Archive for the ‘apartments’ Category

So this is what it feels like to give up…

Being poor sucks. But what sucks more than being poor is when your expectations are squashed because of it. As you have been reading I was looking to buy a home. I will candidly confess that one of the major incentives (and almost the main reason) was because I was going to receive $10,000 of an 8-year forgivable loan from the city of Dallas. As of this week, right in the middle of my offer to the townhome I wanted to buy, they pull the funding for homes not in their network. Meaning that if I want to seek their assistance, I have to look into the properties on their list.

I am a girl of a certain taste. Does that make me high-maintenance? I could give a shit less. What it makes me is a girl who will not compromise. I want the option to pick where I want to live and the home I want to live in for the next 10 or so years. So what does this mean? It means I stay put, bitter in the rent race and clutching the Tuaca I said I was going to give up.

 I’m still in the middle of the offer but I doubt the owner, though a great guy, will want to accept it because it will be about $10,000 less than asking price. The blessing in all of this is that I will no longer be anchored. And maybe I’ll search out Alaska again one day.

 

Day 63: The power of a note on the door…

Be gone all you thiefs!I woke up to discover this morning that my tiny Christmas tree equipped with tiny, shiny, glittery little ornaments was swiped from my front porch. I know that it may not have been the best thing — to actually leave something I gave a rip about on the front porch. But combined with the gold bells on my door, the bow I made latched on to the door knocker — everything felt so nice when I came home. Because from inside and out my house was so very pleasantly festive with Christmas cheer. Well, my Christmas cheer faded with my little discovery.

I became enraged. I left a polite note on my neighbor’s door about it after looking around the complex (and glancing the trash) to see if I would find it somewhere. I sat in my house, numb with anger of course. I’ve been robbed several times in my life. Mostly related to my car. This was it. So I kept checking the peep hole every now and then just to see if I saw someone to ask questions. Then I noticed this one young looking guy coming down from upstairs who looked quite guilty when he stopped at my neighbor’s door to read my note which read:

“If you happen to know who stole my tree, please let me know. It wasn’t very nice. Signed (my apartment number).”

Then after he read it, he looked down directly where my Christmas tree WOULD have been. When I saw his face I decided to draft another letter and this time put it on MY door. This one read:

“Merry Christmas Asshole. Whoever stole my fucking Christmas tree doesn’t know who they are fucking with. You will get yours — one way or another. Signed (my apartment number).”

I fumed. Ran errands and came home. Then I heard some really loud walking and looked out the peephole. I saw my “friendly” upstairs neighbor going downstairs. I decided to wait for her to head back up. She would have to pass my door to get to her apartment. I waited because the connection was made. She was surely friends with the guy from earlier in the afternoon. Before I could completely ask her if she had heard anything funny last night she confessed that her friend stole my tree. She said he was “intoxicated” and that she was sorry and was bringing back the tree. Guess what she said next?

“I didn’t appreciate that note. It wasn’t very Christmas-like…”

THE BALLS ON THIS CHICK! I told her I didn’t give a damn, she stole from me and that I’ve been through a lot in my life. And that I didn’t appreciate HER stealing from me. She proceeded to say it wasn’t her. It was her friend. Same damn thing. Long story longer, she brought it back and said that she didn’t want it to affect things with her and I. Hilarious. My punctuation mark was letting her know I’ve been victimized in my life and that stealing from me was wrong. She felt like shit. Her face was if she may have concluded I was once upon a time kidnapped and left for dead.

What does this have to do with the countdown? Nothing. An hour walking in a parade carrying a giant Curious George yesterday and ending my day getting back stolen property counts as a workout for me.

FIN.

Right in my backyard

My recent move has been blissful. I love this place. I’m near nature. I’m close enough to work and downtown. That sneaky demon/angel kitty of mine has somewhere to roam outside on the balcony. But as with every damn thing in life, there is a downfall. The downfall is being a stone’s throw a way from a doctor’s hospital and a few other medical centers.

That is bad Feng Shui already. Feng Shui always tells you being near a hospital is not a good idea and yes I read about Feng Shui. Really not the point. The point is that yesterday I had to witness knobby-kneed, clear visor and monster sunglasses wearing, pasty abortion picketers. I love the idea we have all these wonderful rights. We get to say what we want (for the most part), do what we want (within reason) and we have the right to proudly display and brandish what we stand for. However is it wrong to say, and I’m really being quite whitebread and cliche, “–not in my backyard?”

There. I said it. Not gonna take it back.  The scene was so circa Roe vs. Wade. When I’m peeling out of my complex, I don’t really feel like reading posters that say  “Jesus heals.” And “Abortion hurts women.” I’m not exactly a blasphemous heathen, but I don’t need a sermon shoved at my eyes while I’m at the stoplight or that churn in my stomach–the same I get when I have to evaluate whether or not those “homeless” median dwellers holding up cardboard box panels saying “Hungry. God Bless” are really in dire straits. Hey. I’m just trying to get to the next street. Grab a damn coffee. Get to the store. I got the compulsion to yank out my lighter and torch each of those poorly scrawled phrases that contradict everything tolerance stands for.

How sick is it to know that if you were someone who has had an abortion, that in broad daylight you can be reminded of your decision and then mocked for it. How nice. And today’s issues just seem far more what will decide what kind of America we will have come voting day. The decision was made. Abortion is legal and up to a woman to decide. May she see fit not to use it as birth control but it’s still her right just the same. So let’s move on from this tired topic and stop rehashing. Besides, everyone just kept on driving.

Day one at the apartment gym

So the new apartment has a gym. And not any kind of apartment gym that may as well be a closet with some equipment in it. You can actually breathe in this one. And there’s a great view of all the foliage and the creek surrounding the complex. I have to say all of this makes life a little easier working out.

Prior to this gym, I was working out at Curves. Yes, as you may have stereotypically pegged — Curves is really more for the mature ladies. I used to think this was just a stigma that was attached to Curves by the naysayers of their 30-minute circuit approach. But I think I was the only under 40 chick there and the only one that wasn’t a school teacher. And even though they tell you that 30-minute circuit is as good as a REAL gym, I think they are wrong. I never felt like I really pushed it like I would at a regular gym.

Plus one thing all Curves around here share is crazy hours not fit for chick that has no real set 9 to 5 schedule. The hours are only fit for who my father says are “respectable women.” Don’t misunderstand. He’s not saying I’m not respectable (well I don’t care if I’m not, hahaha) but that mainly that’s the whole angle of the Curves franchise. The hours are pretty much for housewives, teachers, secretaries and veterinarians. Anyway, I’ll miss those ladies and their crazy neighborhood gossip

Other than fighting off a spider hanging from the lat machine, the workout went well and I’m sure the thighs will be sore in the morning. I like the burn. And I have to add that all of this is either ironic or appropriate after going on about the food at the fair earlier today.

Hi, my name is J. and I’m a serial renter…

Is it a disease?

I’ve been renting apartments for nearly ten years now. When does it stop? Geez, my credit isn’t anywhere near the problem I’ve recently discovered. The problem is that I can’t commit. However I don’t think that is the case everywhere in my life. I commit to my work, my drive and my goals. But I just can’t take hold of the idea of settling into a permanent home. I end up saying stuff like, “What if I one day land a job in New York?” Or, “What if I get ballsy enough to drop everything and take up residence in London?” Silly thoughts, actually.

For me the result of serial renting has amounted to collecting and then evaluating. I’ve got crap for just about every room of a real home — all crammed into a measly multi-family establishment. By the time I’ve jumped on to the next place I sit around evaluating what to throw out again. That’s most of the battle. Stuff I got from people I don’t even talk to anymore are the first things I want to get rid of but then I get all sentimental and say maybe I should keep it. Then end up deciding against it because it’s super sad to hold on to things. Constant moving seems to be an exercise of therapy, that’s for sure.

And in fact my serial renting may have something to be said for my idea of relationships. I think I’ve always liked the idea of a relationship but when it comes down to it, I don’t think I could commit fully. I don’t mean cheating. I mean making sacrifices. Married people always say that stuff about marriage being a sacrifice. Fact remains, I like concentrating on just me. Is this vicious, vain circle?

The pros of both settling into a home and settling into a relationship are there. Having a home means no longer having to constantly move. Being your own boss of where you dwell. Having a completely committed relationship means your compromises can bring you closer to your mate.

Both have cons as well, however. Having a home means when there is something broken in the home, you have to hire someone to fix it. Having a completely committed relationship means when something is broken, it’s completely up to you to fix it. Then hire someone if you can’t!

Ok. I’ve confessed. Where are the refreshments? I was told I would get coffee and cookies at this meeting.