The Spider was smaller then a fingernail. But it was hanging from the roof, and with a pair of boots I smashed it. I remember that instance of murder so clearly because it was the same day I got an apartment. And yet, I felt more accomplished when I had killed the spider. Because for the moment that my two boots hung right outside the spider, I was completely in control. I was brave, facing one of my biggest fears, and there was no one else around who could help me. The day I got an apartment, the ATM messed up and I lost some money (don't worry it was eventually recovered, thanks to the confused Chinese cashier who due to my yelling permitted me to make three international calls from his phone((I take that back, permit is not the right word, he never really had a choice in the matter))). I also spent an hour with the landlord going back and forth on whether I should actually go through with it or not. I woke my parents up at 4am American time to engage them in a proper discussion about it. But I did end up getting the apartment. With no minimum stay, a lagoon pool, fast wifi, a huge tv, and only one British girl to share a room with it was my best option. To be fair it probably still is. Despite the fact that in the past two weeks I have slept more at my friends' houses then at "home". An apartment can logistically make sense, it can be the best deal in town but that doesn't necessarily make it home. I find it ironic that my friends now house me on a regular basis, considering in DC the Green-Williams hostel was a busy business. I found a job two days after finding the apartment. I turned down three jobs before I took the one at the call center. I just finished my first week. Its hell. I am a telemarketer and that annoys me just as much as I annoy the people on the other end of the headset. But my coworkers are hysterical and the pay is good. We have decided that rather then calling and trying to be amicable we should call and soon as people answer scream at the top of our lungs "HOLOCENTRIC-HOLOCENTRIC-HOLOCENTRIC-HOLOCENTRIC", and then abruptly hang up. Doing that a couple times a week I figure the customer will finally get curious and look up what the hell it is. It was that or blackmailing people into buying wine. We may or may not be desperate. I lost out on two waitressing jobs. I am not ashamed to admit it considering Serafine taught me how to hold three plates the day before my first trial shift. I overheard the words "Rookie" and "pathologically stressing customers out" coming from my not so potential bosses. So yeah I work 9-5 at Strike Forces Sales (funnily enough abbreviated to SFS). And every single week is a roller-coaster ride. Saturday can be the best day of my life before I find out on Sunday I have lost my credit card (don't worry I found it again). Janine and Andrew, the family in Bronte, are my life savers. I go over and sleep at theirs once a week. Janine makes homemade pizza twice or three times a week so its pretty much a no brainer. My favorite memory of her is two Saturdays ago where me, her and her ten year old extremely hyper daughter sat on the couch eating home made ice cream, while she drank red wine watching Scandal and Dance Moms for six hours straight. Pausing ever so often to explain, to Hendrix, the daughter, why exactly the President in Scandal was allowed to have a girlfriend as well as a wife.
Thank you so much to all the girls who housed me this week. I know I hog covers. Sophie thinks the only reason people could potentially think I am weird was that when I was out on Friday night and lost my friend whose house I was planning to sleep at, rather then go for the obvious option of taking a cab home, I devised a complicated plan on how exactly I was going to sleep on the street without getting assaulted. I.e. which train station I would go to, the type of homeless person I would be physically closest to, and the right time for me to leave my future new cove. Not because I spill my life out on the internet for a bunch of random people to read and potentially judge me on. If Bill Bryson can do it on paper, I claim the cloud.
On Sunday I came home to moldy bread, bad milk and extremely exhausted.
So yeah, its so strange. honest. everything is. We are all homesick, broke, dying to party, and constantly curious.
I wanted to write this post because I knew some people would be waiting for it, Sophie needs new material for story time, Michael and Matthew (The Irish lads) are waiting to be named, and my mother is probably peeing herself with happiness.
I am about to help my Brazilian 35 year old roommate write her resume. Because thats my life now.
Thank you so much to all the girls who housed me this week. I know I hog covers. Sophie thinks the only reason people could potentially think I am weird was that when I was out on Friday night and lost my friend whose house I was planning to sleep at, rather then go for the obvious option of taking a cab home, I devised a complicated plan on how exactly I was going to sleep on the street without getting assaulted. I.e. which train station I would go to, the type of homeless person I would be physically closest to, and the right time for me to leave my future new cove. Not because I spill my life out on the internet for a bunch of random people to read and potentially judge me on. If Bill Bryson can do it on paper, I claim the cloud.
On Sunday I came home to moldy bread, bad milk and extremely exhausted.
So yeah, its so strange. honest. everything is. We are all homesick, broke, dying to party, and constantly curious.
I wanted to write this post because I knew some people would be waiting for it, Sophie needs new material for story time, Michael and Matthew (The Irish lads) are waiting to be named, and my mother is probably peeing herself with happiness.
I am about to help my Brazilian 35 year old roommate write her resume. Because thats my life now.
RSS Feed