Life Since September: A mini-memoir about finding an apartment, love, deceit and my neighbors inability to get their laundry washed in a timely manner

Ah, being alone. Alone alone alone. When you say it enough times the word seems to lose all meaning, as with any other word.

This is a short story of my life, from September 2016. A short story of about 3,800 words that sums up my experiences this far. I felt like I had to write it, I have been so angry lately that I needed some sort of release. Painting has NOT been working, so this is the next best thing.

September, 2016

So, I had been out of Reeds place for what, a month? I found an adorable apartment, 2brs, 1ba, $750/mo with a claw foot tub. NICE.

What was not advertised: holes in windowsills, urine caked on the toilet and walls in said 1ba, lock bolted onto fridge door because its broken and won’t stay shut on its own [lol, what?!], cockroaches. I could have lived with all of the above but cockroaches? NO! Do I even have to explain myself with that one? I didn’t think so.

Anyway, I tried to get out of the lease [that I so stupidly signed BEFORE inspection – it was my first time on my own, I had no idea what I was doing or that I was being duped!] and the property managers were fucking rats. Worse than rats… cockroaches! Email after email, call after call, no response, fighting and badgering for days, they wanted to keep all my money [first and last month’s rent] and be a bag of dicks.

I spent two weeks back and forth with the attorney general, city of MPLS, legal aid, and finally a lawyer. These people were iron, but they did not know that I am the flame that melts the iron. I was not going to walk away with this big of a financial loss! I mean, I just had my heart broken, I was displaced, essentially homeless, and they were taking advantage of me! NO WAY, JOSE!

I smeared them on facebook, yelp, google, and every other social media site I could think of. I felt like I was channeling a 38 year old PTA mom with bad highlights and a Xanax addiction whose husband struggles with intimacy issues.

Finally, they agreed to “settle” and give me back 75% of my deposit. Cool.

Still on the hunt. Still living in my old boss’s guest room… my entire life condensed to Rubbermaid bins stored in a 5×7 storage unit and a cold basement.

Winter was coming. Rentals were hard to find that time of year. Everything had been rented by gremlins of the U – absorbing my potential housing like the sponges of society that they are. Fucking college kids. Go fuck yourselves.

I met a guy. Or rather, he found me. Exciting! Not my type, really, but intriguing nonetheless. He wanted to meet up. We had been chatting off and on for a while. I was nervous as hell. Why me? I am damaged goods, I am gross and unlovable, why me, dude? Oh well. Maybe I will maybe I won’t.

Focusing on work is damn near impossible. What the fuck. I was tired all the time and felt that even getting out of bed was a challenge. Showering… what is that?

New guy, we will call him *James*, attempted to meet up with me. I was so nervous and tired, and just sad still, that I ditched him. Twice. What a bitch move, Martini! Just tell the guy that you’re not ready. But, what if he’s different? He says he is… what’s the harm? It’s not like you’re going to fall in love.

He got me a birthday present – ouch. Said he would mail it to me since I didn’t want to meet up with him. Yikes. I am a bitch! What to do besides agree to meet him at this point?

Man, he’s tall, and cuter in person. Still not my type but there is coffee involved. We talk for hours, laughing and smiling, and I had fun. I kind of like him but he didn’t try to kiss me. Does he just want to be friends? Am I reading this alllllll wrong? It wouldn’t be the first time I read the signals wrong. This is going to be trouble. I went home to Rochelle’s and flopped on my bed. Coffee date at night, giggles and chain smoking in a garage. He got me a present before he even met me, I mean, he has to want to be more than friends, right?

I spend the rest of the night replaying the “date” over and over in my head, questioning my analysis of the night. I fall asleep fully clothed and wake up late for work the next day.

BAM! Lovely rental on Tyler Street, right by my favorite neighborhood of all of NE MPLS, waiting for me! ME! Way out of my price range but I was desperate. So, I put my blarney skills to the test and sat down with my laptop armed with nothing but the property manager’s email and my own determination. I needed the price to drop, a bit. I couldn’t afford my current [or previous] lifestyle with rent near $1k a month. That is stupid. I deserve to shop at LUSH Cosmetics, Sephora & every thrift shop in a 5 mile radius every week. THAT’S MY RIGHT, I earned that! I couldn’t give it up!

Two days with no response. I was feeling defeated. I figured, if I can find a place before thanksgiving life would be good. I could be on my own for the first time, decorate a cute place, and hunker down for the holidays. I had this idea that if I found my own place and was able to be on my own that it would somehow cure my broken heart. Finding my own apartment was the only thing I needed to heal. I wasn’t even thinking clearly, I at one point considered draining my savings and 401k to buy a house… lol, okaaaay, Maria!

Beep.

Email.

A response! Its him, Landlord Jon with the Tyler Street apartment! He spoke with the property owner and they had agreed to come down on the rental price, over $100, to fit my budget! GET. THE. FUCK. OUT. It happened! My dreams were coming to reality! Now, I would be able to be free and could focus on living again. Focus on myself, my “career”, my friends and family, life. Fuck. This was good.

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Moving sucks and is exhausting. Complications with the apartment being move-in ready on time put a wrench in all my plans. I am a planner. Very anal, like things to be done my way, on my timeline. So, naturally my anxiety was flying high – I felt like my blood pressure was so high that at any point one of my arteries would just explode and I would die, bleeding out in the vitamin isle at Target. That never happened.

It was kind of sad seeing all my belongings stuffed into the back of an empty cargo van. Is this what I am? Are I the sum of all of my possessions? I mean, as I packed and look through all my things I wondered what people would think of me if they were clearing out my storage unit. I have watched a few episodes of that show where they auction off abandoned storage units and have a super anti-climactic reveal of the contents inside. I would try to make up stories about the people who left these items behind. They all had different reasons, of course, but who were they? You can’t really judge a person based on the things they left behind… but, would people judge me? A dresser. Cheap storage cubes. One plant stand. Three old paintings curated from Savers. A Christmas tree stand. A kitchen aid mixer. But no one would get the chance to judge me, or make up a story about me because I was taking my life with me.

I fought with Comcast for two days. They attempted to charge me for internet that I wasn’t even able to use as I didn’t even have the modem… what? Go fuck yourselves, too, Comcast. I was not charged, although they continued trying to overcharge me for three months following, each month I called and berated the agent on the line, knowing full well that they were just doing their job. I broke the Call Center Employee Code by doing that, but whatever, it was necessary. I do not regret what I did.

Now I have internet. WOoo hooo!

My first night in the apartment wasn’t sad or lonely. It was chilly, and I was tired from moving for two weeks.

New guy is still around. It’s been about a month and he’s definitely interested – in what, I am not sure. He’s a flirt, seems like he could really be trouble. We’ve gone on a few dates.

He asked me what I was looking for in a partner one night after he brought me home. We sat in his truck, chain smoking, talking politics. I was almost stumped, I couldn’t really think of a solid answer. I made it easier and told him what I wasn’t looking for: dishonesty, cockiness, dick heads, cheaters, mean guys. He wanted passion, love, a partner, someone to have a family with.

I told him I was crazy. I know he didn’t believe me.

We sat there together, for an hour maybe, parked under a streetlamp, staring into nothingness. Just chatting about love and romance, loss, dreams, hopes… a potential future… together?

He wanted to be my boyfriend, but I just wasn’t sure about that. He promised me the world. I was game.

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CHRISTMAS TIME! Snow is falling in big fluffy flakes, dusting the great state of Minnesota with a shiny white layer of cold dreariness. I love it. Christmas is my favorite time of year. It’s the holiday season!

I dig through my two giant bins of Christmas décor and spend hours outfitting my apartment into a winter wonderland, like the Macys 8th Floor display vomited a bit into my home. It was great! James volunteered to take me to get a tree. How sweet! Things are going okay, with him.  I like him, a lot! He is sweet, and taking me to see A Christmas Carol! We set up the tree, he kissed me goodbye, and I sat in the glow of Christmas cheer.

It took a day for the tree to settle enough to put ornaments on it and I was able to fashion a nice cover for it so that Elton wouldn’t get sick drinking out of the basin. Good thing I kept that damn tree stand, huh?

I’m not so lonely, anymore. I am settling too, like the damn tree, and it feels really good. I don’t feel like I am such an unlovable pile of shit. I feel like life is finally agreeing to stop punching me and is trying to be my friend. I am happy. Work is going a bit better, I am feeling alive. I am eating, I am sleeping… wow, this is kind of cool.

And then it hits me, in the face, with a brick. He is trolling Instagram for other chicks. Wow. I guess maybe he wasn’t so swell after all? What does this mean? Were the past couple months all a lie? What the fuck? Is there something wrong with me? Why is he doing this? He swears up and down that he’s not looking for another woman but how can I be sure? He found me on Instagram, that’s how our relationship started… he wouldn’t be the first guy to use it as a pick up instrument… yikes.

I’m hurt and angry and he promises to stop, after a couple weeks of arguing about it. Weeks. Yes. Red flag one. I should have known.

He never stopped.

For months, he was hooking up with other chicks and lying to me about it. His solution to the problem of his infidelity was to just block me, and tell me to get over it. He just wanted me to get over it. One of those “what she doesn’t know wont hurt her”. He just continued looking for other women for months, lying to my face and telling me he loved me, all the while hooking up with other women. Ouch. He had no intention of being faithful, he expected me to be alright with being used.

So, I am still hurt, and angry. Why? I mean fuck, I am sure it was the chase, he took my “I am emotionally vulnerable and not sure if I can handle another heartbreak” as “I am playing hard to get, please use me and throw me away like a piece of trash”… not okay, but what the hell am I going to do about it?

My friend read an article about women just. Like. Me. Used, abused, damaged. We attract the same type of men over and over again, we don’t ditch when we see the red flags because we so desperately want love that we are willing to believe that people can change… pathetic. I don’t want to believe it but deep down I really do. I don’t like thinking of myself as pathetic, or desperate, but based on my actions, my thoughts, my feelings, I pretty much am. It’s okay for now. I am working on it. It takes time to become a stronger person.

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Sunday: I wake up to my neighbor playing his guitar. Look at the clock. Its 7:30 am on Sunday. Okay? He doesn’t seem to understand “quiet hours” etiquette. He is usually jamming on that thing at the worst time. Midnight on a Tuesday. 7:30 am on a Sunday.

I get out of bed and stomp to the kitchen to brew ungodly amounts of coffee. I stomp to be passive aggressive so he can hear that there is life outside of unit 2, but also partially because I have had exceptional pain in my right foot for the past week.

I hobble down to the basement. I need to do laundry, I’ve had to do laundry, and I want to check to see if my bum neighbors took their clothes out yet. Nope. Still there. Both washer and dryer are full of clothes, after two days. Inconvenienced. I slam the washer lid three times like a dick because I am irritated and I want my oblivious neighbors to know. Why is there one washer/dryer in this building?

I’ve got my coffee now. Staring out the window at the gloomy Sunday that I was given. Okay, really, for a day off. I’m lazy so it’s not like I had any intention to go outside and enjoy life in any way. The window is good enough, my portal to the living, breathing world around me. LIFE! EXUBERANT LIFE! OH, how I don’t envy thee! I am perfectly content sitting here, presuming life is bullshit and terrifying, that no one can actually be as happy as they claim. Fuck them. Liars.

I am upset. I thought I was in love. Yea, AGAIN. Whatever. I mean, I knew that I was moving too fast. I knew I needed time from the last relationship… but he was nice. He seemed nice. He was an asshole. A lying asshole.

Now I am even more upset. What do I do? I mean, I have been texting and calling him non-stop for a week with absolutely no response… why am I doing this? So pathetic. I send three more lame “please tell me why” texts before my blood is boiling and I feel my palms start to sweat. What to do with the anger? DUH – break shit.

Alright.

Sit down. Light a candle. Put on some music – downtempo dinner on Pandora is my go-to lately. Close my eyes. Deep breaths. Super deep breaths. Sigh. Let it out. Stretch my neck. Ready.

I’m sitting awkwardly on the floor with my stupid cripple-leg propped up. Somehow I have my favorite stationary out with my charcoal Pentel Sign Pen… I write him a letter. WOW, I am crying, tears are weird. I feel abandoned. He said he loved me, that he wasn’t like all the other guys, that he wouldn’t hurt me… liars lie, you know?

He gave me a lovely black cat print for my birthday. I get up and I take the frame off the wall and gingerly pull it out. I caress the paper. How pretty, the cat is so cute. It was such a great gesture of affection. I remember him giving it to me. How I felt butterflies. I wanted to kiss him but we weren’t “there” yet. I set it down. I’m not sobbing, but it’s more than a couple delicate tears. How sad is this? Why did he do this? I am holding the print, ready? Am I really ready? Do I keep it? NOPE. Tear. I tear it once, I tear it twice. Three times. Four times. It’s practically shredded now, little bits of inked paper scattered across the floor.

What else? We were together for such a short while so I don’t have much but I still feel this incredible need to destroy every memory of him.

The alarm clock. He gave me a pretty fantastic alarm clock for Christmas. It would light up like the sun to help you wake up. Yep. That’s gotta go!

I grab some kitchen scissors, the ones made to cut through chicken bones. I cut the cord. Once, twice, three times, good, that’s good! The alarm clock itself was a little difficult. I was able to snap the base into pieces no problem. The “face”… that thing was sturdy. I grabbed my cigarettes & my car keys.

Flash-forward the 3 minutes it took me to get down the two flights of stairs… cigarette lit, car running, in reverse…. Alarm clock placed perfectly… under the rear drivers side wheel. YES BITCH! Back and forth, four times. It’s smashed now. I’m not sure if my neighbors saw, if they did, would they even care? Do I care if they saw? Nope. They can suck my dick.

I decide I want to bag all of this shit and throw it at his front door. Good idea, Martini. Feed the crazy.

I made it two blocks before I realized this was not a good idea. Am I growing as a person? Turn around, go home. Leave the bag of broken dreams in the back seat of my car with the piles of shit I cleared out of my OTHER ex’s home last week. I’m too tired to haul it all upstairs. I guess there is no better place to store all the memories of my failed relationships.

Hobble to the basement… it’s been an hour [plus two days] so they might have cleared out their shit by now. Nope. Still in there.

My foot hurts. I should have breakfast. More coffee will do. I rummage through my cupboards for something easy, chocolate will do.

Sprawled across the couch. I throw my sketchbook across the room. The sight of it annoys me. A reminder that my creative juices have stopped flowing. The only thing flowing these days are tears and rage.

Netflix! That will save me! Netflix, coffee, chocolate and more painkillers. There is a show called “Girlfriends Guide to Divorce”… I’m not going through a divorce but a breakup is like the same thing, almost. Can’t hurt.

I text him, again. I wasn’t expecting a response, it’s been a week since he’s acknowledged my existence. I tell him what I did, smashing the clock and tearing up the picture. HE RESPONDS!

Maria: So, I went crazy and smashed the alarm clock you gave me for Christmas. I tore up that adorable black cat print for you got me for my birthday. I wrote you a lovely letter and I planned to bag it all up and throw it at your house but I can’t feel my foot, so I got high instead. You won again, Devil Man.

James: I think we should take a break from communicating for a while.

Not satisfying, in any way. What a loser. Him. He is the loser. I mean, yea… I am a bit neurotic, emotional… but he’s a liar. A lying loser who manipulates women to get what he wants before he tears their hearts out and shits in the void that he created. Pig. Pig man. Why am I so upset?

I guess, really, I am so upset because I allowed myself to be vulnerable. I allowed myself to believe him, even with all the red flags. I just hopped on the “manipu-train” and let him lead me on for months. That’s why I am upset. Not with him, he doesn’t know better. This is how he was raised, to be a lying man whore. He doesn’t know any better. But, I do, and I let it happen. I am upset with myself.

Sigh.

Martini, get your head on straight, girl!

Work.

I don’t even want to go there.

Call Center Manager. Sounds simple enough. If I were working for a company that wasn’t 10 years behind the technology game. My boss said it best… “we are working with string and duct tape”… I always compared the company I work for to the Red Green Show… you know what I am talking about, and if you don’t, google it and watch a couple episodes on YouTube and then you will understand.

I am “project manager” for updating to a new phone system that will integrate with our current [shitty] CRM. What the fuck for? I have literally NO experience with any of this shit.

This is my first time working in an office setting, 7 years here, and everything I know I learned from this business. How am I supposed to know what a DNIS or FTP is? Excuse?

We are on a super tight almost unreasonable timeline to get this integration and training completed and I am basically shitting myself. I feel so overwhelmed! How the hell am I going to pull this off? How the hell did I even get this job, with no training and no experience?

That’s kind of impressive… I made a place for myself with no education or experience. I was a bum, chain smoking and painting bedrooms for rich bored housewives and all of a sudden I have a salary and a 13 day European adventure booked for August.

Life happens like that for some people. I forget sometimes that I have to take a step back and appreciate what I do have. Where I am, what I have accomplished. Appreciate my friends and the people who do love me, unconditionally without exception, people who hold me up when I feel like I am drowning. I have to love that I have a juicer now. I have to remember that I have a fluffly, adorable cat who chooses to cuddle up with me every night and hold my arm while we fall asleep. That, my friends, is the truest love I have ever known.

I want a sandwich.

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They say that breaking up is hard to do

Its not the breaking up that is hard. No. Its the inevitable hurricane of emotion that follows that is “hard to do”.

After my recent break up I was left feeling completely devastated. Confused. Lost. Sad. Angry. All of those swirling, icky feelings that are associated with breaking up. I was consumed by depression and a belief that “I’m worthless. I’m not good enough. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not”

In my heart I clung to the idea that perhaps it wasn’t real, that it was just a thing, he wasn’t serious, he would come around. He didn’t just fall out of love with me. That stuff was all just some bad dream and any second now he’d be here, wanting me, desperate to take me into his arms and love me forever.

Wow.

My head knew it was all too real. My head knew that it was the end – I had lost my love. All the dreams we had, the future we had created for ourselves, it was all gone and I knew it. I just didn’t want to believe it.

I lied to myself for weeks. I told myself it’s not real! It’s not happening! I continued living in this deluded world where he was my soul mate and that he knew this, he felt the same way, and that he was dying to be with me, too. 

Why did I continue this lie for so long?

Part of it was sheer embarrassment. Do people see me as less than? Do they think I’m a loser? Here I am, pining over a man who kicked me out – booted me to the curb and said he was no longer in love and I am crying over him. Pathetic. No strong woman would be feeling this way! No strong woman would be laying in a pile of used tissue, sobbing over her phone and the worthless text messages he had sent.

I felt like an idiot. Was it all a lie? Was the past 5 years just some fucking joke? Did I make up this happy relationship just like I had made up the idea that he still loved me? Holy shit. Why did all of this happen? What did I do wrong? Did I not see the signs? Were there signs? I bet there were but I was too lost in love to notice that he was just lost? What could I do to change, to make it better? I begged him to love me. I went there. I said I wouldn’t and I did, I caved and I actually begged him to love me. That was low, so so so low.

Most of it was sadness. So much incredible sadness – I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning – trapped in a pit of endless despair. I felt like a soaking wet rag being wrung out by a really aggressive person with strong hands. I was being twisted and life was escaping me. He was my love. My future. He just… was. And then he just… wasn’t, and I didn’t want it to be happening. I loved him so deeply. I never imagined a life without him because he said I didn’t have to, and he changed his mind.

Holy shit.

This whole amazingly crazy awesome cool part of my life was ripped away from me all too suddenly. I didn’t focus any of my time to really process what was happening. I started reading shitty blogs highlighting the top 8 things to do after a break up, the top 15 songs to listen to after a breakup, the top everything related to breakups that are supposed to help you feel like less of a worthless piece of shit. It was all garbage. I didn’t want to read shitty poetry and listen to shitty 90’s R&B and shitty shitty shitty.

It was all shitty.

And then. THEN.

I wanted to beat the shit out of him.

I wanted to drive my car directly into his fucking house.

I wanted to destroy his life.

Those feelings were fleeting, lasting a quick day, and then I realized it was just another dumb ass part of the whole grieving process. Whatever. Anger felt right. Anger always feels good on me. I look good in rage.

Acceptance. Sitting in my grungy pajamas on the guest bed in my old bosses house, watching Sex and the City wondering what I will do next. According to Charlotte [I think I’m a Carrie/Miranda hybrid] it will take me approximately 1/2 the time we were together to get over the loss of the relationship.

5 years = 2.5 years?! I mean… interesting. Right now it seems almost quite realistic. I still have trouble sleeping. I think of him throughout the day, I still hope for a call. I’m not still hoping but I am still hurting. Even though the relationship dissolved without me noticing I still love the man. 2.5 years seems so excessive. This is just silly.

2.5 years to accept reality? That sounds insane.

I feel like maybe some great pizza, friends and a shopping spree will help immensely. Will it take 2.5 years? I fucking hope not. Will it be quick and easy? No, and I am slowly becoming kind of OK with that.

Now… now I just have to keep on keepin’ on.

 

Motivation: there’s a time & place for everything

I have a very hard time pinpointing why I never do much of anything.

Do I lack motivation? Am I simply lazy? Is there a difference between lacking motivation and being lazy?

Why do I procrastinate? Why are all of my amazing ideas hidden in a Rubbermaid bin under my bed? Why do I never paint, draw, write, post my blogs, clean the bathroom, walk the dog, take bubble baths… the list is endless.

How does one motivate themselves? Is it as simple as repeating inspirational quotes to yourself in a mirror until you achieve your goal like positive self affirmations?

Do people have to learn how to become motivated or is it something you’re born with?

I honestly don’t believe my problem is that I lack passion. Well, actually, it could be. BUT I feel like I’m a very passionate person… I do lose interest in things rather quickly. Could it be that ADHD thing I was told I have??

I partially believe that my problem could be my lack of focus and space. I really don’t have a creative space. Each of the rooms in my home have a purpose (or general purpose) and none of them are really designed to facilitate any sort of creative outlet or artistic expression.

Do I need a desk? Would that help me? Or would adding a desk just help me hide more projects and more ideas to be forgotten about for years. Is the lack of a desk or art space just an excuse to be lazy?

I found an old torn up plastic grocery bag under my bed. I was curious and opened it. There were about 10 really ornately designed rusty old door fixtures. I have no fucking clue why I saved them. Was I planning to do something artsy with them? I dunno. There are a lot of old torn up plastic bags full of ideas I once had but have long since forgotten about.

I want to dream again.

I want to create again.

I want to be motivated. I bought a fucking week/month planner! I had hoped that maybe by somehow buying the giant thing that it would help me manage my time better so that I could MAKE time to do what I used to LOVE! I haven’t. It’s been two months, so maybe I’m just rushing things?

I haven’t felt “myself” in a long time. In all honestly I haven’t felt that spark since I moved out of Eugene’s place over two years ago.

I have thought long and hard about why that is and a few things come to mind, mostly shared interest in creating and functional space.

I just feel kinda lost right now, without real purpose. I don’t know what I am doing with myself anymore.

The past 32 hours

Welp, Ren Fest was just as fun and food-filled as I had hoped it would be! I walked out $60 lighter with my silver fox tail, lucky rabbits foot & about 3lbs of food stuffed in my belly. Shared: 3 meat pies, 1 ear of corn, 1 two foot long tube of beef jerky, three bottles of Vitamin Water & 1 Turtle Sunday. YUM.

The highlight of my day yesterday is a tie between seeing the most adorable fluff butt Shepard pup named Colfax. He was tiny as a Shepard pup could be and had the greatest fro I’ve ever seen on a dog. Just great. And then there was the brilliant idea to play the “dueling buckets” game, where two opponents stand apart, directly under buckets of water, facing one another with 3 sandbags. The first to knock the target at their opponents side wins, the loser getting doused with cold water. WELL Mandi [the bestie] and I thought it would be a great way to spend $1 so we pass our belongings off and decide to duel. Not such a good idea for me wearing my wonderfully unprotected leather booties.

Image

I totally won on the 2nd toss and laughed as my best friend of 20 years was drenched with about 3 gallons of water. She, the sports queen – basketball, soccer, softball etc.. lost to MOI – Maria the bookworm, never played a sport [well] in her life, won! MUAHHAHAHHAA!! Then, surprisingly enough to me, my prize for winning was to also be drenched with about 3 gallons of water.

In the picture above my friend Cat beautifully captured the moment, me, blinded by the glaring sun, desperately clinging to my soaked shirt hoping the water would stop coming so I could keep my clothes on.

What an awkward game! What an awkward 45 minutes afterwards as we continued wandering through the place. Slosh slosh sloshing along, My boots are still wet as I lay in bed typing this. I broke into random laughter throughout the day thinking of how stupid we were to think that was a good idea.

At least I got my fox tail.

TODAY – I shocked myself by walking to Target this morning. I prepped myself for this intense journey by putting on my best [and only] walking shoes, grabbing my water-bottle and transferring all my pursely items to my backpack for easier travel. So basically I found out that Target is about .9 miles from my house. So I totally felt like an asshole. I got my morning coffee and scoped out some new sheets.

HOLY FUCK – $49.99 for sheets?? Where have I been?? I guess that since my bed was a hand-me-down complete with 4 different sheets [2 sets of purple, 2 sets of gold] with pillow cases & matching comforter I haven’t really had the need to browse the sheet isle, or take notice. Well, I’ll be damned! Looks like I am asking Santa for sheets this X-Mas.

Not that I don’t think quality sheets are worth fifty bones, its just that mine are in perfectly great condition granted they’re about 8 years old. I just wanted to get a set of flannel sheets, ya know, for winter and whatever. Oh well.

Attempted to buy some of those oh so stylish and impossible to find brown knee high fall boots. I guess my calves are RIDICULOUSLY tiny because not a pair in that store fit me! I was in Famous Footwear and NOT ONE of those damn boots would stay up on my calves. Doomed.

I stumbled into Home Depot as well. That was fun wandering through the garden center on such a pretty day! Oh my goodness, the air was so sweet and fresh I almost cried as Megadeath blasted through my iPod. My boyfriend created my playlists. I ended up walking out with a pair of landscaping gloves marketed towards “strong, capable females”, which I consider myself to be when I am not weak & helpless. They are really cute with a nice coushy padding in the palm with a leathery grip and a fun leaf & flower pattern on the back. So, it seems I’ll be doing some more landscaping this year.

My truck… Lil Red… is soon to be dead. My love, my rusty red GMC Sonoma is pretty much as useless to me as a butt-hole on my forehead. Transmission is failing and I am at the point where I really shouldn’t be putting any more money into the thing but my heart is breaking! Such a fun truck. So many memories!

Image her in the summer time

Image one of my gals who adorned the back window

Image Lil Red herself, in all her glory… sure gonna miss ya, Baby!