I realize now that the title is more alluring than what the actual content is…. but you’re here now so whatever. Also, this is an old post that never got posted – times and living situation are now phenom bombs. (shit I think I just made that up… awesome..)

Due to our previously flooded apartment/leaking skylight (we lived in a basement apartment with skylights – which made no sense to me then and makes no sense to me now).  They (building people) managed to carve out a little platform where all nine heat pumps and air conditioning units would sit and make continuous loud ass noise. Here, is exactly where they decided to floppa-do two skylights so one could have the beautiful view of shitiness. At first glance, appealing for a basement apartment – at second glance – dumb as hell.

Had I known Jaclyn’s room would start melting and mine would be a loud constant humming of rattles I would have – well, thought otherwise about moving in. We also had a broken stove burner, a washing machine that didn’t drain, stompy neighbors (see A Note to Our Upstairs Neighbors) and a small ant problem in the shower.  I think of it as kind of a half-ass Jumanji. The ants are the monkeys, the rain is the rain, and well only those two things kind of apply…. The ant problem was an issue for me because I hate killing insects so it took hours out of my day to extricate the ants from the wall of the shower via flying piece of toilet paper and into the hallway (it was too far to go outside and I feel as though the hallway was good for them).

Jaclyn and I moved into a hotel after the leaking destroyed her room and bedding. I stayed there twice and realized I hated not having all my shit with me and not being able to make eggs in the morning. I decided to move back to the molding apartment as my room wasn’t completely fucked and I would at least have all of my crap. We had to move everything into the living room to avoid further damage. I spent countless nights rummaging through my own filth.

I felt like that underground population of people in Demolition Man. Lots of shit piled everywhere and loud noises from the heat pump that moaned every 30 minutes above my head – not to mention a similar noise coming from the other side of my bedroom wall when the neighbor had sex with his girlfriend and/or mistress lady who frequently wears jeggings. My room was like sitting in a box of horrors when it came at me from both angles. Heat pump vs. loud-ass girlfriend with dramatics. Because of the shared wall I felt like I was actually in the room with them – perhaps sitting in a giant plush smoking a pipe in a robe and voyeur-ing . The whole thing is creepy. Including that previous imaginative description of my own creation.

Upon not sleeping and living in piles of clothes riddled with dampness I felt a shift in my sanity and general maintenance of my person. It’s amazing how living in a messy environment effects your will to live. People who actually hoard for reals must reek of rat poo-poo. During this phase, I wore the same long black woolen sweater with anchor buttons to work for five days in a row. My boss finally noticed and asked what the deal with the sweater was to which I responded,  “I just felt like being cozy….” (hugging my arms around myself) I also felt like not giving a fuck. Basically, cozy equals not giving a fuck. I don’t think I own anything that is “cozy” and not remarkable hideous or ill fitting. It generally has been washed too many times or not at all and makes me look like I’m 10-15 pounds heavier. It is also covered in 9 million lint balls. Fuck winter for making me look homely. ANYWAYS, I would continue to wear my sweater as we were on the apartment hunt again, six months after we moved into our current place.

I cant think of anything worse than moving – mainly because you have to rely on other people to help you. So, when you move as much as I do – you start losing friends. I have four friends so shits getting slim. This will probably be the last time I move or the last time I have friends.

If you take the part out where you are viewing someones home to in the near future make it our own, which is weird as hell but giant king crabs steal each other nests all the time so there’s that. The actual idea of meeting a stranger at a location that they may or may not still live in and touring around their apartment and stifling through their things is in all normal capacities – weird. Sometimes these units are vacated but most of them still have people living in them. I despise the awkward tenants home while you just look at (and judge) their shit and especially when they just follow you around to every room as you open up random cabinets and search through their bathroom medicine cabinet. (no?)

With ALL of that said – we went out one weekend and slammed in three apartments to go see. The first one we wanted to move in immediately. It was charming and owned by an older gentlemen that spoke to us about the war (just the “war” in general ), his farmhouse, and how he came to paint the living room canary-peach-merrygold-yellow. All pretty riveting stuff Mr. Gleason. Kudos. He made us sign some papers before we left (uh, what the fuck were those?) and I gave him my pen because he was just so old and his ran out. He also had a giant gash across his forehead with stitches jetting out of it which was impossible not stare profusely at. We bid him adieu and told him we would be submitting our applications after we had seen the other properties. Since email was not an option, we had to snail mail all of it over so we would hear back in 2.5 weeks.

Next up was a place off of 13th street that I insisted I knew the way to no problem – which of course I did not. I led us a few blocks away from 13th street and then back around in a circle until we happened upon a Mexican restaurant so we gave up and had some beers. Victory is mine.

The third was by far one of the strangest experiences ever. It was owned by an eastern European man named George – also pronounced ‘Gee-jorge.’ He looked like he just got back from the tanning salon and was interested in fucking off the apartment showing and b-lining to some sort of discotheque to dabble in some cocaine. He spun us around the apartment opening up ever cabinet and showing each custom closet him and his sister had installed when they lived together (kind of weird). After we saw inside of each wooden drawer we asked him about the huge paved driveway out front and if we would be able to park there (neither of us have cars) but if we DID – could we?

He responded in a thick and violent accent…

“No. NO!. No one can park there. The guys who bought this place had bad permit so after they built it no one can use.”

“Okay….So who’s car is that?” …(We both pointed out the window).

“Well, that’s my car.” Gee-jorge said giggly. “You know sometime I go to Target for a few hours and when I do –  I park.”

“Okay, but we cannot park there?”

“No. And also, I have key to your apartment so in the night I come by and I look around and it is good, yes?”

“Excuse me? Like in the night? Wait, we’re talking about a parking space here.”

“You do not use. Not ever. Me? Yes….I use. Sometimes..I use. ”

This all made two pails full of bat shit sense to me and he was borderline rapey. Actually, not border line – just rapey. We told him we had seen enough and to please stop opening all the drawers we would have to be on our way.

He stopped us and said, “FINE! If you take right now I’ll give to you for $2,200.00 – Ready? Go.”

Go what? He handed us a form that was literally just like an English exam with one open ended question in the middle of the blank page with a bunch of lines and a place to put our names. We would be leaving Gee-jorge.

“What you guys do tonight? Is it Saturday. We can do the party?”

“No Gee-jorge. We cannot do the party.”

 

 

We left thinking we’d be doomed to live with Gee-jorge in his disco-harassment-village of modern European furniture. Alas, we found a little gem literally two blocks away from our old apartment. We would proceed to move by hand (physically our bare hands) and one grocery cart for the next ten days taking trips back and forth and looking like a regular case of vagabonds. BUT ALAS, here we are – happy as clam with windows and free to park in our own fucking driveway.

Just logged on to OKCupid this morning for the first time in awhile and to my surprise found these little gems.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

“Happy Monday! So I noticed you’re pretty tall, so am I. That’s all I have to say about that.If you’re really good at breaking the ice, do you have a favorite way to do that or does it change substantially with the situation?”

I always break the ice like this…………………….

“What’s in your favorite Omelette? Mine would be chorizo, green peppers and onions with some extra sharp cheddar cheese thrown in the middle. BAM!”

Why are you yelling at me? Do we really need to talk about this right now? And in so much detail? Fine. This is my favorite omelette – it’s called the sleeping bear. And yes, that is his egg blanket.

“Serious question… you can only pick one. No cheating. M&M’s, Skittles, or Strawberries?”

How would I cheat? By picking two? What is with online people and asking ridiculous multiple choice food questions? – I know what this is getting at and I will not fall for it.

If I pick: 

Strawberries: I’m a slut

Skittles: I’m a slutty slut slut

M&M’s: I’m a husky slut

So, none of the above. 

“Jeez I think you are so hot that I wish I can turn into the man of your dreams lol. Corny, yes. But so true.”

NOPE. 

 

“Have you ever dated guys who are not as tall as you?”

Yes and the whole time I wished I could do this to them….

If only you could mega mushroom people.

“It was the barefooted dance pic that that caused really caused the tswoonami……and I’m Joshua for the record”

I can quite honestly say that I have no fucking idea what Joshua is trying to say nor what a tswoonami is. Is that like a snackadium?

“How are you? I like your pictures. you look beautiful.”

Go on…….

“Tell me, are you as interesting as you seem? P.S. High five for the taller side…”

No, I’m not as interesting as I seem. My whole profile is surprisingly deceiving. I actually, generally suck.

“Nice profile.. care to chat? Wishing you a great day and I love the positive energy. How is online dating for you?”

I think this person has ADD. 

“Hi! Are you set on the taller side? 🙂 I’m 5’10, but I love when a girl is taller. I hope that doesn’t stop you either. So do you like omelets? Do you like them stuffed (ingredients in the middle like a burrito) or mixed in the egg batter? As you can tell I have foodie tendencies and my awesome kitchen skills 🙂 What’s your name?”

Okay, what is with the omelette questions? Some kind of “I’ll be seeing you in the morning” sexual innuendo? Yes, I like omelettes. I like them stuffed into whatever delicious burrito thing that you are talking about.

“I like activities….I like all sorts of activities. I’d like to tell you all about my fun activities. Anyway, hope you are well and hope to chat soon.”

Oh Please. Go On…

“Hi, I like your profile and also think honesty is important in any type of relationship. You’re really cute too;)”

Message from Deeznuts654

Hi, thank you Deeznuts.  I think honesty is really important too – just as important as “deeznuts.”

“I said to myself this online thing is so delicate…within two lines of the conversation you can surmise that someone is either extremely cool and fun or makes you want to delete you account and run for the ocean.We have four lines to decide if the ocean is worth running for…I’ll start…Hi :-)”

I’m sorry …who’s delicate? Who said the four lines? Do we want to run for the ocean or is that a bad thing? Just based on this alone, I assume you deleted your account and ran for the ocean.

“I’m in NoVa during the summer / holidays, and I’ll be in DC next week on a party bus… Let’s meet at one of the bars! Oh and I’m a great conversationalist… I pride myself on it so much so that I leave just about every detail about myself up to being learned via conversation. Last time I checked we don’t get flash cards about people when we meet them haha. Anyways, I’m sure the fact that I’m 6’6 already piques your curiosity (I hope)… So let me reiterate how neat it would be to meet you next weekend! Hope you can make a cameo.”

Why would I ever, in the history of time – meet anyone at a bar that is a stop on a party bus crawl that I’m not actually participating in? Wouldn’t you just have to leave shortly thereafter? No need to reiterate – anything. Anything at all.

Howdy-Any fun travels this summer?
In brevity,
C.

I spit on your brevity. Pppft-a-too.

We were off to Miami for the holidays.  “I’m in Miami Bitch” “Welcome to Miami” and all other songs that contain “Miami” should now be playing in the background.

The last time I ventured to “party in the city where the heat is on” was during a very poorly planned spring break vacation my sophomore year of college. We stayed at a Howard Johnson that was 50’s themed, smelled of pukes (plural: several pukes), and miles away from the beach. We ate our meals in a booth that was shaped like an old pink Chevy and there was this giant bobbled headed old woman on roller skates that just hovered and stared at you while you dined   (I don’t think she even worked there).

On top of the extra shitty accommodations, none of us five girls on the trip (girls vacay! woohoo! eff’ boys) realized that you cant do anything or go anywhere in Miami unless you’re 21. We were 19 and 20 with crappy fake id’s. We ended up buying booze from a sketchy liquor store and just drinking in the hotel room the whole time. We probably could have saved a lot of money if we had just done that locally.

The one time we went to the beach I got severely sun burned and had heat stroke. The tide also brought in an abnormal amount of horse shoe crabs which washed ashore and died on the sand, creating a carcass beach of helmet animals that smelled, and smelled bad. After exhausting the shitty smelly beach, we decided to try our luck at shopping. At the first shop I was instantly “pretty woman-ened” (it’s a new verb) out of the store after the sales clerk looked me up and down wearing my cut of jean skirt and ill fitting slant-off-one-shoulder jersey/tank. He said that there wasn’t anything in the store for me and that I should leave in a hurried manner. I thought, well, fuck that guy. I would be leaving at whatever pace I choose and a side step in extreme slow motion while gingerly touching merchandise on the way out would be the way to go.  He rolled his eyes as I exited  the store at the pace of a slug stuck in a glob of molasses. I mouthed “ffuuuuucccckkkk yoooouuuuuu” also in slow motion.

I would love to go back and do the whole “you work on commission right?” except I would probably only be flinging around a CVS bag with tons of Wet n’ Wild cosmetics in his face which would completely defeat any purpose of doing any “you work on commission revenge tactics.” Apart from that asshole, there are other assholes in Miami – a place for the over indulgent and over worked male biceps. The only way to participate in anything remotely cool is if you’re Pit Bull himself. At least there is one person having fun. You go Pitbull. You go.

THE MOST GIANT-LY LARGE RAMBLING TANGENT…..is now over.

Back to my most recent trip to Miami:

I flew down with my parents out of DC. I made special arrangements so I would be able to take my luggage as a carry on (by special arrangements I mean put some of my liquid belongings into plastic baggies). For some reason, liquid-baggie-packing always seems like this giant fucking inconvenience when really it’s just like packing your lunch except with toiletries. Actually, that blows too.  I packed and repacked for hours knowing that I’m the worst packer ever and tried desperately to make sure that I didn’t pack any bed linens instead of actual clothing, no pillowcases instead of a white shirts for this lady.

We taxied to the airport and my mom was thrilled to find out that she had TSA pre-approval without her knowledge – which seemed to me like a major loop hole. I waited in the long ass “must-take-everything-off-you-are-now-naked-this-is-weird” line for 40 minutes with all the other plebes. I always have to go into the full body scanner and I always forget to wear socks. I also use 45 to 78 plastic bins. Individually stacking and separating out any belts, shoes, socks, jewelry, electronics, coats, hoodies, 6 ml liquid bottles and anything else I could be arrested and shackled for.

I’m sure everyone feels this way but what is it about airports that instantly makes you feel like you are unknowingly a Colombian drug mule? I would never take anything illegal on the plane nor traffic drugs but the paranoia that I’ve swallowed 20 grams of her-oine and am also carrying a stash  in between my butt cheeks whilst armed with a loaded gun is how I act – which is suspicious as shit. Sweaty, rambling, beady eyed with severe nausea.

After all of this the flight attendant made me check my bag anyways because it didn’t pass the weakass metal box test. GREAT. Now to look for my aisle while everyone stares are my feet to make sure I’m not wearing 8 inch platforms. I’m not – these are my legs.  

I’m by far the most hapless person ever and in classic my no luck style my mom, dad, and I were sat in three different seats sprinkled amongst a family with five kids, their parents, and one twin uncle named Herb. None of the children had flown before and they were all between the ages of 2 and 7 (fml..you’ve got to be kidding me). The mother had to continuously reassure them that we were not going to all die inside a fiery ball of hell. Which in turn kicked my fear of flying up a notch to the point where I also wanted to ask her bunch of questions to calm my nerves:

Will we die when we take off?

Will we die when there is turbulence?

Can the drink cart be used as a weapon?

Why don’t they serve peanuts?

Can I use the barf bag to store things other than barf?

Statement: I only ever order ginger ale or tomato juice on airplanes. Question: Why?

Do the emergency exit people really know what the fuck they’re doing?

The kids covered most of these questions anyways and also felt the need to ask really dumb questions that only children would like: “Hey mom. When we get into the car can we have the windows rolled down?” (What kind of lame ass question is that?) Another was, “Will the people here like us?” in which the mother responded, “Honey, they don’t know us.” I wanted to raise my hand. Oh, actually, excuse me children….. I can answer this one….the answer is no, no they will not.

what’s the big issue with just not being an asshole?

In addition to the 476 questions, 57 screeching screams from hell, and 19 karate kicks to the back of my seat, all five children were asking the mother rapid fire questions about their cat; Meatball.

“What is Meatball doing?”

“Do you think Meatball would like this plane?”

“Meatball peed on the Christmas tree before we left.”

“What is Meatballs?”

After the plane landed and we de-boarded I wanted to dance on river mountains, twirl around in an open field with a basket of wild lilies, and just breathe in the fresh air that was the Miami airport terminal. That’s how good it felt – to be out.

I made this in Paint.

We were staying at a super flash hotel with loads of people that inconvenienced you by being too helpful. There were also tons of perks and free things to take on daily basis. My mom took a liking to hoarding the free delicious apples that were placed  in a giant bowl at the front desk every morning. We would eat them on the beach as a mid-afternoon snack. She felt the strong need to dispose of her apple core by feeding it to the starving seagulls. Everyone gets pissed when you feed seagulls on the beach because they go ape-shit. To do so anyways, my Mom would go on top secret missions to inconspicuously deliver the apple cores to the seagulls in a sort of feeding ritual. To me, this was the most hilarious thing ever. Not only did she look incredibly suspicious as she walked towards the ocean everyday with snack to dispose of in hand – but the quick escape after the seagull mayhem is the best thing since sliced bread. Thank little baby Jesus I recorded it. Please find below for the largest video on earth that I couldn’t figure out how to shrink:

In addition to feeding the seagulls apple cores, she was also really good at recording my brother and only my brother while he was swimming in the ocean. His wife had asked us to take videos of the family vacationing and send them to her – a request which mom took in all seriousness. Day in and day out she would take the same videos of my brother doing close to nothing – just floating in the waves. He would announce that he was going to take a dip and then 3 to 5 minutes later she would follow him down to the beach with her iphone and begin recording. I think the secretiveness came because A) he doesn’t like being filmed and B) the whole thing was creepy as hell. I loved it. With the amount of footage taken we could produce a feature film of my brother swimming back and forth and sometimes just floating in the ocean. I would call it “Finding Nothing,” an epic story of no adventure at all to find something that was never lost.

This is the trailer:

I don’t want to give you a warped impression – my dad is just as hilarious with his antics. He typically decides to abruptly start walking in incredibly abnormal ways. The walks are either the lunge forward hunching with slow leg lifts or fulfilling the dream of being a human duck and waddling. Either one, the family will usually join in and walk through public spaces in a conga line of village idiots. I love every second of it. He will also ask ridiculously difficult, confusing, and mind probing questions to strangers and wait staff in particular. Dining interactions would go something like the following:

Waiter: “Hello, my name is Justin and I will be your server this evening.”

Dad: “Hello Justin. Some have claimed that no true democracies ever go to war with each other. In fact, does history bear that claim out? If so, try to explain how democracy exerts such an effect.”

Waiter: “Well, how about I tell you about our specials?”

Dad: “You are special. Pop Quiz: you are also the CEO of a consumer products company. How would you determine the portion of your budget to devote to advertising?”

Waiter: “Not sure but we do have a lovely entree dish with roasted chicken breast and rosemary potatoes.”

Dad: “Hmmm I’m an admirer of rosemary potatoes. In fact, many admirers of Ronald Reagan credit him and his policies with the fall of Communism. Is that claim justified?

Waiter: “I’m actually here just to take your drink order…”

Dad: “Right. I’m thinking of my drink order. I’ll tell you what beer I would like either telepathically or in pantomime. Go.”

Waiter: “In pantomime?”

Dad: <Acts out a Stella Artois in a can.>

One night when we were out to dinner, my dad noticed a group of people sitting at the lounge table behind us. He had come up with the theory that the one guy in the “goggles” as my mom called them (they were clear thick framed glasses) was being protected by the three larger gentleman and if anyone made any swift movements they would be walloped. The man in the goggles was in his 70’s and was ordering champagne every 5 minutes. He was surround by gorgeous eastern European women who never spoke to him directly. Whoever he was, there was no deceiving the Foster family. We knew those were his bodyguards, we knew he ordered a lot of champagne, we knew he wears goggles even at nighttime…. Billy likes..SODA. Ms Lippy’s car is…GREEN. We could all leave in peace.

The vacation carried on as a series of laughable moments and was a huge success. Not a success in that we got to spend time in a lavish hotel or plop on a sunny beach for 4 hours each day but in that quality family time is the best time you can spend. And there is never enough of it. I could not be more blessed to have a family that is such hilariously good company and are the people that understand me the most. I am definitely my parents daughter. Mom & Dad I hope you know I’m laughing with you – at least sixty percent of the time.