4.21.2006

Third in the “Bad things happen in threes” thing

Even though I got kicked out of grad school and had my car demolished by a drunk hit-and-run driver, I’ve still got my fabulous new house to live in, and my nice new roommate with whom to live. Right? Um, not so much.

The scene - last night in the hall outside my room -
Roommate: Hey! I haven’t seen you in forever!
Me: I know, I’ve had to work a lot. Why don’t you come out to dinner with Mary and me tonight?
R: So, my mom is coming for a visit in two weeks.
Me: Oh, awesome, it’ll be nice to meet her.
R: Well…she kind of decided that she doesn’t want me to have a roommate after all. It’s just such a hassle, you know, having a tenant and all. And she really doesn’t want me to have to live with anyone; she wants me to just be here alone.
Me: I…what? Are you kidding me?
R: I mean, I’ll totally help you move your stuff. You know, whatever I can do, I’ll help you with.
Me: –staring at the floor, wide-eyed–
R: Are you okay?
Me: No, I’m really not. I mean, I’ve been here for a month, all my stuff is here, my mail comes here. This is terrible; it’s really inconvenient, and it’s just horrible timing. It’s all just horrible.
R: Well, I really will help you.
Me: So, I just…don’t understand. Why is it such an inconvenience for your mom, having a tenant?
R: When she comes in two weeks, she’s bringing a bunch of friends. And she just wants to be free to always do that, and she can’t if you’re living in one of the rooms. So…you’ll have to go by the time she gets here.
Me: Oh. My. God.
Me: –staring at floor some more, fuming–
–awkward pause–
–pause–
–(Why will she not go away and leave me alone already??)–
R: –big sigh– Ugh, I can’t believe I have to fly home AGAIN this weekend. It’s such a pain.
Me: –staring at her in frank horror– Yeah, that really sucks. Listen, I have to get ready to meet Mary now, so…
R: Okay, well, bye.

I mean…holy shit! So now I get to move. AGAIN. At least I still have time left on my old lease, so I can go back there while I look for a studio to live in. Even though it’ll be more expensive, I’m definitely living alone from now on. The idea of relying on another human being for anything, at this point, makes me wary. If I’m by myself at least I know I won’t be getting hurt or screwed over in any way.

This officially completes the triad of The Worst String of Bad Luck I Have Had in My Life, Ever.

supine @ 12.58 am |

4.13.2006

Spinning off into my head

It’s funny: I’ve been writing entries about myself on this site for almost two years now, and I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned one of my absolute favorite weaknesses/addictions. I don’t make any effort to hide it from my friends and family, but at the same time, I’d be surprised if any of them knew this about me.

I am an advice column junky.

I FREAKING LOVE ADVICE COLUMNS. It started with Ann Landers/Dear Abby (I get them confused. Tee hee! I’m dumb) when I was young, then I moved on to voraciously reading Dear Prudence on slate.com, and at some point I fell deeply in love with both the Tell Me About It column in the Washington Post and the advice part of tomatonation.com. I don’t know what it is about the combination of other people’s problems + advice from a stranger that fascinates me so.

Especially considering that, in my mother’s side of the family at least, unsolicited advice has been a major problem for as long as I can remember. My poor relationship with some of the women in that side of the family, namely, my mother and grandma, was actually a large part of my decision to move to Savannah. Now I am far away from them and their unbridled disappointment in how I’ve lived my life since I started making my own important decisions (probably about junior year of college and on).

What am I doing about my future right now? What is my ten-year-plan? How do I spend my days, my hours, when I’m not at work? I don’t know. I’m not doing anything substantial. I’m still working my way through Anna Karenina. I watch a lot of tv. I vacillate between doing the Slim-Fast diet for a day or so, losing weight quickly and becoming happier about my body, and then derail myself with an entire day spent gorging on crap and feeling worse and worse, both physically and emotionally. I need long-range psychotherapy to get to the bottom of my relationship with eating. Hell, all women probably do.

Did I make the right decision to quit my job in DC and come to Savannah? I love living here but I’m afraid I’ve squandered my time - it’s been almost a year, for fuck’s sake! In the long term, I can see myself either being a full-time painter (and therefore a part-time waitress/bartender, I suppose) or starting my own business. I’d love a boutique, filled with art and crafts made by connections I make in town and in my classes here. My own shop, designed how I want, run by me. All the responsibility and all the power…I’m such a classic only child.

But I haven’t really done anything yet to make either of those dreams come any closer to fruition since I’ve arrived. What is wrong with me? I am 26. I AM 26. I cannot believe I am 26. In a few months I’ll be 27. I feel like a loser.

When I was little my family and teachers said I was so smart. I’ve become more and more mediocre the older I get. I think I was supposed to do really great things, in a linear fashion, boom boom boom, no failures.

But what have I done? In college I was all poised for med school. Somewhere around junior year I became derailed: started taking art classes to supplement my genetics and organic chem classes, never took the mcats, never even looked into getting an entry-level job at a lab, even though I came from one of the biggest biotech areas of the country.

Also, it’s horrible having this break from classes in a term when everybody else is still in classes. I have nobody to talk to. Well, I have my new roommate. But on my days off from work sometimes I’m so dejected I sit around all day. Some days I might not utter a single word until evening.

Whatever this whole “life” thing is, I don’t think I’m doing it right.

supine @ 12.23 am |

4.7.2006

Baby steps to the door, baby steps out the house…

Thank you for all the kind words of support and suggestions of liquor bingeing - I appreciate them all. Here are a couple of photos of my sad broken car:

IM000504
See how sad?

IM000506
And, see how broken?

Alright, I am off to work now. One good thing is that I hear I will be “moved up” to server within the next month, which means I will at least be making a lot more money. Baby steps!

supine @ 10.07 am |

4.2.2006

My poor, smashed, giant purse

Um, you guys? My car was the victim of a dastardly hit-and-run last week. I went to my dad’s and stepmom’s for the weekend, had a lovely time, returned to Savannah, parked my car on the street outside my house just like everybody else in town does, went to bed, walked out to it the next day for my drive to work, and saw that the whole back end had been smashed the fuck in.

And I am not talking about a little scrape that might happen if someone parallel parks badly and taps you, or even a small dent if someone sideswiped you while in, like, second gear. No, I am talking about the entire back-left corner smashed in, with the trunk popped open and the bumper hanging off and the tires flattened. Someone had obviously driven around the square and then immediately floored it in order to have gotten up to such a speed in the short block where my car was parked.

I seriously had to stop and stare and gulp air for about seven seconds for it all to sink in. My car! My new, five-month-old car, that I had just left the night before! Surrounded by other cars, by a street full of cars! WTF!

I cried a little. My roommate gave me a ride to work, where I spent the next six hours catatonically handing out biscuits to customers and telling my sad sad story to any coworker who happened to stand near me. After work I called the cops. Two large burly Georgia cops came and met me by my sad shattered wreck of a car (that was now also a good ten feet forward of where I had parked it, so hard had it been hit), wrote up a report, and listened to me rant and rave about being a taxpaying, working citizen, living on a nice street, obviously a drunk speeding driver, the safety of children, my non-fault and now being responsible for the repairs deductible, blah blah blah.

I asked if they could scrape the paint chips off my car and analyze them, or piece together the parts that had fallen off the other car and track it via part number, and they responded, “This isn’t CSI.” I asked if they could put out a call for all local repair places to report any cars needing their front-left corners fixed in the next weeks and they said, “They’ll probably have it fixed at some underground chop-shop that we’ll never know about.” Well, thank you officers.

The insurance company handled everything super-quickly. (Shout-out to Progressive.) I had a mini-panic attack when the adjustor told me the car might have to be TOTALLED (!!), but he later told me it would be fixable. In three weeks, and for four thousand dollars. Damn. Progressive must hate me right about now. All I am liable for is the $250 deductible, which my parents are sending me anyway, because they pity me and the sad remains of my shattered life as of late. (See how well I am taking this whole flunking-out-of-art-school and then having my car smashed thing? Not.)

Also the insurance company gave me a free rental. They are being incomparably helpful and efficient. I now have a big American car to tool around in for the next month.

Photos of both the new house and the sad, smashed car to follow, as soon as I find my digital camera’s connecting cord in the mountain of crap I used to call my bedroom floor. I will survive!

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