Knock, Knock.

Not meaning to sound paranoid or anything, but my landlord is out to get me. It has been a constant passive-aggressive battle with them since I moved in with Mark after we got married, mostly because they are slumlords and not very nice ones at that. They went through about a three-week period a few months ago where they decided to use our apartment as the model to show potential new residents. Our lease says this is kosher as long as they give us a day's notice, so while it was inconvenient there was not a whole lot we could do. Luckily they must have walked in and felt the hateful vibes toward them radiating from the apartment because they cooled it and left us in peace for a while.

Thursday morning, Mark took his car for routine maintenance so I hopped in the shower to start getting ready for work. As I was getting out I thought I heard a knock at the front door, so I poked my head around into the living room to listen. Another knock, and I still just thought it was a persistant FedEx employee.

But then the lock started jiggling as if someone was opening it. "Hmmm," I thought to myself. "I wonder why Mark knocked before unlocking the door? He's soooo special."

All of the sudden the door opened...and in walks the Leasing Lady for our apartment complex.

And there I was standing in a bathrobe, towel folded into a turban on top of my head sporting glasses and no make-up, toothbrush dangling from my mouth as I gawked at the woman who had just entered my apartment while I was at my most vulnerable.

"Oh!" she said. "Didn't you get my letter?"

"No," I said through a mouth full of toothpaste, not-so-subtly double checking that none of my lady parts were peaking out of my robe. "Whatsh gon om?"

"I have the person who is moving into this apartment here to look at it. But I caught you at a bad time."

I wanted to yell, "NO SHIT IT'S A BAD TIME! DON'T YOU SEE I AM NAKED AND OUR APARTMENT IS A MESS? GET OUT, YOU HORRIBLE WOMAN! LEAVE, AND NEVER RETURN! YOU SHALL NOT PASS!!"

"Ub," I stammered instead, trying not to choke or spray Colgate Total everywhere. "Gib me ten minish."

I scrambled to get some clothes on and made sure nothing embarrassing was laying out, all the while cursing under my breath at how just minutes ago I was blissfully belting Adele into a shampoo bottle at the top of my lungs in the shower like a scene out of a Disney Channel Original Movie. I opened the front door to look out and found Leasing Lady with some dude.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I really thought I had sent you a letter."

"It's fine," I said curtly with my best Totally-Not-Fine face. "Come in. Please shut the door behind you so the cats don't get out."

The guy awkwardly stepped in behind Leasing Lady into the apartment.

"Uh," he said sheepishly. 'This looks good. Pretty much what I was expecting."

Leasing Lady tried to make painstakingly awkward small talk with me while he looked around but I was having none of it. I reaffirmed that we were to be out July 15th (free at last!) and that we would have to pay ourselves to steam clean the carpets (ridiculous) before ushering them on their way.

I dialed Mark's number, fingers still shaking with my agitation. After confirming that he did not in fact get said letter and neglect to tell me on accident, I made a sassy call to the landlord to tattle on Leasing Lady before finally hauling ass to get to work.

What a nightmare. But HA! We found a condo at the beach to live in and *fingers crossed* we should be set. The sooner we can blow this joint the better.

For anyone that is curious, the crazy people downstairs with the cat poop and horrible parking jobs moved out in the dead of night a few weeks ago. No joke, totally was the sketchiest operation ever. Now I am just dealing with the guy next to us that likes to turn his bass up way too high so that, even with out T.V. on, we constantly hear thump thump thumpthump thumpity thump.


Home. Sweet. Friggin'. Home.

A Little Bit Homeless

The following is a re-blog from my attempt at Tumblr. It scares me and I don't know if I like it.

This has been a Big News week. A lot of life-changers are happening to people I know and it all seems to have fallen over the last few days. I am like, people, whatever happened to checking in to just see what’s up? I’m getting paranoid to answer my phone or check my Facebook because it’s probably going to be another piece of Big News and make me want to dig my heels in because I don’t like change. If you only knew the inner turmoil that happens when I grocery store and debate whether I want to stick with the same cereal or try something else. Therefore if something life-changing happens to you that you think I need to know about, try me next week. I have filled my quota for now.

The saddest part is that my only big news is that I am going to be a little bit homeless come July 15th. You might wonder how someone becomes just a little homeless, because it doesn’t seem that homelessness is a thing you can half-ass. It happens when your landlord decides to break his promise of a lease extension and boots you out to make room for a shiny new tenant. Too bad your job goes through the first week of August.

So Mark will go ahead and move to the beach in early July, but I will be left slumming it for a month. Lovely. Luckily when I approached my boss about my soon-to-be nomadism, she generously offered her house for me to stay in. I think part of the motivation is free babysitting, which she will soon regret when she sees how helplessly awkward I am around children.

While I am tentatively taken care of, there is the issue of finding someplace Mark can actually move into come July. In a college town, if it is February and you don’t have somewhere locked down to live for August you need to get it in gear. Apparently, me looking in early May for somewhere to move in July means that I am over-enthusiastic and need to wait until closer to move-in time. This is simply not suitable to my need to have a plan for everything. I get uncomfortable over minor unplanned things, like not knowing what I am going to wear the next day. Not knowing where I am going to move in two months? Please. Stress city.

There is also the matter of me not having a job lined up at the beach yet. I haven’t yet ruled out the possibility of entrepreneurship, like opening a tiki stand on the beach and making a career out of carving famous people’s faces into coconuts. But something a little more legit and less knife-wielding would be preferable.

People question why I am not falling all over myself with unbridled joy at the thought of no longer having to be so pale I am practically see-through and spending half my time in a bathing suit. But I am sure that all of our friends, family, and probably some people that will conveniently try to re-connect with us want us to have someplace for them to stay. Also they probably don’t want us to be so broke that we charge them a rental fee.

And the obligation to spend more time in a bathing suit? Please. If you think that is something that brings me joy you clearly fall into the need-to-re-connect category.

As things settle more into place, there will be joy. It may even be unbridled, who knows. But til then, I am just trying to avoid even a little bit of homelessness.