Tag Archives: ridiculous

Apparently One Size DOES NOT Fit Most

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onesize

 

So… I was telling the BFE about my visit to the Farmer’s Market with Messy Jessy last week, and he stopped me and told me that I should blogging about what happened. So here I am.

 

Let me first start by saying that this is NOT a rant about being a big girl in a size 2 world… I am more happier with myself and my life than I hae ever been. I know I have to lose weight, and it’s a process. This is about other people, and their awkward WTF statements.

 

So here’s what happened:

Messy Jessy came down to visit this past weekend, and found ourselves wandering around the Farmer’s Market in Winter Garden. I was excited, since I’d been wanting to go to this Farmer’s Market for a while, but always missed it! I was starting to think it was the Shangri-la of Winter Garden… or perhaps a desert oasis for the farmer’s market challenged. I swear, EVERY TIME I tried to go, the fricking thing wasn’t there.

 

So we’re wandering around, amused at all the different vendors and their wares, and, thanks to the mobile credit card apps that all vendors have these days, unfettered by the “oh, sorry I don’t have any cash” excuse. We were literally sitting ducks for every adorable hat-making, custom jewelry-selling, home-made pickling, hippie-smelling soap-making tent in that place.

 

But I digress.

 

We walked into the coolest tent in the place – this lady made the coolest aprons evarrrr!!! Jessy and I ooh-ed and aah-ed so much that the proprietess comes over and enthusiastic shows us her different styles and patterns. Just as I’m flicking through the racks and debating which card I can charge my new apron to that will least upset Mr. Scrooge – I mean, BFE – the  proprietess comes over and puts her hand on my shoulder. Her first mistake.

 

First of all… don’t touch me. I don’t know you. We are not cool. She clearly did not realize that my personal space is protected by a social contract I maintain with everyone around me, an invisible bubble that only those of my choosing are allowed to enter.

 

So I was already unsettled by the touching with Apron Woman upped the ante and added the piece de resistance: “I just want to let you know, I have PLENTY of clients that are YOUR SIZE so I’d be happy to make to take your measurements, and in a couple of weeks you can come back and pick up your own apron!”

 

WHAAAT?!!?! It’s an apron!! I thought aprons were like umbrellas, ponchos and socks” one size fits most!

 

Seriously – should I be getting measured for aprons now? Shopping in the husky section for my kitchen attire? I am so confused. I have aprons at home, aprons that I share with my skinnier BFE, and I feel like they still do a pretty good job of covering the necessary areas.

 

After getting schooled on proper apron attire, I thanked said proprietess, removed my personal space out of her reach, and headed to a tent that is DEFINITELY “one size fits most”: the headbands and hair clips tent.  Or should I get measured for one of those too?

 

Well I do have a big head. 🙂 Bigger than most?

 

southern peach

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Wal-Mart. A Love Story.

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So I wrote this back in early December, and for reasons to be revealed in the blog post I couldn’t post it. Until now.

Happy New Year’s yall!!

– Peach

 

 

 

Every. Fricking. Time.

Today: found an item on my Christmas shopping list for the BFE at walmart.com and, since i was so late in ordering, decided the “site to store” option would secure my item at a good price and i would leisurely walk up to customer services and pick it up. Right?? Ha.

First thing: no where on the site does it tell you where the “site to store” desk is located. So i headed to customer service and stood behind a girl that was smacking her head.

 

 

If you’re not familiar with the Smack Technique, let me explain: when your scalp itches, you smack your head instead of scratching it, usually to avoid messing up your hair (weave/ wig) or, if you’re getting a perm/relaxer soon, as this avoids irritating the scalp. It’s a fairly ghetto thing to do, and i am ashamed to admit that after learning about it in college (where most of our worst habits as people are formed) i have been a hair smacking offender from time to time, in between relaxers. This girl wasn’t waiting on her next Dark n’ Lovely fix; she was slapping her head to avoid messing up her rather ratty weave ponytail. I was a bit intrigued, and found myself staring without really meaning to: how often do you get to see that kind of train wreck up close?? The only thing that finally drew my eye away was the long false nail of the customer service rep.

 

Ever find yourself in a situation so crazy that you start looking behind pillars and corners, waiting for Ashton Kutcher to pop out and say “you’ve been punked”?? Only, that never happens, a: because you’re not a celebrity and b: because that show isn’t even on the air anymore. So there’s nothing left but to realize that real life can be truly, truly crazy.

 

So – Yep, the customer service rep had one of the longest set of false nails I’d ever seen, and was missing at least three of them. I got a pretty good look at them as she was waving them in the face of a guy I can only assume was her baby’s daddy – not because I’m falling prey to stereotypes, but because she was specifically yelling at him about not picking up their son when he knew the kid needed to be at football practice. Guy just stood there taking the verbal lashing while standing awkwardly in jeans and a construction worker vest. Poor man. Yes, this was all happening while I stood in line behind Smack Weave Girl.

 

When I finally got to the front, I found out that the Customer Services desk is not the same as the “Site to Store” desk, and that was located at the back of the store. Le sigh. I counted my losses and figured I’d come away with the start of a good blog 🙂 and headed to the back of the store. Cutting through the men’s clothing section to save time and dodge the shopping carts, I got sniffed – yes, SNIFFED! – by a creeper near the men’s sweaters…

 

Finally reached the Site to Store section, which requires walking past the electronics section, and a display of the VERY ITEM I WAS THERE TO BUY (Call of Duty Black Ops II). Two things: 1 – I discovered that the Site to Store line is also the line for layaways at Christmas time, making for mass chaos. and 2 –  I couldn’t just forego the Site to Store line in favor or grabbing one of the games off the shelf, since I’d already paid for the other one online.

 

So I stood in line behind a woman wearing jeggings about a size too small, and watched another woman having a meltdown with her husband over a child’s pink ATV on layaway. Finally, I whipped out my phone and began to capture the entire experience. Got to the Smack Technique and realized that I couldn’t post this until I gifted the video game to the BFE unless I wanted to ruin the surprise. Le sigh again.

 

Oh, but the story doesn’t end there. One of the reasons I chose to pick up the game from Wal-Mart was because I also purchased the other half of BFE’s Christmas present – tickets to a hockey game – online, and selected the option to pick up hard tickets from, as Ticketmaster called it, a “retail location”. It wasn’t until I paid an extra $3.95 each that the website showed me that Ticketmaster’s “retail locations” for picking up tickets in my area were ALL Wal-Marts. So I thought I’d be smart and kill two birds with one stone, pick up the video game AND the tickets in one swoop. Too bad I picked the one Wal-Mart in my area that couldn’t print the tickets. So two days after my initial visit I found myself at another Wal-Mart, braving the crazy for my beloved BFE.

 

Get to the electronics section, since that’s where they print the tickets, and pass another display stand of Black Ops II games on my way to the cash register (the irony was not lost on me). The cashier prints my tickets… on receipt paper. I paid $3.95 for each ticket for RECEIPT PAPER!! What the hell?!?! Seriously??

 

I feel like Wal-Mart and Ticketmaster partnered together to jack me. Yes, JACK. ME! I ended up in Wal-Mart not once, but twice in the course of 3 days. I got entranced by a Customer Rep’s nails, watched the magical art of head smacking for ratty weaves, got sniffed by a creeper in the Men’s section, and finally got to investigate Jeggings up close. I didn’t even include the number of “pants on the ground” devotees I witnessed, and caught a guy checking out my rack. All in all, I think I got my Wal-Mart fill for the next 18 months. Until then, I return back to the safe, normal confines of Target, where all of the employees wear name tags and easily recognizable work-related clothing, and the only uncomfortable moments I’ve experienced have been hiding from Hot Doctor, walking into a stranger’s fart cloud, and stalking a Target employee named Bubba. Yep, Target, sweet Target.

 

Choosing My Attitude!

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Lately I’ve been working on this theory I have – if you choose your attitude, no matter what, your day will be a good one.

People often think of me as this bubbly, perky person. I have no idea where this idea came from. I’m kinda of an a-hole. I try not to be, but I have some a-hole tendencies. When I’m frustrated or if the “triumvirate” occurs: hungry, hot tired – then the a-hole tendencies show up in spades.

That said, I’m determined to work on my interactions with others, and my overall outlook by choosing my attitude each day. I make a conscious decision to be pleasant and friendly to others, to smile, and to be a positive force wherever I go. Mostly to work on being myself, and occasionally just to eff with people. I am an a-hole after all. 🙂

Some day positive thinking works, and some days I get home with a desperate need to bang my head against the wall. I’m doing my best to get up everyday and just keep trying again. My hope is eventually the positive days will outweigh the crappy ones, and I’ll lose less brain cells and make fewer holes in the walls of our new condo.

Yesterday and today are perfect examples of the dichotomy of my positivity efforts: I was fully prepared last night to write a blog about how my experiment in positive thinking was totally working. Yesterday I had a great day at work, was incredibly productive, smiled, felt good, headed over to the Whole Foods where they were playing “Barracuda” in the grocery store which put a little wriggle in my step, joked with another lady that was shopping about how, since it was her birthday, she should just get TWO cupcakes instead of agonizing over which ONE cupcake to get. I walked out of the store feeling just as energized as I had all day.

I got home and had a great dinner with the BFE, we talked about our workdays over dinner, worked out together later, and just generally had a great evening. The positivity from my Awesome Day carried over into my morning today, and I tidied up our condo before I left for work, made myself breakfast, and bounced out of the door to work – ON TIME (sort of). Today had a great start!

Then – it happened.

This WOMAN in a RED SUV zipped out from behind a slow-moving school bus and cut me off on my way to work. This wouldn’t normally be a big deal, but I almost rear-ended her because of how close she cut it. If I had, it would have been the 2nd dent left in her bumper – clearly she’d tried this crap before. I honked at her, to express my displeasure, and she FLIPPED ME OFF! WTH? So I waved my finger in the air in a “no you di-in’t!” kind of way, and tried to let it go. I could see in her side rearview that she was yelling things at me, and then she slammed on her breaks. Seriously. I didn’t think people still did that kind of stuff.

I tried to get around her, but she haphazardly slid her car halfway into the other lane to block me then slid back over. I could see her in her side mirror, making faces like a maniac! It was unreal. Why exert so much energy and nastiness at a stranger? A stranger YOU cut off in the first place? This woman was a bully. A grown-up, ignorant, sorry-ass bully. In a red SUV.

 

Remember that scene in the movie Fried Green Tomatoes where Kathy Bates’ character goes nuts and rams the back of the little compact car of those two skanks that steal her parking space? She rams the car over and over while yelling Towanda!!! In my mind, I had an “Ally McBeal” moment just like that, where instead of slamming on my brakes to avoid red SUV lady’s already abused bumper, I slammed on the gas and went full steam ahead, crunching her trunk into her backseat. When she got out to yell some more and assess the damage, I simply shouted “Towanda!!!!!” while simultaneously punching her in the throat and kidneys. Onlooking drivers cheered for me from their cars, like I was a gladiator in the ring, grateful that I’d taken the middle school bully down a notch and taught her what happens to aggressive social psychopaths that ruin the morning drive for everyone.

In reality I slowed down and let her speed on. The truth of it was, I wanted nothing to do with her nonsense, I just wanted to get over it. The encounter left me shaky, my heart was racing and my palms a little sweaty. I do NOT like confrontations! And these days you never know what that person is going to do, or just how crazy they are. I remember a story back in Atlanta, where a road-raged-fuled driver would get so angry in traffic that he started baking potatoes every night so that he could throw them at the cars of drivers he thought weren’t driving properly. That’s nothing compared to drivers that prefer bullets over potatoes.

 

The whole point is, red SUV lady’s behavior kinda pooped all over my day. I mean, a massive Debbie Downer kinda feeling, all before 9 am. I struggled to find the bright side to any of what happened, and just couldn’t. I even thought to myself that harboring ill will wouldn’t do any good, but I hoped in my heart of hearts that I’d see her again and cut HER off to see how SHE liked it. Christ commanded us to love our neighbors. I struggle with that part sometimes, especially with the only “love” I have for someone is my “love tap” I wanna give their car, or how I’d “love” to slap them across the face. I said I was an a-hole. Look, I’m trying ok?

 

The poopy feeling carried over into the rest of my day, and the funk of crappiness just settled over everything for a while. It took several hours before I remembered to CHOOSE MY ATTITUDE and get back with the program. An evening with friends and the love of my life helped with that. By bed time, things were right as rain.

 

Seriously, this attitude stuff is a process. It’s hard at times, but I’ve found the more I try the better my days go. The urge to smile comes quicker, the laughter and the jests with the people around me. I’m less inspired to punch people in the throat and spleen and visions of Kathy Bates and her battle cry “Towanda!” are fewer and further in between.

 

Am I still an a-hole? Pretty much. But at least I’m choosing to work on it!

 

The Badass, The Mushroom and The Little Guy

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Sliding into my seat at the Mellow Mushroom tonight, I looked around at my friends Reyes, Love and Bryce and just giggled. I was giddy with the story I needed to tell them, and eventually that giggling turned into full on laughter as I started the story:

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A few days ago while having lunch with my friend Stee she tells me a story about the newest guy in her life… apparently their love was “forbidden”. Well forbidden by company policy at least, and she accidentally spilled the beans to some of her work friends during a drunken night out.

Bear in mind, my friend Stee is one of the most badass people I know – she’s not afraid of anything, speaks her mind without hesitation. She always makes me laugh with the stories she tells about life, boys and work. At our engagement dinner, she had me cackling with her description of how break a guy’s car windshield without getting caught by using a brick tied to a rope. I’ve never asked her how she seems to have first hand knowledge of this particular how-to skill, I just take it all in as part of the Stee Package. The Stee Package is full of unexpected hilarity and by proxy, adventure. So when she starts to tell me a story, I listen, because I know it’s going to be good. There’s also the chance that I’ll learn a new how-to skill. :p

According to her, the gaffe where she blurts out her new dating status came about after her work friends kept talking about the new Moroccan guy, not knowing that they were together… she got irritated after hearing them say over and over:”he’d be so cute if only he were taller”.

I stopped her there. “What do you mean… if he were taller?”

She gave me a funny look. “He’s a little… short.”

“Ok. So? How short?”

“Um… 4’11?”

….?

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I paused in telling my story to my friends at the Mellow Mushroom to gauge their reaction, and just as I thought, they proved why they are my friends. They laughed. Lord help us all, they laughed. Ever since Stee told me this story earlier in the week, I’d been holding in my laughter, knowing that by laughing any more than I already had that I was proving that I was pretty horrible! Granted, I’d already proven I was a horrible person, because of what happened after Stee told me his height:

“I’m sorry, did you say 4’11?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep, I’m pretty sure. Why?”

I began howling like a hyena. “Because that makes him a little person! You’ve been hooking up with a little person! That’s hilarious!” I continued laughing until I cried. gasping for air, tears squeezing out of my eyes.

“Shut up!!! He’s not a little person!” Then she said the immortal words that sent me over the edge: “Stop making fun of my little man!”

The did it for me. I was screaming, knees buckling, laughing all of the air out of my lungs. We were standing in the restaurant parking lot, and I braced myself on the trunk of her car to keep from falling down with convulsions of laughter. It wasn’t his size that made me laugh, it was just the irony of it all. Of course, she would be the one to hook up with a little person from Morocco! To see her indignant look was all too much. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry – I have nothing against… little people. I have the utmost respect for them. It’s just that you were 5 foot 9, and he’s 4 foot 11. How is it that you never told me about this guy??”

“It’s no big thing – it’s not like we’re dating or whatever. I’m getting transferred to another city, so we always knew it was only temporary. I just don’t see the big deal.”

“Ok, ok, fine. I’ll respect your … little relationship… bwahahahahaha!” I just couldn’t help myself. “You’re hooking up with a little person!”

“He’s not that little! He comes up to here”, indicating the base of her nose. “I only have to bend down this far to kiss him… see?” She inclined her head down, as if ducking under a low doorway. It looked like she was trying to break her own neck. I just laughed harder, if that was even possible.

I begged her to let me blog about it. “Don’t make fun of me and my little guy!”

I tittered, “can that be the title of my blog?” She ignored me. I laughed some more.

By this point we’d made our way into the restaurant for lunch, and had taken a seat. I was determined to compose myself and finally pulled it together. We chatted about other topics, and things were back in track until Stee started looking over my shoulder with a funny look, then looking at me, then back over my shoulder. Finally, I look over my shoulder and see… a littler person waiting to be seated with some friends. I looked at Stee, and she burst into laughter. It’s like he’d been placed there, at that moment, in that restaurant just to drive home the point. We are horrible people.

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When elating this story to my friends at the dinner table, I was a little nervous that they would think I was a horrible person, but as I told them the story, they responded as only my friends would: by laughing like howler monkeys. I turned to Reyes, telling her that I’d been worried all week about telling any of my friends, in the event that they would think me a horrible person. Earlier in the week, I’d told the BFE about about it, adding that I planned to blog about it. Being the kind, good-hearted half of me that he is, the BFE cautioned me against it, since some people might be offended. At dinner tonight Reyes reminded me that I’m not friends with any of those people. All of my friends would find it funny.

I explained that I wasn’t sure how to tell the story, as much as I wanted to share it with others. How to relate the details? To give the gist and cadence of our conversation? Telling it as I told my friends at dinner tonight was the only thing that made sense.

I don’t know why but after relating my story to my friends I relaxed and smiled. I think it’s knowing that I have such appalling friends that would laugh at my story really made me feel better. I know – I’m terrible for laughing at my friend’s shenanigans, and there will be some people reading this that will be appalled and offended by my post. All I can say to that group is that at some point, everyone has a moment of political incorrectness, and if they’re lucky, they’ll have friends around to laugh at them and tell them it’s okay.

Two things came out of this: I have exactly the kind of friends I should have, and love & attraction can be found anywhere, even between the badass and the little guy.

The Rules

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This evening while I was doing my part to get us packed for our big move in 2 weeks I came across a cache of dusty self-help books on one of my bookshelves.

 

One book was “Sexy at Any Size” (a really good book actually), another was the Bridget-Jones inspired “Becoming a Goddess of Inner Poise“…still yet was the snarky “He’s Just Not That Into You“. DID NOT LIKE. THAT BOOK.

 

Then I stumbled across self-help GOLD.

 

My copy of “The Rules: Time-tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right“.

 

Yeah, that’s right. Like many single women, I was handed this book by a well-meaning friend, and actually tried to live by some of the bat-shit crazy rules in this book until I realized trying to live my life by rules set forth on a paperback book was insane and made me look like a controlling social engineer from the depths of crazy-land.

 

It’s funny, it specifically talks in the book about how if you break the rules in this book, you will not find a successful relationship. I personally believe that if you don’t break a few rules in this book, you’ll walk around like you’ve got a stick up your ass. Following this list of arbitrary rules didn’t really work for me. It wasn’t until I broke a few of The Rules that my dating life actually got interesting, and went from the “wishing and reading the Rules” stage to the “living and laughing and leaving the Rules behind” stage.

 

Some rules I effed up on:

 

Broken Rule #1 – Be a “Creature Unlike Any Other”

Hmph. This rule was mostly about keeping a certain amount of mystery in your relationship. I guess I broke that one the first time I peed with the door open. He literally screamed. Now he tries to hand me bank slips to look at while I’m in there with my underpants around my ankles, having personal time and reading Adele’s article in an old Rolling Stone. I’m all like,”What is this?! What do I do with this?!” and He’s all like “I dunno.” Neither of us finds it strange that the interaction is happening while one of us is pantsless.

On 4th of July I pulled  a prank that involved telling him to lift my leg (pantsless of course) and then farting directly into his face. Again, he screamed. And gagged. And laughed.  Almost a week ago and I still cry with laughter about that, and so does he.

Speaking of pantsless… I guess introducing him to my “Pants Off Friday” celebrations probably blew up Rule #1… unless it actually supports #1. I’m pretty sure dancing around without my pants on Fridays makes me a “Creature Unlike Any Other”

 

 

Broken Rule #5 – Don’t Call Him and Rarely Return His Calls

I always returned his calls. I was always so excited to hear from him that I didn’t have the self-control to be coy and all not-calling-back right away.

 

 

Rule #6 – Always End Phone Calls First

Um… yeah, like the first 2 months he was ALWAYS the one that hung up first, usually because he fell asleep while I was talking excessively. See Broken Rule #5

 

 

Broken Rule #14 – No More Than Casual Kissing on the First Date

I guess now’s the time to tell the Story of the Cold.

The BFE and I met through online dating. When I finally bullied him into asking me out, we jokingly came up with a code: if he tried to kiss me, and I wasn’t feeling it, I would just say “I have a cold”.

Our first date was a movie… while we’re sitting there, he leans over and is all like “Hey, I don’t have a cold”… I laughed and kissed him. I haven’t stopped kissing him yet. 🙂

Our good-bye kiss after he walked me to my car lasted about 25 minutes. I don’t think I ever left so happy. I guess technically it wasn’t “casual kissing”. 🙂

 

 

Broken Rule #17 – Let Him Take the Lead

Are you kidding me? What is this, 1925? See Broken Rule #14… he kept beating around the bush so I finally got him to ask me out. I kinda let him believe it was his idea. So in theory he took the lead… right?

 

 

Broken Rule #22 – Don’t Live with a Man (or Leave Your Things in His Apartment)

Whatever. He moved in with me, so I didn’t actually move in with him. It was the best thing we ever did.

 

 

Broken Rule #31 – Don’t Discuss the Rules with Your Therapist

That smacks of someone desperate to hide their crazy. I’ve said it before, and I’ll said it again: “In the South we don’t hide our crazy. We sit it on the front porch and give it a cocktail”. My friends are my therapists, and the idea of having to hide some element of my nutjob personality from my friends is exhausting. I once tried to explain the rules to my friend Kev, and I could visually SEE part of his life force draining away due to the sheer tedium of all the rules.

 

 

I guess each person has to decide for themselves if The Rules is something they want to do. I just felt it was a bit antiquated for me and my lifestyle, along with somewhat crazy and most importantly, a set of rules specifically designed to hide the best parts of yourself from your partner.

I mean, yes, some of that stuff is common sense, and is designed for those girls that get so excited with each new prospect that they shoot straight for Stage 5 Clinger. I agree – you probably shouldn’t go all stalker-y on potential new date guy, but seriously? Why should I hide who I am? How could I NOT share Pants Off Friday with the dude that might end of being my Baby Daddy? If you can’t take me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best. And that means no Pants Off Friday for you!

Let the Buyer Beware!

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Ok, I’m writing this because I need to get it out. I’m not sure if ANYTHING about this post is going to be very humorous.

 

About 5 years ago, I was living with my current roommates in a house that’s actually right around the corner from where we are now… and we LOVED out house. We were renting from this realtor guy, who, even though he was a bit weird, seemed alright.

 

Fast forward about 2 and a half years, and we surprisingly get SERVED foreclosure papers at our door one night. Seems that Mr. Realtor guy was taking our rent and not using it to pay the mortage. According to the papers he hadn’t made a payment in over 6 months.

 

We tried to get out of our situation then, but he turned into a bully, threatening to sue us, citing parts of the rental contract and twisting them to his RANDOM interpretation. After talking amongst ourselves, we decided to stick it out for another few months, until the end of the lease.

 

Things rapidly got worse. Our landlord Mr. Realtor guy decided to file for bankruptcy, and in the process included all of his rental properties, citing that they were empty. We were given less than a month to get out, and had a hard time finding a house to rent at the last minute.

 

When this house came up for grabs, we thought ourselves fortunate! Right around the corner from our current place! Lower rent! More space! The owner seemed like a nice guy and was very empathetic when we told him that we why we were in such a hurry. We though we’d found the perfect arrangement and settled into our new home.

 

We’ve been here about 2 and a half years now, and really feel connected with the neighborhood and the community. Bee and I started looking for our own place to rent once the lease would be up in December and wanted to stay pretty close. With saving for the wedding AND saving for a new place we’d outlined a strategy to get both things done without breaking the bank.

 

Things were fine until we got SERVED (!!!!) in March of this year. Turns out our landlord was going into foreclosure! We were in the the same situation again!!! As you can imagine, this did not sit well with me or my roommates. We became panicked and paranoid, scrambling to make sense of it all. After confronting our landlord with the truth, he explained that he wanted to remodify his mortgage; these days the banks won’t even talk to you about that unless you’re a few months behind on your mortgage. He assured us that all was well, and after renegotiating the rent down to a slightly lower price, we agreed to stay until the end of the year, when our lease would be up.

 

My heart rate and stress level was finally subsiding back down to its usual level of mania when the phone call came: our landlord wants to put the house up for short sale! With the intention of somehow buying it back!

 

How could it get to this point? What made my landlord think that this was a good idea? Or that his tenants would stick around during this process. I feel so effed by it all, and worst of all, somewhat powerless and I hate that. A very large part of me is super pissed that we’re being put in this situation, part of me is in awe at the sheer ridiculousness of my landlord’s decisions to let things get this far. And a not-so tiny bit of me is also pleased.

 

With all of this going on we’re now contemplating moving out WAYYYY ahead of schedule – August, in fact. Bee and I have been looking at apartment complexes, trying to find one in the area that works for us, and will be our first nest together. 🙂 What sucks is… EVERYONE is looking for apartments right now too.

 

It’s funny – now that the housing market is going through all this drama people are choosing NOT to rent from private owners, but are turning to apartments and management companies instead. Bee and I are not ready to buy a home, and I know we’ll be renting for a few years yet, and I hate that we’re now so suspicious of rental properties managed by the owners. For a long time the law was on the side of the owners, but now more laws are coming out to protect the tenants, yet I feel that not enough is being done. It’s hard and unfair – if I don’t work out a reasonable deal with my landlord, I’m at risk of “breaking” my lease… even though he’s the one not paying bills. Does that seem crazy to anyone but me? That I’m stuck in someone else’s mess? The process server for the foreclosure has already been by twice. Now we have to accommodate realtors wanting to show the house.

 

On the flip side, I am more than a little excited that our plans to get our own place together are being sped up. I am looking forward to living in my own place, where I can sit in the living room on the couch in my underpants, eating oatmeal for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and not worrying that my roommate is going to unexpectedly bring home a gaggle of people while I’m enjoying Pants Off Friday.

 

I also won’t have to worry about lawn care. Bee and I enjoy gardening but I’m pretty sure I’ll like a container garden just as well… less ants, less bagworms (WTF?!?), less pesticides to worry about… no more haggling with lawn care companies to cut my grass before it becomes the neighborhood eyesore. It got so bad recently that parents wouldn’t let their kids walk on the sidewalk by our house… they’d quickly usher them across the street. If I was wlaking out of the front door at the same time my neighbor was backing out of his garage, I’d scurry back in until he’d left. Last week’s community garage sale was the worst. I wanted to check out all the wares, but didn’t want to leave through the front door, ’cause then everyone would know that I belonged to “that house”. Until our new lawn care guy bravely ventured in and mowed the yard, I was pretty sure Bambi and his friends were moving into our front yard. I swear I saw forest creatures frolicking around my hibiscus bush the other day. NOT COOL.

 

Another nice thing will be cheaper power bill! Yippee!!! Our current power bill would make you nauseous. Seriously. It’s pretty bad in the summer. Water will be less, and the likelihood and me having to run down the street chasing my trash guys in my pajamas is fairly unlikely.

 

One final super cool thing about getting a new place: a toilet seat that’s never been sat on by another butt. I didn’t realize how important this could be until a friend pointed it out. How tantalizing!

 

It will be weird adjusting to a small place, but I’m pretty sure me and Bee will make it cozy and welcoming… not only for ourselves, but our friends too.

 

We planned for such a long while about moving in to a new place together, and now it’s coming, whether we like it or not. We’re getting pushed head over heels into this new awesome change. If you know me, you know I HATE change. So why am I so pumped for this massive shift in my world???

Update – We’re Broke, Our Wedding Isn’t Going to Make You Any Money!

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Wow.

 

So a few days ago, I posted about how my contact information had been unknowingly shared with a realtor via David’s Bridal (see: We’re Broke, Our Wedding Isn’t Going to Make You Any Money!). Having asked to be taken off the mailing list, I was VERY surprised to receive the SAME EMAIL from the SAME REALTOR less than 24 hours later.

 

Now, you might argue that it can take a few days to take someone off a mailing list – this is true. Working with mailing lists at work has taught me a few things, and the emails she is sending are not using “mailing lists”. For one thing, there was no option to unsubscribe, and for another, she wouldn’t have been able to add the email addresses in to the “to field” – it all would have been blind copied. She is simply copying and pasting names into the “to” field on her own email account. Only this time, she got smart and the second go-around she at least used the “bcc” field. Tricksy Baggins (sorry, a Lord of the Rings reference).

 

Getting the email again got me fired up… so I did what I should have done in the first place. I called the DB store and asked for the store manager. I told her what was going on, how I did not give them permission to share my info with a REALTOR, and how inappropriate and unprofessional this was. Clearly this store manager has taken a few customer service classes: she listened to my situation, empathized with how frustrated I was, apologized for the inconvenience and took immediate action.

 

She was unsure how a realtor got on their vendor list in the first place, but she assured me that she would contact corporate and have her removed, and would make sure that I did not receive future emails to my personal email address. Bam. Problem solved.

 

I feel a bit bad for realtor lady – she was just trying to drum up some business – but the tenor of her approach was inappropriate, and I think she needs a few lessons on how to network. Gaining contact by stalking future brides via email is out of control, but she’s not the only guilty party – someone within David’s Bridal allowed this to happen. I don’t know if my complaints ruined her relationship with the store. Should I feel guilty??