO department, who in turn advised me to call the Foreclosure department, which turned out to be the department I'd spoken to first. Needless to say, this did not improve my attitude at all. But finally I got a person. I explained the situation to her. "Well, how long would you need?" she asked. I told her "I'd prefer December 1st, but I'll settle for November 1st."
She went away to consult with someone. Ten minutes later, she returned.
"They said you need to move out. Today."
I informed her that no, that was NOT the case; I had before me a letter saying clearly that I had 30 days.
"Well, you need to move out by October 18th, then," she countered. "They're not going to extend it."
I explained to her the history, as follows:
I was out of work for ten months.
When I lost my job I told them "I need to make arrangements."
I was told "We can't make arrangements unless you have a job."
I told them "If I had a job, I wouldn't need arrangements."
When I finally GOT a job, I called and said "Okay, I've got a job; I'm ready to make those arrangements."
They said "We can't make arrangements unless you have $10,000 to get caught up."
I told them "If I had $10,000, I wouldn't BE in foreclosure."
So finally (I said) the house was sold, and now I'm asking for thirteen stinking days, and you can't give me THAT? And this from a company whose name has been all over the news as one of the WORST offenders in the subprime mortgage crisis--from the SAME company who encouraged me to exaggerate my income so that the loan would go through--and this SAME company now can't even work with me so that I have the time to find a place to stay now that they've got their building back and have the power to put me on the street?
Needless to say (I told her) I will not be speaking positively of Countrywide in the future. In fact, I will make it my business to tell everyone I know, and possibly total strangers in the street, about my experience with your company, and its total lack of empathy or corporate accountability.
"Have a good day, ma'am," she said.
At this point, aside from being wrathfully pissed, I was also having a minor freakout. Seventeen days is not a long time to find a place to live, to pack all your worldly belongings, and to find a moving company--particularly while working what, when commute time is added, amounts to a ten-hour day.
I took a few deep breaths.
Then I called the Sheriff's Department. I picked the "Evictions" option, and after letting the phone ring one hundred times, I hung up. Next I tried the "Operator" option. After eighty rings, I was fairly sure that everyone there had been overcome by poison gas and were sitting at their desks, slowly decomposing.
Next I randomly picked a department; miracle of miracles, a HUMAN answered. "I really don't NEED this department," I told her. "I need Evictions, but I can't get them to answer the phone for love nor money, and I have a really general question but it's REALLY important," I said.
"Let me transfer you," she said.
After three rings: success. I asked what the real situation was, and finally got a little good news: Apparently the Countrywide Bastard People Co. cannot even FILE for an eviction til thirty days after that order--so, October 18th--and from then, it takes between one and eight weeks for the actual eviction to take place. The odds are in my favor, at least.
She also told me I could go downtown and talk to a judge, who might be able to give me a little wiggle room. So the proverbial wolf, although he is quite near the door, is not quite breathing through the peephole just YET. Small favors, and all that.
The last thing I did was to call my old landlord, to see if he had any studio or one-bedroom places available. And so Wednesday morning before work, I'm going to go look at a studio in my old building--$535 a month, all utilities included.
As for Tim and Squeaky--I told them the whole story later, since they didn't roll out of bed til nearly 3-- and if that's not a wake-up call, nothing ever will be. But right now, I can't worry about them--thanks to Countrywide, I now have QUITE enough to worry about on my OWN account.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Cross...Everything!
Ladies and gentlemen--barring the intervention of a vengeful deity who would CLEARLY have to hate me--I am losing my roommates.
That’s a fairly-optimistic assessment of the situation, since they’ll still be around—but according to the arrangements discussed over the past few days, they will no longer be LIVING with me. Per those discussions, here’s how it’s gonna go:
1. Tim is going to talk to Betty about that condo. I’m pretty much over that idea—for one, I’m fairly sure it will be expensive as hell; and for another, I really don’t have time left to wait on Betty’s schedule.
2. If the condo thing fails, we’re going to see if Betty wants to get a different place with me. Again, not my absolutely favorite idea, but if it will cut costs, I’ll deal with it. She shouldn’t be difficult to live with…though I hope to hell that’s not Famous Last Words.
3. If Betty doesn’t want to get a place, then I’ll get a studio or one-bedroom on my own. This is my favorite option.
4. And no matter what—Tim and Squeaky are getting THEIR OWN PLACE.
:::dance of unrestrained joy!!!:::
I’m sure they’ll still be a part of my life—Tim said as much, though I think he meant it in a good way, as in “we’re not abandoning you”—and he also made it very clear that this whole Squeaky interlude, while it has taken all our collective time and energy, does not mean that he’s abandoned all the plans we made before she showed up. (“Plans?” you ask. See, Tim and I had a long talk several months ago, probably a month or two after he moved in. We’ve pretty much accepted that we’re one of the world’s great celibate old married couple, and we’ve decided to just be happy with that, and work together on our assorted goals, and eventually be like, eighty years old, living in a little house in Wisconsin, still bickering about whether you should use a nonstick or a regular pan to make grilled cheese. I know I get frustrated with Tim, and a lot of people in my life question why I keep him around—well, in a nutshell, it’s because he’s good company. He has his quirks, but so do I, and our quirks seem to fit together well. As he said last night, up til the drama started, this was basically the best summer either of us had had in a long time.)
So Tim and I are still good friends...which doesn't mean I don't want to strangle him, at least three times a day. I can't believe the way he's doing things, and how much of it sounds like he's using ME as an excuse for all the stuff that he's not doing. He couldn't go out looking for work Saturday...because I had my bus pass and he can't find his. He hasn't been working hard on getting a job...because he knows how much help I'M going to need with getting things together for the move, and he's not comfortable taking a job under those circumstances. Jigga-WHAT? If he and Squeaky don't both have jobs within the next couple weeks or so, there's no way they're going to be able to get a place! Squeaky, at least, has a couple of good possibilities--Tim's got basically nuthin'. And basically, all they've both been doing for the better part of a week now has been sleeping all day and puttering around watching movies all night. I'm in NO way implying that I'm in any way superior--when I didn't have a job, that's largely what I did too--but the difference was, in my field, I could at least put in applications online during those middle-of-the-night rambles. Restaurant staff don't have that luxury--they need to pound the pavement. And for the most part, these two aren't doing that. They've even gone looking at apartments--again, jigga-WHAAAAT? And you were going to get these apartments with WHAT, exactly? Champagne wishes and caviar dreams?
Then there's the whole Betty debacle. (Keep in mind the following: Tim is not affected by the Betty situation--he already knows that if I DO live with Betty, there's ZERO chance she'll put up with Squeaky even temporarily; and if I DON'T live with Betty, I'll probably get a studio and there's ZERO chance of him and Squeaky staying with me, even temporarily. So it's not like putting it off benefits him in any way, nor does it hurt him. Also, Tim is the main one advocating this living-with-Betty idea; I've been willing to say "forget it" for WEEKS, and go find something for myself, but Tim keeps telling me to keep an open mind about it, because he knows she's having a hard time right now too--and I have, as a favor to him.) Tim is basically my main contact with Betty. We have each other's phone numbers, but for most of last week, Tim's and my cell phones were turned off for late payment. So all last week, I was asking Tim to go up to the bar where Betty works and find out what the situation was. Monday they didn't go anywhere because his shoulder hurt and his sleep schedule was messed up. Tuesday they didn't go because he and Squeaky were putting out applications, and they were too far from the bar, and anyway he couldn't just walk into the bar with no money. Wednesday, I left him $20 so he couldn't use THAT one anymore--and when I got home, the $20 was gone, but he hadn't gone to see Betty because they were dealing with Squeaky trying to get a job, and getting some clothes to wear if she gets one, and blah blah blah. And Betty only works thru Wednesday, apparently, so there would be no point of going on Thursday or Friday--and Thursday morning there was a note on the fridge, asking if I could leave him $8 for cigarettes.
Now, all this mess doesn't screw me up at all--aside from the $28, it doesn't cost me a damn thing--but it slows down my progress, makes it harder for me to plan, and annoys the holy crap out of me. I told Tim that if I don't have a concrete answer from Betty as far as housing plans by the end of this week, I'm considering the matter closed. I also texted Betty, telling her to call me as soon as she can so we can get things settled. That's all I can do--and to be honest, I'm really hoping I DON'T hear anything. I would honestly rather live by myself; I'm only going along with this because Betty seems like a decent person and Tim has asked me to consider it as an option. But we got a letter from the lawyers last week, and if that letter is to be believed, time is running VERY short. I can't control what Tim and Squeaky's situation will be when time runs out; I can only control MY situation, so that's what I'm going to do. But as I do so, I'm going to make it VERY VERY clear to Tim: I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and I will not accept it if he, finding himself and his passenger in an uncomfortable situation in the future, attempts to put any sort of responsibility for that situation on ME. He has lived here for eleven months, and I have given him ample opportunity to improve his situation during that time; he chose not to take that opportunity, and that was HIS choice, not mine. If he and Squeaky find themselves homeless because they don't have jobs, or haven't had them long enough to save for an apartment, that's entirely not my fault, and entirely not my responsibility to rescue them again.
(Firefly thinks it's going to go differently; she thinks I'm gonna end up with these two on my hands just the same as they are now. As I told her, I plan to get an apartment small enough to make that an impossibility; I'll gladly give up some space in exchange for peace, quiet, and an end to the eternal, hell-begotten SINGING.)
I love Tim to pieces, and in past times I've seen him act like a responsible, mature adult; I know it can happen because I've WITNESSED it. When he's on his own and not involved with anyone, he can work hard, save money, and pay his bills on time. That's why I took him in this last time, because I knew he COULD do it. And when Squeaky came into the picture, he'd just started at a job; he hadn't made much, but he was WORKING. Then comes the Squeakster, and poof-- Responsible Tim is replaced by this other guy, who's making no money, no progress, nothing but excuses. And this is the worst possible time for THAT Tim to show up.
I hope he makes it all work out for himself, but I have my own problems right now. I'll help him where I can, but I also have to take care of myself.
That’s a fairly-optimistic assessment of the situation, since they’ll still be around—but according to the arrangements discussed over the past few days, they will no longer be LIVING with me. Per those discussions, here’s how it’s gonna go:
1. Tim is going to talk to Betty about that condo. I’m pretty much over that idea—for one, I’m fairly sure it will be expensive as hell; and for another, I really don’t have time left to wait on Betty’s schedule.
2. If the condo thing fails, we’re going to see if Betty wants to get a different place with me. Again, not my absolutely favorite idea, but if it will cut costs, I’ll deal with it. She shouldn’t be difficult to live with…though I hope to hell that’s not Famous Last Words.
3. If Betty doesn’t want to get a place, then I’ll get a studio or one-bedroom on my own. This is my favorite option.
4. And no matter what—Tim and Squeaky are getting THEIR OWN PLACE.
:::dance of unrestrained joy!!!:::
I’m sure they’ll still be a part of my life—Tim said as much, though I think he meant it in a good way, as in “we’re not abandoning you”—and he also made it very clear that this whole Squeaky interlude, while it has taken all our collective time and energy, does not mean that he’s abandoned all the plans we made before she showed up. (“Plans?” you ask. See, Tim and I had a long talk several months ago, probably a month or two after he moved in. We’ve pretty much accepted that we’re one of the world’s great celibate old married couple, and we’ve decided to just be happy with that, and work together on our assorted goals, and eventually be like, eighty years old, living in a little house in Wisconsin, still bickering about whether you should use a nonstick or a regular pan to make grilled cheese. I know I get frustrated with Tim, and a lot of people in my life question why I keep him around—well, in a nutshell, it’s because he’s good company. He has his quirks, but so do I, and our quirks seem to fit together well. As he said last night, up til the drama started, this was basically the best summer either of us had had in a long time.)
So Tim and I are still good friends...which doesn't mean I don't want to strangle him, at least three times a day. I can't believe the way he's doing things, and how much of it sounds like he's using ME as an excuse for all the stuff that he's not doing. He couldn't go out looking for work Saturday...because I had my bus pass and he can't find his. He hasn't been working hard on getting a job...because he knows how much help I'M going to need with getting things together for the move, and he's not comfortable taking a job under those circumstances. Jigga-WHAT? If he and Squeaky don't both have jobs within the next couple weeks or so, there's no way they're going to be able to get a place! Squeaky, at least, has a couple of good possibilities--Tim's got basically nuthin'. And basically, all they've both been doing for the better part of a week now has been sleeping all day and puttering around watching movies all night. I'm in NO way implying that I'm in any way superior--when I didn't have a job, that's largely what I did too--but the difference was, in my field, I could at least put in applications online during those middle-of-the-night rambles. Restaurant staff don't have that luxury--they need to pound the pavement. And for the most part, these two aren't doing that. They've even gone looking at apartments--again, jigga-WHAAAAT? And you were going to get these apartments with WHAT, exactly? Champagne wishes and caviar dreams?
Then there's the whole Betty debacle. (Keep in mind the following: Tim is not affected by the Betty situation--he already knows that if I DO live with Betty, there's ZERO chance she'll put up with Squeaky even temporarily; and if I DON'T live with Betty, I'll probably get a studio and there's ZERO chance of him and Squeaky staying with me, even temporarily. So it's not like putting it off benefits him in any way, nor does it hurt him. Also, Tim is the main one advocating this living-with-Betty idea; I've been willing to say "forget it" for WEEKS, and go find something for myself, but Tim keeps telling me to keep an open mind about it, because he knows she's having a hard time right now too--and I have, as a favor to him.) Tim is basically my main contact with Betty. We have each other's phone numbers, but for most of last week, Tim's and my cell phones were turned off for late payment. So all last week, I was asking Tim to go up to the bar where Betty works and find out what the situation was. Monday they didn't go anywhere because his shoulder hurt and his sleep schedule was messed up. Tuesday they didn't go because he and Squeaky were putting out applications, and they were too far from the bar, and anyway he couldn't just walk into the bar with no money. Wednesday, I left him $20 so he couldn't use THAT one anymore--and when I got home, the $20 was gone, but he hadn't gone to see Betty because they were dealing with Squeaky trying to get a job, and getting some clothes to wear if she gets one, and blah blah blah. And Betty only works thru Wednesday, apparently, so there would be no point of going on Thursday or Friday--and Thursday morning there was a note on the fridge, asking if I could leave him $8 for cigarettes.
Now, all this mess doesn't screw me up at all--aside from the $28, it doesn't cost me a damn thing--but it slows down my progress, makes it harder for me to plan, and annoys the holy crap out of me. I told Tim that if I don't have a concrete answer from Betty as far as housing plans by the end of this week, I'm considering the matter closed. I also texted Betty, telling her to call me as soon as she can so we can get things settled. That's all I can do--and to be honest, I'm really hoping I DON'T hear anything. I would honestly rather live by myself; I'm only going along with this because Betty seems like a decent person and Tim has asked me to consider it as an option. But we got a letter from the lawyers last week, and if that letter is to be believed, time is running VERY short. I can't control what Tim and Squeaky's situation will be when time runs out; I can only control MY situation, so that's what I'm going to do. But as I do so, I'm going to make it VERY VERY clear to Tim: I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and I will not accept it if he, finding himself and his passenger in an uncomfortable situation in the future, attempts to put any sort of responsibility for that situation on ME. He has lived here for eleven months, and I have given him ample opportunity to improve his situation during that time; he chose not to take that opportunity, and that was HIS choice, not mine. If he and Squeaky find themselves homeless because they don't have jobs, or haven't had them long enough to save for an apartment, that's entirely not my fault, and entirely not my responsibility to rescue them again.
(Firefly thinks it's going to go differently; she thinks I'm gonna end up with these two on my hands just the same as they are now. As I told her, I plan to get an apartment small enough to make that an impossibility; I'll gladly give up some space in exchange for peace, quiet, and an end to the eternal, hell-begotten SINGING.)
I love Tim to pieces, and in past times I've seen him act like a responsible, mature adult; I know it can happen because I've WITNESSED it. When he's on his own and not involved with anyone, he can work hard, save money, and pay his bills on time. That's why I took him in this last time, because I knew he COULD do it. And when Squeaky came into the picture, he'd just started at a job; he hadn't made much, but he was WORKING. Then comes the Squeakster, and poof-- Responsible Tim is replaced by this other guy, who's making no money, no progress, nothing but excuses. And this is the worst possible time for THAT Tim to show up.
I hope he makes it all work out for himself, but I have my own problems right now. I'll help him where I can, but I also have to take care of myself.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Infinitely Long List, Item One
Reasons There Is No Possible Earthly Chance That I Will Move To My Mother's House, No Matter How Financially Beneficial It Might Be For Me To Do So:
1. Tonight, the following statement was made:
"...And I also pray that you'll lose weight. Not just for the medical reasons, but for the aesthetic..."
And so on.
If that doesn't sound offensive to you, please consider:
a) This statement was immediately preceded by the information that she is "praying" that I'll find a proper boyfriend/spouse/whatever, despite the fact that I have informed her that I am not looking, do not plan to look, and do not really wish to involve myself in a relationship, casual or otherwise, at this time.
b) This entire conversation was held over dinner--a meal which SHE prepared, and which featured chicken, noodles, sour-cream gravy, and buttered corn--all in substantial portions--with ice-cream for dessert. (This was a very popular meal in our home during my childhood and adolescence, as well.)
c) This statement, and the conversation containing it, both registered LOW on the evening's Offensive-O-Meter.
I am very, very, very very glad to be home.
There are developments, or at least potential developments, in the future-housing issue. (I just went back to remind myself what name I'd given the person who's about to become a major character in this part of the saga, only to discover that I had never posted the remainder of my long long post from LAST Saturday night's adventures at Tim's favorite bar. Since it's no longer germane, I'll summarize: Tim got drunk, spurred on largely by his rage at a "friend" who stole his phone a few days previous and then showed up at the bar to give it back, but who acted like an extreme asshole for the rest of the night til Tim threatened his life. During this evening, the main goal was accomplished despite the drunkenness and drama: I met Tim's friend, the bartender, who I've named Betty, and who Tim wanted me to meet with the aim of the three of us getting an apartment together. We got along fine, and the three of us planned to meet yesterday to go apartment-hunting. End summary.) Anyway, Betty has a friend, who owns a condo and is moving out of state for a promotion he just received at his job. The friend wants to keep the condo, but would obviously need to sublet it; since he knows Betty, there's a possibility that he might give her, and consequently us, a good deal. It's apparently a 2-bedroom, 2-bath place, newly renovated, gorgeous, and maintained immaculately by her friend, who Betty describes as "a great big queen". GBQ also apparently has a tendency, as an interior designer, to abandon furniture whenever he relocates--after all, why would he pay to move LAST season's furniture?? (I want to meet this guy--he sounds awesome!) So it's possible we'll inherit an enormous condo-ful of totally unwanted, practically-new furniture, as well. How cool is THAT?
Things have a habit of working out for me, I've discovered. Maybe not on my schedule, but they work out.
1. Tonight, the following statement was made:
"...And I also pray that you'll lose weight. Not just for the medical reasons, but for the aesthetic..."
And so on.
If that doesn't sound offensive to you, please consider:
a) This statement was immediately preceded by the information that she is "praying" that I'll find a proper boyfriend/spouse/whatever, despite the fact that I have informed her that I am not looking, do not plan to look, and do not really wish to involve myself in a relationship, casual or otherwise, at this time.
b) This entire conversation was held over dinner--a meal which SHE prepared, and which featured chicken, noodles, sour-cream gravy, and buttered corn--all in substantial portions--with ice-cream for dessert. (This was a very popular meal in our home during my childhood and adolescence, as well.)
c) This statement, and the conversation containing it, both registered LOW on the evening's Offensive-O-Meter.
I am very, very, very very glad to be home.
There are developments, or at least potential developments, in the future-housing issue. (I just went back to remind myself what name I'd given the person who's about to become a major character in this part of the saga, only to discover that I had never posted the remainder of my long long post from LAST Saturday night's adventures at Tim's favorite bar. Since it's no longer germane, I'll summarize: Tim got drunk, spurred on largely by his rage at a "friend" who stole his phone a few days previous and then showed up at the bar to give it back, but who acted like an extreme asshole for the rest of the night til Tim threatened his life. During this evening, the main goal was accomplished despite the drunkenness and drama: I met Tim's friend, the bartender, who I've named Betty, and who Tim wanted me to meet with the aim of the three of us getting an apartment together. We got along fine, and the three of us planned to meet yesterday to go apartment-hunting. End summary.) Anyway, Betty has a friend, who owns a condo and is moving out of state for a promotion he just received at his job. The friend wants to keep the condo, but would obviously need to sublet it; since he knows Betty, there's a possibility that he might give her, and consequently us, a good deal. It's apparently a 2-bedroom, 2-bath place, newly renovated, gorgeous, and maintained immaculately by her friend, who Betty describes as "a great big queen". GBQ also apparently has a tendency, as an interior designer, to abandon furniture whenever he relocates--after all, why would he pay to move LAST season's furniture?? (I want to meet this guy--he sounds awesome!) So it's possible we'll inherit an enormous condo-ful of totally unwanted, practically-new furniture, as well. How cool is THAT?
Things have a habit of working out for me, I've discovered. Maybe not on my schedule, but they work out.
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