Grown-Ups?

Well, internet, Thing Two and I are all moved in. The furniture is in place, the remaining boxes are hidden securely in the office closet (in the perfect location to give the illusion that we are well-organized and proper), the fridge is stocked. And sometimes the bed is even made. It was quite a process. Buying furniture, however exciting it may be, sort of pisses me off. Sure, we could have gone without and filled our spacious living room with giant pillows and various inflatable seating items but we thought we should be grown-ups about the whole thing.

A couple of weekends ago, we invited the family and friends to the house for a celebration of…well, being able to fit into my house at the same time. And we drank wine, we ate delicious food (courtesy of Uncle Paul, the wonderchef) and we slow-danced until we all fell down. (Because slow-dancing when you have gone through 754 bottles of wine on a Saturday evening is not only exhausting, but dangerous.)

Number of injuries : 1

Number of glasses broken: 2

Number of friends I’ve known for more than 15 years in my living room: 4

Number of children who stayed up way past their bed-times and played inappropriate zombie video games: 1 (And no, I am not speaking of Thing Two)

Times I wished I had invited Spliff: 0

I really enjoyed finally having somewhere to entertain people that I actually wanted to entertain instead of having to run it by a roommate or re-arrange my entire apartment to fit them inside. There was always something left to be desired when I tried to entertain in the studio apartment. You know, like…chairs. So, it was fun to be able to give tours and stuff. (Woohoo!)

Work is also getting better. L is picking up everything I have taught her so quickly and it is making my life easier tenfold. Compared to the last idiot they hired, she is a genius. Which is good, because she is at the end of week three and tomorrow she is covering my caseload for the first time. And I am not even worried. (Thank you, Cheesus.)  She even seems to almost be enjoying the work, which, I guess one might if they haven’t been getting shit on for three years. But, I digress. Things are getting better every day.

Now…if this day would hurry up and end…I have martinis to attend to.

The Sound of Settling

So, for the past week, Thing Two and I have been trying to adjust to our new digs while simultaneously trying to chase people out of our new digs and into…you know…anyone else’s. We’ve just moved in and have already had a lengthy visit from L and several drunkards passed out in random spots throughout the apartment. I know, I know, this is what I wanted when I got a place with rooms. A place where my friends would feel comfortable staying (and not having to sleep in the closet or with half of their body in the “kitchen” while the other half is blocking the way to the bathroom).  So, I would like to say, “Yes. Mission accomplished. Now get out.” 

L’s visit was not completely just a social call (however, the actual amount of ANYTHING other than texting she does in a day is miniscule at best). I had lined her up an interview at my office since we recently got rid of someone (who I trained for three months and complained about every day until FINALLY, the powers that be recognized that she was illiterate and maybe mildly retarded). Even though L has successfully avoided working at all in the last two years, I knew she would be a better fit for my office than the last one. (L can read. And she is a lesbian. Which is almost a prerequisite to work in my office. I am not sure why they hired me. I am going with boobs, though. My boobs are good.) Either way, she got the job and will start next Monday but in the meantime, she has to find somewhere to live. There was talk of her moving temporarily upstairs into my old studio while she gets settled into the position at work, but being that she hasn’t worked in a billion years and has no money and her dad will be paying for the place (at least initially), he gets the final say. And of course, it is a studio. So…he is protesting and being pretty annoying and practically insisting that Thing Two and I just let her and her two yappy little dogs move into our place. You know. “For now.”

No.

It isn’t that I don’t want to help my friend out. But I think I did my part. I got her a job. I shouldn’t have to give her a place to live too. And feed her. And try to grow accustomed to my new life with Thing Two while she is all up in our way. I am just not a fan of this idea. It took me forever to get out of roomie-hood and into this rather adult way of life and the last thing I want is a squatter. Dammit. Of course, if it comes down to it, I will give her a place to stay (hopefully, VERY temporarily) but, I just kind of want to settle in now. And I don’t think that is too much to ask. It isn’t, right?

A Home

It took exactly seven days, but Thing Two and I are officially living in the new apartment. We spent all last week picking out paint colors and then…you know…painting walls and whatnot. I was so excited when this process started because, aside from my previous apartment, I really had never lived in a place that I was permitted to paint. (Landlords and their crazy rules!) The thing is, my landlord doesn’t care about any of it. He is prepared to do the bare minimum at the property because he knows, because of the location, he will never have trouble renting it out. Either way, we spent days and days and days going to work for 8-10 hours, coming home, changing clothes and getting covered in paint By the end of the week, we were exhausted and delirious on paint fumes and spiced rum and we were just ready to get everything moving from point A to point B.

Friday afternoon, I picked up some big ticket furniture items and then delivered them home for Thing Two to assemble. After that, it was all just a matter of getting the 80 million items from my studio apartment and spreading them about in our lovely two-bedroom. (Freshly painted, mind you…) And by Saturday night, all of the stuff had been stashed conveniently in the new “office” where it can remain out of sight (and out of mind) until I feel like I can sort through it without going completely insane. (Read: Not today.)

But we are in. Meals have been cooked, dishes have been washed, cigars have even been smoked and I have to tell you, internet, we both feel great about it. I can’t, however, say the same for Ernge, who seems more confused about the added space than anything else. He runs around the house over and over  like he is seeing it for the first time. (Which, lets face it, he might be. He is, after all , almost ten years old.)

The only pressing thing left to do is to buy a couch. Which, I haven’t owned since my days of living with Jer. More stuff to move = annoying. But, I think it will be pretty nice to own all of my stuff again. And it will be nice to have a couch to nap on.

Domesticated

When Thing Two and I decided to move in together, we thought we would take our time and try and really work out the details of our situation before we hastily decided on something to rent or buy. We wanted to really get in there and find a place that suited us. One that we could afford and one that would afford us some luxuries that we hadn’t really had living in my tiny studio apartment. We had kind of decided, though, that we would suck it up and stay put until we had found something that we loved/could afford and possibly could actually own.




As it happened, however, the fates didn’t really want us to wait.



The house that I have been living in for the past year is a massive one. It is divided into a one bedroom, a two bedroom and my studio. Recently, (and really since I moved in) there has been a lot of moving about as far as the tenants have been concerned. The people who were living upstairs when I moved in were promptly evicted (and, I suspect, are cooking meth somewhere) and the people who lived downstairs moved up, making room for the weirdo who moved in downstairs with her two kids, no furniture and giant pit bull. She has now moved out leaving the two bedroom vacant. Again.



When my landlord called me on Friday and asked if I thought that Thing Two and I would be interested in moving in, I really didn’t have an answer for him. I told him we would discuss it and that I would get back with him as soon as I could. Of course, as soon as I could, was not soon enough. Sunday morning the phone started ringing before we were even out of bed and before we knew it, we were inside the apartment downstairs discussing paint colors and whose name to put the utilities in. My landlord is pushy. But he definitely gave us a deal on the rent and that’s never bad.



So, we kind of just fell into a new apartment without even having to get out of bed. Easy peasy, internet.



The fun has already begun, too. Walls have already been painted (of course, not all of the ones that need to be) and furniture is being chosen. And Thing Two and I should be bona fide domestic partners in a matter of a few short days.



I have to say, I am pretty excited about having, not just a bedroom that is separated from the rest of the house, but having TWO whole bedrooms. And a kitchen. Oh, internet, I have really loved my studio, but the lack of a full kitchen has been really painful for me. And now…the wait is over. I have ROOMS. Like, several of them! And, of course, I have Thing Two. Who, lets be honest, makes everything better.

Serenity and the Cosmos

Well, internet, I am finally settled into my new apartment. I have to say, it feels really good to be on my own again. Someone asked me the other day if I was lonely now that I don't have Spliffany around and my answer? Hells no. I mean, is it quiet without the blaring Bedouin Soundclash? Yes. But in the best possible way.

 

I am still in that stage in the game where I don't want to leave the house. I want to stay home and enjoy my solitude. I don't want to have anyone over. I don't want to go out. I just want to be there. With my cat.  I remember this stage from the last time that I lived alone. I wanted to eat up every second of the solitude.  The newness of the place itself combined with the strange sound of silence is sort of intoxicating. It feels like freedom. And I like it.

 

Of course, it doesn't help that work is driving me insane.  More and more, I feel like I am back at my last job. And my last job, internet, might as well have been in Hell. But we won't get into that, internet, not today. All I will tell you is that I believe in Karma, and I truly hope that someone gets bitch-slapped by it very soon. Actually, I have a list of people who need a good bitch-slap.

 

But I digress...

 

My point here is, internet, that I am uber-happy in the new apartment and am looking forward to witnessing some karmic bitch-slaps. That is all for now.

 

Crizzle, OUT.

 

The Move (and some other stuff...)

Guess what, internet! I am free! That's right, the move is complete. There are still a few items that have been left behind for the time being while I get things situated in the new place enough that I have some idea where the rest of everything will go, but for the most part? Move = over.

 

Some things of note:

 

1. I love, love, LOVE the color I chose for the place. Love. Come to think of it. It is sort of the same color as this blog. Hmmmm...

 

2. Spliffany was very helpful. In fact, while everyone carried boxes and boxes down the stairs and loaded them into the truck, she relaxed in the sun on the porch.  I half expected to see people fanning her and feeding her grapes. She is lovely. Or she is a huge bitch. I will leave that for you to decide, my friends. (In her defense, she honestly cannot be bothered with such things as helping a sista out, seeing as she has to spend 99.9% of her time obsessing over a boy and trying to get skin cancer. So, you can see where there would be no time for...you know...much else. But I digress.)

 

3. Tony and my uncle Paul rocked my face off with all their help. Unk even bought me some groceries and dinner at Carrabba's! Woot! I will never turn down some chicken parm, ya'll. I just can't do it.

 

4. I came in to work this morning to discover that half of the office has pneumonia. Fantastic!

 

5. I have woken up at 4am consistently for the last week. I am really not sure what is happening to me. This morning, I actually got to work an hour and 45 minutes before I was scheduled to be here. Something is terribly wrong.

 

Come to think of it, I should probably be working. Pictures of the new place to follow!

 

 

 

Excuses and Procrastination

Well, internet, I made the decision today that I would come home from work and promptly start to pack things. I got the keys to my new place yesterday and am so anxious to get this moving thing over with. However, the packing is...not going well. Or going...at all. I came home, billions of boxes in tow, and sat down with a glass of wine (because I can't be productive without two things: wine and music) and then decided to check my email. This resulted in recollection of a conversation with Casper earlier about a blog I haven't read in a while, so I decided to check it out. Which resulted in my thinking about another blog I haven't read in a while, so I decided to check that one out too. Which resulted in my sitting at my computer for the last hour reading blogs while my empty boxes clutter my room even more than normal. Yes, I rock at productivity. I know. But I have said this before. I have NO attention span. None. Nada. Seriously.

But holy tons of crap, batman! I have no idea where to begin this packing extravaganza! Clothes? What if I suddenly need to wear that shirt that I packed specifically because I never wear it?! What if I spill red wine on ALL of my other shirts?! What if, in the next week, I need to dress as Flavor Flav again?! Whatever will I do?! Books? But then my bookshelf will be bare. And that is just silly. Bookshelves are made to hold books. If the books are in boxes for a week, the bookshelf will just look ridiculous! And what if I finally finish the book I have been reading for a month and have to dig through a box to find a new one!? I couldn't start there. No. The crap under my bed? Honestly, I am just afraid of the crap under my bed. I don't know what is under there and I'll be honest, internet, I am not sure I want to know. I mean, I will definitely need more wine for that sort of adventure.

This is my dilemma. Ridiculous? Nay. Totally reasonable. Right?!

I tried to justify this to you, internet, but you have foiled my master plan again. I need more wine.

New Digs...

Well, boys and girls, it looks like today is the day that I put a deposit down on my brand new apartment!  I know! You can hardly contain yourselves! 

 

Don't get too excited though, it isn't a mansion or anything. In fact, it is pretty much a closet, but it has a deck with a view of a body of water. It isn't the ocean, but it is close and marshy!

 

High Points:

 

1. It is upstairs.  I like this because there will be less of a chance that gypsies will break in and steal my dairy products.  (As ridiculous a concern this might seem, it has happened. Never underestimate the ridiculousness of my life.)

 

2.  It has a deck. It is a small one, but it will be perfect for drinking a glass of wine and watching the sunset with my loving boyfriend. (Ernge.)

 

3. All utilities, cable and high speed internet are included in the rent. This is amazing. If this were a tangible thing, I would make out with it.

 

4. It has a washer and dryer.  And I won't have to delay laundry if it is raining and/or dark.

 

5. I won't have to become a townie. A fate worse than death. Crisis averted.

 

Low Points:

 

1. Carpet. I hate carpet. Hate.

 

2. Lack of bedroom. Yes, it is a studio which is not my favorite thing in the world. But I have done it before and can do it again and to look on the bright side, I do not have to buy a bunch of furniture.

 

3. It is not in my favorite beach town. It is in the crazy people's beach town. Which I can deal with, I suppose, as long as the landlord does not tell me that I cannot buy things in bulk or wear heels on the carpet.

 

4. I will no longer be walking distance to the ocean and/or anything that I would like to be walking distance from. This is really pretty lame. I am not a fan.

 

5. It will take me 14 minutes to get to work instead of 7. This is doable provided I can drag my happy ass out of bed.  You might think that 7 minutes is not a long time, internet, but I am a spoiled brat and that 7 minutes constitutes the majority of my awake time before I arrive at my office. 

 

So, there you have it.  Aside from being completely broke for the next few weeks, I am looking forward to the new digs! I am ready to get started!!! 

 

Eek!

 

 

D.A.R.E. and The Hunt

It has been a long week, internet. With all the apartment hunting, wisom tooth extracting, Vicodin ingesting and ridiculous amounts of sleeping, I have barely been able to collect my thoughts. This is probably mostly due to the Vicodin. Who knew that shit was so freaking knock-you-on-your-ass ridiculous? Not I.

 

Some things:

 

1. I had to get ONE of my wisdom teeth out last week. This was urgent. It was either I was getting it taken out or I was taking myself out.  So, naturally, this experience was terrifying. I have never had anything extracted from my head before and it is not a pleasurable experience.

 

2. While extractions are not pleasurable. Nitrous is. Nitrous is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Somewhere in my mind, I must have known what was going on on the other side of my eyelids, but on MY side of them, things were all swirly and bright and pretty. It felt like a really short, really intense acid trip. Not that I would know anything about an acid trip.

 

3. After returning home from the 1960s, (or the dentist) I took a Vicodin.  Thirty minutes later, I realized that about 25 minutes of my day was actually spent having a tooth extracted and the rest of the day was spent...well...high. So in essence, it seems that I took a half-day from work to get high. Not a bad way to spend a Wednesday, I suppose. 

 

4. Drugs are bad.

 

5. Apartment hunting is fun for a minute. Then it just isn't. It becomes annoying. And I had forgotten how many crazy people you meet in the process. This time, however, I can pick my own crazy landlord instead of picking one because Spliff if in love with the apartment.

 

The pain from my tooth (or lack thereof) is gradually getting better and the hunt is still on for, not a perfect apartment, but for one where no one else will be living. I am going to see one in two hours and I am hoping that when I walk in, angels start to sing and white doves fly around me. (Not too close though. I just had an image of myself in "The Birds".) Wish me luck, internet!

End of an Era

Well, internet, the decision has been made. Spliff and I are breaking up.  (I almost put an exclamation point here, but I don't think this is the correct way to start this. You know, I would like to get across the fact that this is a very somber [!!!] occasion. ) We spoke a couple of weeks ago and have decided to go our separate ways. (Which, of course, translates to: I get to look for an apartment and move out while she attempts to pay the full rent on her own.)  This, honestly, was a long time coming and we have both wanted to bring it up, but weren't really sure how. The truth is, as much as I love having her in my life, she is really in too much of my life. Most of the time I feel like I can't breathe. Now I know what you are thinking, Internet, and I assure you, it was like this before we started working together.  And although I can see her face every second of every single day, I rarely speak to her at work. (However, I am currently looking at her.) Either way, the decision was made and I am...a lot of things...

 

1. I feel great about being on my own again. Before Spliff came back to town, when I was living alone in my fantastic apartment in town, I was so happy. I loved being able to get up on Saturday morning and read. No noise. No people crashed out on the couch, unless I invited them to be crashed out there. No ridiculously loud Bedouin Soundclash (who I HATE...) always blaring all over the place. So, I am looking forward to going back to that happy place. And I am looking forward to getting back into writing here...and just in general and I feel like I am MUCH more likely to do that when my environment changes.

 

2. I am terrified about whether or not I am going to be able to get all of this money together in such a short amount of time and I am freaking out a little. You know...and I still have no idea where I am moving TO, just that I am, indeed, moving. As soon as humanly possible.

 

3. I am impatient as hell. Now that I know we are doing this, I want to do it yesterday. I hate going home now and as soon as I get there, I want to find somewhere else to be. It is getting a little out of control, I must say. I would have my shit out of that place in an hour if that were when the new place was ready.

 

Even with all the excitement (and elation) that I am feeling, it still is (a little) bittersweet. Spliff is family to me. Hell, in some states, I believe we would be considered married by now. It will be weird to see her at work every day but not at home. And it will be weird to watch the trash TV that we are both hooked on while I am at my place and she is at hers.  But I can get used to that. As much fun as it is to have a partner in crime, I think I'd actually prefer...not to. At least not all the time. I think I'd much prefer a part-time partner in crime.

 

So that's the state of affairs, Internet. (Casper. I blogged something. I hope it takes you a month to read this.)

 

 

Doom and the Lack of Coffee

I woke up this morning at 5 am with a feeling of impending doom. I am pretty sure that this is not a good sign. I think that this is one of those things that you aren't supposed to admit to having. When I worked in Psych, there was a questionaire that the crazies had to fill out and I believe that one of the specific questions was, "Do you ever wake up in a panic or experience a feeling of impending doom?" I am a little worried about this. But I am going to try and shrug it off. And if, by the end of the day, I am trying to eat wallpaper, then I will have to seek professional help.

In other news, Spliff and I are slowly but surely, getting the new crib in order. I really don’t care if there are boxes stacked to the ceiling, but if there is a God at all, PLEASE let me find the coffee pot! PLEASE. I am having to stop every morning and spend money that I don't have on coffee and I really don't think that it is helping the wallet. WHERE IS MY COFFEE POT?!

The neighbor is still super nice. I know, it has only been 3 days…but I ran into him yesterday in the hall and he is still rad. In fact, he offered to let me cancel my internet and hook up to his for the use of our brand new (used and left by Bong Man) washer and dryer! Woot! And the man makes pina coladas ya'll!

Today I get to meet with my supervisor to be audited on accuracy because I have been audited every week since I got here. Our accuracy is supposed to be 98% and above and mine, on my 6th WEEK of work was 91%, which…I think is damn good. No. I think that is super fantastic good. I think I must be a goddamn genius to be able to spell salpingooophorectomy without a book to tell me how. And I can define the shit too, bitches! I have to say…with everything that has been going on in my life lately, added to my cramps and the complete scatterdness of my life in general, I am feeling sort of…hostile. I still feel sort of abandoned, untrained, irritated with the new job because they didn’t feel it was important enough to actually train me, but they feel that it is super important that I absorb an entire medical dictionary in 17.5 seconds. And…well…that shit pisses me off. It makes my insides clench up and it makes me want to beat the shit out of something. So…I leave you with a nice little meme, stolen from Shirley!

1. Pick a band and answer only using song titles: Pearl Jam…Duh.

2. Are you male or female: Daughter

3. Describe yourself: Elderly woman behind the counter in a small town.

4. Your best piece of advice: Go.

5. Describe your last relationship: Long Road

6. Describe your last crush: Animal

7. Say something to someone you have a crush on: Let my love open the door

8. Say something to an ex: Rearviewmirror

9. Say something to someone who hurt you severely: Don't Gimme No Lip

10. How do you feel right now: Indifference

Messy

Well, there are only two more days in the apartment that crazy built and then we will be onto the newest chapter in the book of "Where the hell is Criz going to live now?!"

The apartment is seeming not so much packed up as it is completely cluttered and badly in need of a cleaning and the overwhelmed feeling I get when I set foot inside does nothing but make me want to hide in the closet until it is all over. Of course, the new tennants probably wouldn't like that…and I am positive that a life in the closet is not for me. Either way, it is almost over and more and more, I just want to pull my hair out. I want to throw boxes off of the balcony instead of straining my already decrepit spine to carry them all downstairs. I want to pay someone to pack boxes and do laundry and clean the bathroom. I just want to scream.

The psycho landlord called Spliff yesterday to ask her when she was going to get the cable turned off because the new tenant is spazzing out because the cable company won't let him turn it on until ours is turned off…I think that the fucktard can live without cable for a day or two, after all, me and Spliff might be living without WATER! So, really, the last thing on my list of things to worry like crazy about is the new tenant's cable. Fuck you, moron. Read a book.

Other than that, the week has been fairly uneventful, there were a couple of hands of "Asshole" the other day that led to JM asking over and over again, "What about these 2 fours? Can I get rid of these bitches?" And a heated debate about what kind of animal "Arthur" is. ("anteater - nose does not = antelope", is as far as we got.) So, yeah, really all I have done this week is worry and pack. And this is, of course, the week that I find out that MP is in jail, I have a history test, I have to keep answering questions about my new single status, and I have to pack up my entire goddamn apartment and move it to another one which is half the size and will probably get hit by a meteor in a week anyway. Fuck.

One Week

More and more lately, I am seriously tempted to sell everything, grab “the family” and run off to some island in the middle of the Pacific. That’s where The Grateful Dad made a good choice.

The move is only a week away and nothing is packed. The house is just as it was before we decided to move with the exception of 5 empty boxes in the living room. Spliff is sick and has been in bed for 3 days and I can’t seem to get into the groove of packing up all my shit for the 47th time and moving into a new place.

I feel numb. I feel frustrated. I feel inadequate. But most of all, I feel perpetually off track. I filled out my application for Radiography school yesterday and I feel confident that I will get in, but I am not absolutely positive that it is what I want to do. It just seems like a solution to my constant search for purpose. At least for the moment.

My job is going alright. Not as perfectly as I had expected but it is definitely an improvement. Even with the lack of training or support from the higher ups. I constantly feel confused and like I am not doing a good enough job and am trying to learn everything that the other people have learned over their 30 years of doing the job, but I am being pressured to learn it in a month, with no training at all.

Mr. and Ms. Fat Thighs have been scarce, which is nice. They have been preparing for their move as well and have been, like always, caged up in their apartment. It is better for everyone that way, because I am quite positive that I could accidentally hit her repeatedly with my car if I see her outside.

I ran into the Psycho Rasta yesterday on my way back from picking up some Ginger Ale for Spliff. He was walking down the street a few blocks away from my house, looking confused. I drove by him, hiding my face and hoping that he wouldn’t notice me. He didn’t and I kept driving right on by. I was surprised to see him, even though I am sure he is living just a few blocks away. It had been a few months and the last time, I had tried to avoid his stare but had accidentally glanced in his direction, faked a smile and a nonchalant little wave, and ran out of the bar. That’s two ex sightings…all in one week. All the more reason to stay home.

Another New Place and a Little Bit of Journey

Lately, things have been a little stressful and I’ve been trying to spend as much time as possible concentrating on everything but the search for yet ANOTHER new apartment and somehow finding the means to pay for it. And with the psycho landlord calling and showing up almost daily and Ms. Fat Thighs sitting in her living room downstairs with the lights out waiting for one of us to wear heels and step onto the tile or the wood floors so that she can call someone and get us in more trouble, it hasn’t been easy to ignore the impending move. I want more and more every day to be rid of this place (even though I will have to say goodbye to my freaking office), but I just feel that I shouldn’t have to go through all of this again. And again. And again. And I have said before, if I felt that any of this was justified, it might be easier to accept…but I don’t and it isn’t.

We found a place in our old neighborhood that is within our price range, albeit a lot smaller than this, but at least in a part of the beach that we have already lived in and know will not turn out to be like living in the Twilight Zone. So, we will, again, pack up and move at the end of the month and hope that the next landlord is not insane. (For the love of Cheesus, let her not be insane!) Here we go again.

Over the weekend, despite the lurking of the psycho landlord, JGJ, Thing Two, Spliff and I got hammered and watched movies. At whatever volume we damn well pleased.

Yesterday afternoon, in an attempt to enjoy the perfect weather, we went out to our favorite Sunday afternoon spot to listen to some reggae and drink some beer. It started out normal and then ended with a very early “Power Hour” match (read: war). Spliff was out at 12 minutes, JGJ was out at 20 and Thing Two and I held out to the bitter end (I almost lost my lunch at 51 minutes, but held on). Thing Two finished the 60th shot of Bud Light, high-fived me and then made a beeline for the balcony and threw up over the side. If only Ms. Fat Thighs had been standing below, my life would have been complete. I could have died a happy drunk and not have had a regret in the world. But, you can’t win them all. I did enjoy the time after the Power Hour when Spliff stopped drooling, woke up and turned on some music. Loud. And then we all sang 80s ballads until I could no longer maintain the sitting position. I hope Ms. Fat Thighs likes Journey the way that I like Justin Timberlake at 7am. Because I fully intend to start tonight with Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam. Fuck you, Ms. Fat Thighs and your door slamming too. Two can play at this game.

On the Road Again...

I was a little skeptical when I opened the mailbox and saw a FedEx envelope addressed to me AND Spliff because, in reality, we don’t get much in the mail that is addressed to both of us and when we do, it usually makes me feel more like I have a life partner than I joke about on the daily. But when I opened it, I didn’t expect what the letter read. I wasn’t expecting words of a psychopath.

No, it isn’t a stalker or anything like that, but close. Just our psychotic landlord.

We’ve had issues ever since we moved in. The bitch downstairs is completely insane and, despite the fact that she wakes up at 7 on the weekends and blasts horrible music (read: Justin Timberlake’s new album), cannot tolerate it when we watch television and turn it up loud enough that we can actually hear it…(although it is a comfort to know that our television does not bother her when we are watching the same thing that SHE is watching. A total relief , right? So at the very least, we know that if we are watching something that is in her bad taste, we won’t get the landlord called on us.) I personally think that she is a little pissed off that a) she is hideous, b) she has ginormous thighs, and c) her boyfriend is a silent, fat idiot. These are all serious reasons to be bitter, but honestly? You want to take it out on your upstairs neighbors? The ones who, because of an incident involving forgotten keys and some middle of the night knocking, you don’t like?

These are the complaints registered by Ms. Fat Thighs:
1. They always hear screaming.
2. Spliff is repeatedly outside at 2 or 3 in the morning, trotting around the yard, looking for her cat.
3. That our TV is too loud.

Oh, but I have rebuttals, Fat Thighs…yes…yes I do. And they go a little something like this:
1. Screw you, bitch, we screamed on ONE occasion (A MONTH AGO) because we were watching “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” (the original, which neither of us had ever seen) and Leatherface jumped out and we got a little…frightened. Okay, so we screamed simultaneously. ONE FUCKING TIME, you stupid, ugly bitch. But that doesn’t make us heathens. And it really wasn’t necessary for you to bang on the ceiling with your broom. Because, seriously, it was 11…on a fucking Saturday.
2. Remember when Bridget had a STRAW through her FACE? Do you think that Spliff would let her out when it is dark, knowing that she could potentially have to be “Strawface” again? Seriously? She lets her out for like a half an hour a day and ONLY when it is still light out, you dumb whore.
3. Ummm…why are you so concerned with our TV? I can hear you having sex with your dumbass boyfriend, but I haven’t called the landlord on YOU. And honestly? Justin FUCKING Timberlake? If you are planning to blast music at 7am, couldn’t you at least pick something that 12-year-olds aren’t flocking out to buy? Like…I dunno…ANYTHING???

So, here’s the deal: In November, there was an instance where Party Boy left his keys in our apartment and after I locked the door, he started knocking. I couldn’t hear the knocking because I was in my room (at the back of the house, upstairs, and the door is downstairs) and didn’t answer in the allotted 2 seconds. Fat Thighs came out and yelled at me, to which I responded with SINCERE apologies. Instead of being a normal fucking person, Fat Thighs decided that she would call the landlord DESPITE my apologies. So, naturally, she writes us a letter telling us we are on a month to month lease. Neither me nor Spliff sign anything, but for some reason, she thinks she can just break our lease because of our “boisterous behavior”. Yes, she used those words.

Things had been fine since then…we thought. But evidently, we are loud 4 days out of the week for the last several weeks. Which is funny, because we have been home watching TV, which is evidently, part of the problem. So now, we find ourselves tomorrow seeking legal aide and changing the locks. Because evidently, the psycho landlord thinks she is going to show this apartment while we are still living in it and evicting us without actually going through the proper steps to do so. It really is lovely. Spliff’s grandfather is a landlord with several properties and he called her today to let her know that she can’t actually evict us with no evidence of any wrongdoing, which is true. But she is so “confused” (her own famous words) that she doesn’t know what she is talking about.

Psycho Bitch: If you are not an attorney, then I am not speaking to you anymore.

Spliff’s Awesome Grandpa: Well, don’t worry, you’ll be hearing from one.

Seeing as he knows the rules, I am not really worried. Aside from that, he assured us that the last thing that a landlord wants is to hear from legal aide, which is full of young, vibrant, seriously naïve and go-getting young people.

What pisses me off? That I have to, AGAIN, find another apartment, and THIS TIME, for no reason other than Ms. Fat Thighs doesn’t like watching “ER” and has trouble distinguishing 6pm with 3am.

What pisses me off even more? Ms. Fat Thighs and her idiot boyfriend are moving out on the same day that we are supposed to be out of our apartment (which Psycho Bitch let slip with Spliff on the phone today), which means that she could raise the rent if we didn’t live here. Heh. How convenient?

Oh, you fucking assholes…you shouldn’t fuck with me, I have had a fucked up year.

An open letter to God:

Your Highness (or whatever you like to be called),

I have a complaint and yes, I am aware that issues of this nature should be directed to the specific department of complaints, but I have been screaming and yelling to them for about a year now and nothing has changed.

Please review with me, if you will, the past two years of my life.

Ahem…

First, you rip my from my favorite apartment by sending Spliffany back to Orlando. This would have been fine if you could have gotten me a raise or a suitable roommate. But, no…

Then you give me a pretty nice apartment with a washer and dryer and a roommate who is never home. (This was both a blessing and a curse.) And then, because she was never there anyway, when she decided to move in with her boyfriend, you force me to go on the hunt again, for an apartment.

Then, once I have finally started the process of finding a place and moving, you throw a dead guy at me. Quite literally. And he breaks my car and my back. Just in time to pack up all of my belongings (YET AGAIN) and move.

Then you give me a fantastic apartment for a pretty modest amount of money but you put it on the other side of the RIVER…which, just so you know, is NOT the ocean. (I would think that you would know these things, since you are the creator and whatnot.)

When it is time for renewal or escape, Spliffany decides to move back and we start the hunt for the perfect place (AT THE BEACH) which we find. It is huge and adorable and the neighbors didn’t seem like psychos and we love it. And then Spliffany goes to put down the deposit and we find out that the owner showed it to us, not knowing that someone had already gotten it. On to the next place.

We found a great apartment to move into only a few blocks from the one that we loved and we put a deposit down on it. Six days before I am set to move, you send gypsies to my house to steal my jewelry and my dairy products (and scare the bejesus out of me).

You arrange it so that I can move into the new apartment (that I only kind of liked) a week early so that I didn’t have to stay alone in the gypsy stink of the old one, but you make me pay an extra $350 that I had to borrow (and you know I don’t do that) from JGJ.

Once I finally got settled in, you decided to torch the apartment below me and almost kill my cat. And I KNOW that you’re aware that I would literally JUMP into a fire to save my cat. You do not MESS with the Ernge. All of this, forcing me to move, yet AGAIN into another (seemingly perfect) apartment.

This time, the landlord seems a little wacky but nothing we can’t handle. And we move in and we go out ONE time and basically get told that we are not allowed to move about the house in heels (or at all) at any time that may annoy someone in a five mile radius of our apartment. We also may not, under any circumstances, speak while sitting on the porch or in any room with a window open so as not to portray a negative image of our neighborhood. Also, we must not have magnets with funny slogans or the word “beer” on them. You also informed us, through our OCD landlord, that the word “dog” cannot be send in a normal tone of voice and that it must also accompany a scowl and disapproving shake of the head. This also goes for the word “basketball hoop”. Because clearly, anyone who plays basketball is no friend of yours.

All of this and my job started to suck more than ever.

Is there something that I have done to anger you? Is there something I can do to lift the curse that you have seemingly put on my head? Can you please cut a sista a break? I would really appreciate it. Seriously.

Your attention to this matter will be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,

The Criz

Where the Bed is

After spending a several nights living out of a U-Haul and bouncing from hotel to friend’s futons, I am glad to have a home. Even if it means spending the majority of my time arranging and rearranging things or doing laundry. Being homeless sucks and I don’t recommend it at all.

This weekend, Spliff and I have managed to completely avoid seeing people we know and have ALMOST arranged the office the way that we would like it. And I have ALMOST finished getting the sickening smokestack smell out of every single thing I own. But my space is a far cry from feeling like home. But shit, after the last two weeks, I’ve come to the conclusion that…home is where my BED is. So…there ya go.

I threw my back out somehow and went to work yesterday feeling like I got hit by a bus. I’m used to waking up feeling like that, but I am stubborn and I don’t like taking painkillers or muscle relaxants at work, but by yesterday afternoon, I was seeking out the people at work that I knew had the good stuff…to make the shit stop. But to no avail. I actually ended up hunting down my acupuncturist in the hallway (I was on my way across the hall to his office when I saw him and yelped, “HELP!”). After he dragged me into his office and started trying to “release the muscle that is spasming” (which feels more like some kind of cruel torture strategy and makes me wonder if he isn’t really a physical terrorist) and I started crying, he wrote me a prescription for some weird type of muscle relaxant that I’ve never been on before…Hell, I’ve never even heard of it. But…I can say that, dammit, that shit makes me happy. Happy, giggly, sleepy and quite spacey! I love it. But it doesn’t really help my back. Eh. Whatever. At least I won’t notice how much pain I am in until morning. And that is when I will just take another one. So…it all works out.

Either way, things are going well. Spliff and I are spending our evenings organizing and giggling and it feels like she never left. (Today the giggle-worthy finds were pictures of the "Gnome-napping of 2003" and the night we met Damian Marley...delicious.) Except that before, our apartment was the size of our current living room and had a kerosene heater (which we never used because we were scared of it). EEEK! Things are good. (I hope I didn’t just jinx myself there. Knock on wood. And again. And again.)

Tags: life , moving , Spliff

Bills and the Baker Act

So, obviously, things have been happening. Burglaries, fires, several new apartments, spazzing cats, missing boxes, phone calls, investigators, deposits…I could go on, but I think you all get the idea…

More than anything, I just want to feel like somewhere is home. And it is getting there. (More slowly than I would like.) And if I could leave the apartment without feeling that I would come home it and it would be leveled or aflame, I think I would be a little more at ease. But I guess that feeling will go away in time. It’s kind of funny though, because I really always thought I was paranoid BEFORE all this. Now I am pretty sure I am losing it.

I have a nagging headache which has been a continuous annoyance since the night of the burglary (which now seems like it happened MONTHS ago). I have bills to pay that I had either put off or forgotten about in the hasty move(s) and now am wondering if I will be able to pay at all. I have knots in my back and feelings of impending doom in my head. I have a smoke damaged bridesmaid dress which has not been altered yet because I a) don’t have any money, b) have moved three times in 9 days and c) have to get it cleaned now before I can have it altered, which has to happen before I can attempt to wear the damn thing…all this…and I don’t have the money to PAY FOR IT. So, I have to talk to T, who is already mad at me and tell her that I might not be able to even BE in the wedding, which really sucks. (Although, I can’t see how she could not understand my REASONS.) There are still changes of address to be made. Attorneys to contact. Former landlords to scream at. Boxes to unpack. Rum to drink. That kind of thing.

I am stressed. That’s about the long and the short of it. Stressed but determined to make it through this without being committed. (Keep your fingers crossed for me.)

Even though things are settling down, I still can’t quite settle MYSELF. And there are too many tomatoes in my chili.

Shit Luck

Just when you think things can’t get worse…

So, after the burglary and the impromptu move, I was pretty sure that I had suffered my share of unfortunate events. I had gotten the internet set up in the new place, my room was almost in order, and Spliff would be moving in in just a few days. Things were looking way up.

And then on Wednesday, (the one year anniversary of the infamous car accident) I was getting my things together to leave work and wrapping up a phone call with an insane patient, when my cell started ringing. I listened to my voicemail and immediately, my heart sunk.

“Crystal. There’s an emergency. The apartment has burned.”

I know what you’re thinking. “There is no way.” But you would be wrong. It is quite possible for someone to be burglarized on Friday, have to spend all weekend packing and moving and then to have their apartment catch on fire 5 days later. I know this, because if it is going to happen to someone, it will happen to me.

Mrs. P drove me to the scorched apartment while I freaked out and demanded to know where Ernge was. No one knew. No one had seen him at all. I won’t go into the gory details, I’ll just get right down to the nitty gritty.

The apartment below me had caught fire around 3:30 on Wednesday afternoon.
There was no one inside. (Except Ernge.)
I arrived at around 5:30 to talk to police and firemen and landlords.
When I walked in, I went straight to a hiding place that JGJ had said Ernge had used when I was out one day, said his name, and heard an ever so soft, “Meeeow…” and I was able to get him out, calm him down and get the layer of black off of him.
The fire itself didn’t destroy anything of mine (at least, not that I have discovered so far) but the smoke may have ruined several articles of my clothing. I can’t be sure until I am unpacked.
My bedroom was destroyed and the edges of every room where stained with soot and the smell, I fear, will follow me in a black cloud.
I was homeless for three nights and staying in a hotel with JGJ, Pica, Ernge and Raphael. (Yes, my fish lived too.)
Spliff and I found an apartment on Friday, moved in yesterday and are currently enjoying our first morning in our much bigger, much more home-like sort of place (which is three doors down from Jess and 2 blocks from the water).
Ernge is fine. And loud as ever. He is having a little trouble adjusting to all the new places he has been lately, but I think that seeing that he has (in the past week) met a burglar, and been trapped in a fire, he is doing better than anyone could have guessed. Oh yeah, and he is my hero.
I am finally starting to feel like a human being again. I am able to wake up in my own bed, make coffee and start the blogging. In our “office”. Yeah, because I always wanted one, and now because I have shit luck, I have one!
The people at work have been very, very supportive. I have received checks and cash from my coworkers as well as prayers and well-wishes and phone calls and love. And I appreciate everything. It has been a tough time. Tougher than I thought I could take. But I made it. And provided that, in the last few days of Hurricane Season, one doesn’t come and knock my house down (knock on wood), I think things are right with the world now. Besides that, Spliff and I are roomies again!

So…now…the thank yous.

JGJ: You are simply the best boyfriend a girl could ask for. You have done so much for me and I can’t even begin to tell you how much it all means to me. Thank you for putting up with my attitude and frustration and fits of crying and for keeping me sane. And thank you for single-handedly making the world a more bearable place. I couldn’t have done it without you. Olive juice.

Spliff: Thank you for making it easier for me to laugh at this whole thing. If anyone can do that, it’s you. Because even though it was your apartment too, your not freaking out too badly and ability to make jokes, made me feel like the end of the crap was near and that soon, we would be right back where we started.

Spliff’s Parents: Thank you for being here to help me and Spliff settle in. She is lucky to have great people in her life. God knows, if it weren’t for my friends, I would be screwed.

Everyone who has called to check in or ANYTHING AT ALL: Please know that I am infinitely grateful for everything all of you have done. I am beside myself with gratitude and am amazed by the outpour of support I have received. I wish I could express how much it all means to me.

The fates: Thank you for (somewhat harshly) showing me that that last apartment was not for me. I would have been happy with a note, mind you. You didn’t have to set the damn thing on fire so that I not only spaz out for days, but think my cat is dead and have to buy a new wardrobe. But again, there are worse things than shopping. So…next time, if you need to tell me something, seriously, you can slip a note under my bedroom door. I don’t mind. It’s the one with the crazy parrot head hat on it.

To my new apartment: Thank you for being the best ever. Thank you for having three bedrooms but costing less than the (scorched) two bedroom that we just rented. Thank you for having a huge balcony and a backyard. Thank you for having 23 windows.

That’s all I have time for now folks. I have to, again, change my address and all that stupid shit that you have to do when you move twice in a week.

Show and Tell

I thought this blog needed some decoration...so I will take this opportunity to give you all a peek into my weekend.


To your left, you will notice that Jenn is a master voguer. (I just made that word up...cool, no?)







To your right, is the dance floor on which we shook our asses. Yes...music...makes the people...come together.



And here's what happens when they do. Ass grabbin'.





To your right is what used to be my playground...and will be again...in just a few short weeks. (I really don't know what's up with this Madonna theme I have going.)




To demonstrate to Jenn what would happen if we lived together again, I took the liberty of punching her in the face. (I can't think of a Madonna song that fits here...)






Thank you...and goodnight.