10 Things Listacle Authors are Thinking

10 Things Listacle Authors are Thinking

1. People will read this because it’s not just thoughts.

It’s thoughts laid out in a list which makes it easier to read, which makes people more likely to read it.

2.  I gotta pick a good number of things…

Am I gonna go the crisp 10 things route… or am I gonna be edgy and say 27?  This is important and will determine what the internet thinks of me.  

3.  I’d better count right.

The number nazis in the comments section will be angry if my list and my title don’t match up.

4. I’ve got so much wisdom, I’d might as well share it.

Not just anyone can make an arbitrary internet listacle.   

5. Everyone is gonna agree with me.

And then I’m finnally gonna have some friends.

6. Writing is EASY!

As easy as 123…456789

7.  I could totally be a Buzzfeed writer. 

I even spell check.  I’m gonna quit my job now. 

8. Nobody better put down my listacle in the comments section.

But I really hope people comment...

9.  I better make the last one super profound.

Fuckkkkkkkkk I can’t think of anything.  Oh well, I’ll just make it 9… that’s edgier.  

Extenuating Circumstances

Although I haven’t had a “real job” that’s lasted for more than a month or two, I’ve managed to not go without work for more than about a week and a half since I’ve been in LA.  Ironically, that’s pretty metaphorical about another part of my life.  Thanks in part to a temp agency, and also in part to my excellent hustling skills. 

This Friday I was feeling pretty smug about my good luck streak.  A bunch of stuff was going right...I was making money, had properly used the word "accolades" in front of several people, and my stomach had remained flat for three days in a row.  Pretty much, I had tons of baskets, with tons of eggs in each, and I couldn’t help but have a little extra swagger as I walked home in my cardigan and sensible heels. I was feeling so good, I winked at a stranger.  

I’ve noticed that sometimes when I’m feeling really smug, the universe likes to find a way to say “Check yourself.”  Sometimes that takes a few days, but this time the universe had a turn-around time faster than a Chili's table right next to the bathroom.  

So for this post to make sense you must know that a week ago, I moved down the street into a new place with one of my best friends from Boston.  (Don’t ask, I guess I enjoy the thrill of a change of address form.)

I get home and realize that my computer won’t charge, the refrigerator light it out, and my beer is room temperature.  One hour and two warm beers later, I realize our power is out (this is after texting my roommate to see if he noticed all our stuff was broken).  I go to check if anyone else’s power is off too.  I can see through the screen door that my next door neighbor is enjoying a cold beverage in front of the TV so I don’t even need to ask, but I figure this is a good way to welcome myself to the neighborhood, so I ask him if he has power anyway.  He said yes, and answers my puzzled face with a question.  “Did you ever change your name on the account when the other guys moved out?”

Umm.  Nope.  

So I’m on the phone with the power company and they tell me that I can’t get power until Monday.  Monday. MY FROZEN MEALS WILL THAW BY THEN.  I am immediately in bitch mode, telling the lady from the power company that I’ll take my business elsewhere.  Little did I know that there is no elsewhere.
Fun Fact: In LA, and most places, the power company is the power company, and you can’t really shop around.

I realize quickly (by quickly, I mean 20 minutes of hold music waiting for the supervisor later) that crazy bitch isn’t the best approach so I hang up and call back with a new angle.  This time I decide that I’m gonna be super sad, and the new lady is gonna feel bad for me.  I work up some tears (fueled by the devastating notion that I couldn't have the house warming party I was throwing myself that night anymore) and tell her that I have extenuating circumstances and need a crew out here ASAP.  I hadn't really figured out what those circumstances were yet.  I was having a hard time deciding whether to say I lived with my grandma, and she needed to plug in her defibrillator, or that I have several child size kidneys in my fridge that were gonna turn.  Side note: a defibrillator is not what I thought it was… I think I meant respirator.  Luckily, I wore the lady down to the point, that she didn't even ask.

They finally gave in and told me they would send out an emergency crew, but they might not come until Sunday, so I should invest in some flashlights.

Determined to go on with the party, power or no power, I assembled my emergency kit.  I called a friend to make sure his speakers used batteries, and bought all the battery powered lights I could find at Bed Bath and Beyond.  Just ask all the guests had arrived, and candles were lit, and I was almost getting people excited about the "black out party," the electricians came and turned on the power.  

To tell you the truth, the lights kind of killed the mood.  I'll call and complain on Monday.    

A little bit not cute...

So I know it’s been a long time since my last post… and forgive me, but if I was capable of consistency, I wouldn’t be an aspiring adult, now would I?  Let me take this time to briefly fill you in on the past three months of my life. 

On the last day of my production job I got an e-mail that the one restaurant I applied to wanted me to work there starting ASAP!I galloped around the set telling people to come visit me and tip me big, and mentally pre-spent all my tip money on high heels and hair extensions so I could be a real LA girl. 

Good thing I kept my mental receipts, because day 1 I found out I was hired as a hostess, but could move up.  I was not happy with this, but laziness beat out pride in this situation and I thought I would much rather lay on the beach than look for another job, so I stuck around.  On day 2 I found out that the company was sold; it would be closing for six weeks, and my boss in a fit of panic, would be moving to Hawaii with her boyfriend.  Neat.  Now the person I was supposed to be impressing with my impeccable ability to wipe down menus and stock toilette paper would be leaving. 

It turns out I’m a crappy hostess anyway, so I wasn’t so disappointed when I became unemployed once again. 

I turned to a temp agency to help me with my unemployment needs.  I put on my high water dress pants, stopped at Kinko’s to print out my resume, and got to the interview with minutes to spare! I grabbed a parking spot right next to the front entrance.  I stepped out of the car and realized that my hair was just a little bit not cute... so I got back in the car to fix it. 

When I went to lock the car again (manually because I lost my master key in a less than adult situation a few nights before) the alarm started going off… really loud. I started sweating in a way that’s a little more extreme that “a little not cute” as I tore through my manual trying to figure out how to turn it off.  (Turns out you can’t without the master key).  It shut off on its own, but when I tried to lock the door again (like an idiot) I think you can guess what it did...  This time the receptionist came out to see who’s car was being broken into and he saw sweaty me with still not cute hair, and a suspiciously wet resume, inching away from the screaming car.  He did not seem amused.  It turns out the interviewer had a much better sense of humor… then again, my resume was dry by the time he got it.

The interview went great, and he got me two reception gigs at high profile companies, so I can’t complain.  Now I like to think of myself as a temporary adult… with the option of regression if need be.  Or a 9-6 adult, with rebellious tendencies in the evenings. 

Becoming Less Homeless

A few days ago I awoke to see $845 missing from my checking account. It took me about 8 seconds to realize I wrote a rent check a week ago for my Boston apartment. I guess that’s how people go broke. Surprise. No money. ADD people shouldn’t be allowed to write checks.

Thank God this happened after I cashed my savings bonds, advanced my credit, and sold my eggs (on the upside, this probably makes it harder for an accidental pregnancy) to make a deposit on an apartment.

I didn’t really sell my eggs. I know there are some of you that were worried… hopefully enough to get your checkbooks out.

Anyway, last Monday was my first day of work. I learned a lot, had so much fun, and got a free meal. At an $8.99 value, I can probably pay off my car before my grandchildren die.

Last Monday I was living in the Culver City Courtyard hotel. I guess now is the time to tell you that my dad is not an asshole, because he so generously used his Marriott points to get me this hotel. [There you go Dad, so sorry, it’s on the record now]. Anyway, LA is great with turndown service. Not so great when you’re getting turned down for crappy apartments with blood stained mattresses… (We looked at some apartments where we’re pretty sure people got murdered, blah blah, you win some you lose some).

Thursday February 9^th was my last day of living in Casa De Courtyard. I really hadn’t stopped to think about what I was going to do about housing once this fantasy ended.

My first thought was that Elena had a parking space in the garage in her apartment My car was comfy enough, and I brought my sheets! When I called and proposed this idea, she told me I was ridiculous and I was going to stay with her until she, her roommate, and I, could find an apartment together (their lease was up in a month anyway).

This was all well and good, but she and her roommate shared a studio apartment. Nope. I may be poor, but I have standards. Those standards don’t include a three way spoon sesh with a couple of chicks.

I wanted to cover my bases in case the odd couple wasn’t up for moving quickly. So I sent out a bunch of responses to craigslist ads, and even met with a 60 year old Irish lady who seemed like she would be an awesome roomie.

Luckily before I could settle into a Golden Girls life, Elena and Nina hopped on board and applied for our West LA dream home. We spent a whole night finding creative ways to word our employment situations, and illegibly filling in bank account numbers for our rental applications. The next day the little Italian landlady gave me a call. She told me that since I’m a Capricorn and a Snake (according to the Chinese new year) that I’m attractive, good with money, and she trusts me. I’ll take it. I’m pretty sure she didn’t even look at our credit.

Sacrifices had to be made to live the sweet life. With a little creative financing… I can afford a bed next Wednesday. For the latter half of last week, I was sleeping on four couch cushions pushed together on my floor…bound together by my fitted sheet (I knew it would come in handy). Until Wednesday, I’m sleeping with Elena on her futon. Well, not futon. The futon didn’t fit in the UHaul. We’re sleeping on her futon cushion. I guess I didn’t totally avoid the spoon sesh after all.

Anyway, I’m realizing more and more every day how lucky I am.  California is the best place to be poor.

Change of Non Plans...

So this post is long, and if you have been anywhere near me in the past 3 weeks... redundant. BUT GET OVER IT, YOU'RE READING THIS VOLUNTARILY BECAUSE I BEGGED YOU TO.

That whole Victory Lap thing? Didn't happen... I took a wrong turn around the track somewhere outside of Delaware and ended up in Los Angeles. Actually, that is just a well crafted metaphor. The truth is a no more believable. Pretty much it went like this:

-Girl gets temp job at pet store doing data entry.

-Girl begins to get murderous thoughts.

-Girl goes to a talk at Northeastern given by reality TV film producer. (January 11th)

-Girl offers said producer "Bitch Services".

-Girl gets hired to work at unlivable rate to do said services if she can get out to LA ASAP.

-Girl begs friends for help, relatives for money, dad for acceptance, and books one way ticket to LAX.

-Girl gets on plane. (February 2nd)

There were plenty of snags along the way to February 2nd. I had to find a subletter for my already subletted apartment, figure out what I was gonna do about a car, insurance, home, ect. in California, and figure out what to do with all of my items... and I had A LOT OF ITEMS. Oh yea, and there was that whole no money thing.

I got a subletter, but then had to chase him down and finally got my rent money at 11:34pm on February 1st. In cash. I feel great about the transaction.

Every person I called on craigslist about a car sounded like they were gonna rape me, so I decided to get financially raped by a lease instead. At least then I would have a receipt.

My items are spread out along the east coast... I had to leave behind my snowboard that I never use, my sewing machine that I never use, my pots and pans that were never used, and all sorts of other hoard-y items that probably could have solved my money problem if I knew how to use E-bay. I leave 3 boxes in the loving care of a good friend with instructions to send them when I manage to obtain an address...

As for money. I took the savings bonds from my childhood, took out a loan on my soul (I wasn't using that either anyway), and put as much as possible on my credit card with the disgustingly low limit (although probably a bit too generous if my credit card company actually knew me). This problem still isn't really solved...

CUT TO FEBRUARY 2ND:

I go to bed... at like 6am. Talk about night before Christmas feeling...

Dad calls and wakes me up at like 8am... have no idea what I said, but it was probably mean, sorry Dad.

Call Dad back and apologize for angry words. My dad is not the mushy type, but I believe he said something about me being his little girl and going 3,000 miles away. There is a 50% chance he was being sarcastic with the voice cracking thing, so either it was very sweet, or he's an asshole. Either way, I started crying and hung up on him.

I put on Pandora and the Rihanna radio from the night before makes my heart palpitations worse. I listen to some Yo Yo Ma, call my aunt and CALM THE F DOWN.

I get up take the sheets off my bed, and stuff them into my already ripping suitcase (they are new, never even been... well... anyway...). I leave a bunch of random crap for my subletter/rent dodger to deal with. I'm sure he made good use of my shoe organizer and hot glue gun.

I call a cab and leave my Boston life behind.

At the airport I get some weird looks as I struggle with two checked bags and two carry-ons (and I am definitely that asshole who's carry-ons should not be carried on.) The baggage total weighs more than me, and thus I must pay.

As I sit in my awesome seat (I actually checked in on time) I do the usual... send mental signals for a hot guy to sit next to me... but alas, the signals were intercepted by a portly woman. That's ok, at least I don't need my pillow. Fall asleep, land, wake up in Phoenix, get a beer, get on another plane, talk to a nice lady who offers to help me with my baggage, yada yada, uneventful airport business. My good friend Elena who already lives in LA picks me up and we check into my home for the next week, the Culver City courtyard hotel.

CUT TO THE NEXT MORNING

I wake up like this:

I tried to pick some zit on my eyebrow and it got infected or something... my eye was swollen shut.

One urgent care visit and 95 dollars later, and I had some meds, and a still great outlook on life (even if I was only looking out one eye).

After a nap I told Elena that I was ready to go buy a car... (I must note that my eye had not opened up anymore). I slapped on some make-up and my glasses and hoped the car dealer was as desperate as I was to get me in some wheels.

At the dealership I learned that the leasing option advertised was for people with good credit. Oh. So I took a mortgage out on my already loaned out soul and bought a car... a nice lil honda civic that I love... and will own in 6 years. The guy had to beg me to test drive it, but I didn't want to. Because I am used to having two eyes. I finally did, and knew exactly what I knew before. The car drives great, I do not.

That's all for now. Stay tuned for my "Becoming less homeless" saga. It starts in an hour. I'm going to meet up with an older Irish lady with a room for rent.

Why do it today if you reallllly don't want to?

It’s now officially 2012, and the perfect time for me to fix everything that is wrong with me. I lost the remote about four days ago, so I know that the universe is on my side. I know it’s January 2nd and it seems like I may be a little late on the whole “New Year” thing, but January 2nd is the real New Year’s day (January 3rd for those of you who have jobs and got today off). I feel like it was irresponsible of whoever made the calendar to put December 31st and January 1st back to back, so I’m taking it upon myself to do things the right way. I believe I spent my January 1st like most folk.

1. I woke up next to Ashley in one of our friend’s roommate’s beds and scrambled to get the hell out of there before he came home from winter break. Hopefully he doesn’t notice his sheets now have a thin layer of glitter that will probably never ever ever come off except onto his own body.

2. Although we had prepared for the night and next morning like alcoholic boy scouts, we realized we forgot one thing as we walked to the car in our pj’s and five inch heels.

3. I got home, light proofed my apartment with sheets and thumbtacks, and slept until five.

4. I was awake for just long enough to order and consume an entire dominos pizza and room-temperature Gatorade.

5. I fell asleep at 11:00 (hey, that was one of my resolutions) before I was able to finish writing my to-do list for the following day.

The nice thing is that I set the bar so low yesterday that today’s menial accomplishments seem like a big deal.

1. I woke up before 10 (another resolution right there) and took out the trash. Since there were about 10 bags, and I woke up at 9:54 (6 minutes before pick-up), I counted it as a workout too!

2. I got back in bed and did all the really easy things on my to do list.I made all the random phone calls I needed to make, and since it’s a work holiday, nobody answered. Welp, now it’s on their to-do list.

3. I deposited my Christmas money. I’m going to try and set up direct deposit next year.

4.I wrote the check for N-star and put it in an envelope. Stamping it can wait for tomorrow. I’ll mail it by Friday. I find that stretching out a simple task stretches out the feel good feeling.

I wrote a to-do list for the rest of the week.

It’s not procrastination if you write it down.

I just need a few more years to get it together...

College bought me four and a half years of childhood above and beyond the allotted 18 years, but now it’s all over. I just finished school, but since I don’t walk until May some friends and I have deemed this metaphorical semester our “Victory Lap”. As much as I’d like to party away the semester seeing as my GPA is now untouchable; I am going to attempt to act my age instead. My 23^rd birthday is coming up and I have realized that I should probably start acting like a big girl. Like most people, I stopped acting my age at 18 so I have some catching up to do. This blog will be about my transgression into real life.

For me that means quitting smoking, finding a job, figuring out a budget, and figuring out how to make my own sausage egg and cheese on a biscuit rather than relying on Dunkin Donuts. I know the crew at the Dunk’s on Huntington will miss me, but it had to happen some day. I’m not quite ready to be an adult yet, but I think I can handle “aspiring.”