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I’ve waited 27 days to write this

27 Aug

Today I felt inspired to do this:

Karma's a bitch.

You might be thinking “What, I did not subscribe to a crafting blog. What the eff is this?”

Don’t worry, this is NOT a crafting blog, nor will it ever be. So let me explain. Bit of background info: I am renting a bedroom in a sketchy, messy 3 bedroom house that’s occupied by a family. Why? I moved to Colorado and needed to lock down a random sublet so that I’d have a place to live while going on job interviews and just trying to make my way out here. I found this place on Craigslist, was stressed out and sick of searching for apartments and jobs, and mailed them a check, sight unseen.

I knew it wasn’t going to be ideal, but I didn’t know it would be like this.

Laundry room:

gross laundry room

I think they took the concept of a “laundry room” literally, because there are clothes EVERYWHERE. I’m assuming they’re still like that, because I haven’t been down there since my first time doing laundry. I’d be okay with wading through other people’s dirty clothes, but it also smells like cat pee and, on top of that, a few days ago there was a sewage leak. Once a personal preference, now a safety hazard. I’m out of clean underwear.

Living room: 

messy living room

Mostly uninhabitable, 2 points for irony! The one time I sat on the couch was the last time I sat on the couch, frankly because I’m afraid of whatever is lurking in the cushions that’s feeding off Cheetos from 2008.

Parents:

I met the mother, Buffy, when she was talking on a Nokia cell phone as she walked through the front door. She hung up and told her husband:

“We can’t use this cell phone, they can track it. We need to get another cell phone.”

Then she turned to me and explained that Hunter’s father was trying to find out where his son was because they just got custody of him (red flag #1). Then she introduced herself to me. Best first impression ever!

(Later, the mother told me that she’s a germaphobe. Several times, actually. Please refer to the previous pictures of the house, and let me know if you find this amusing too.)

Kids:

neenu

This is the 2 year-old girl who follows me around everywhere. She’s cute but she often stinks because her parents don’t bother changing her diaper or her clothes.

red head

This picture represents the 6 year-old BONUS child named Hunter. I don’t have a picture of him because I don’t like him, so this picture of a redhead should suffice. I say “bonus” child because the day I moved in, the father sat me down in the foyer (nearly gave me a heart attack — who “sits” their tenants down upon arrival?) and told me that, surprise, Hunter would be living with the family. I was informed that Hunter is the wife’s child from an abusive relationship that she “just got out of.” ..Red flag #2.

“The Wall”

Every wall in the living room is known as “The Wall,” which is a more spacious form of “The Corner.” As in “Hunter!??? GET ON THE WALL!” Said child stomps over to The Wall, faces it, and the parents continue watching TV. Child turns and watches the TV. Child stands there for 45 minutes, because he spoke while on The Wall and thus extended his initial “minute” on the wall by 44 minutes. Actually, even a well-behaved “minute” can last 20 minutes — I’ve seen it a couple times.

This is not a recommended form of parenting.

Sooooooo how does the Karma’s a Bitch mason jar fit into all this?

Well, for the past four or five days, the family’s been gone.

“I found out that they’re not coming back,” said the shirtless/hairy man that also rents a room in the house (another surprise). He was on his way to the bathroom holding a shower caddy. One perk of living with creepy older men is that you get to see them on their way to shower or use the bathroom, and then get visualizations of things to come. Ugh.

“What? Wait.. what? I thought they owned the house?” I was surprised, but also kind of amused at the same time. Nothing really shocked me at this point in the game.

“No, I guess they rent it.” Aha.. Renters were renting to renters. Quite clever of them. “Yea, Buffy’s sister came by earlier this morning when you were gone, and she said that they weren’t coming back, and she asked me if I wanted to keep the cats.”

The Cats:

love this cat

this cat's kinda nice

I wasn’t too surprised that they had skipped out on their own rent, left the place a complete mess, and left most of their belongings, but I was surprised that they were completely fine with abandoning two cats to basically die of starvation. Cool.

On one hand, their leaving might be an upgrade because the cats were neglected in the first place. My second week here, I noticed that their water bowl was empty and I filled it up. The black little guy ran right over and drank like he just stumbled across an Oasis on the Oregon Trail. I’ve been feeding them ever since. The family also has a puppy, who they apparently decided was worthy of bringing along. He spent most of his time on a chain in the dirt backyard or locked in the shed overnight.

I know this is a humor blog, and I was trying to keep a good sense of humor in a situation that I couldn’t control, but stuff like this just makes me hate humanity. Sure, there are some decent people out there, but there are way more pieces of sh*t who are completely irresponsible and assume that their actions don’t have consequences. Or worse, they know exactly what they’re doing but they don’t care. I feel like the past couple of years I keep meeting more of these people.

So.. telling myself “karma is a bitch” is sometimes the only thing that settles me down. I don’t believe in any god so I’m not capable of thinking that someday they’ll meet their maker in a firey pit of misery. I guess I believe that “you get what you give” and “what goes around comes around.” Actions have reactions. When you feed your 2 year old a steady diet of soda, chips, fried chicken, and pizza, she’s probably going to resent you when she hits 13 and gets picked on for being overweight. She’ll hate you even more when she realizes there’s no money for college because you skipped out on your rent 800 times. And in some mysterious way, when she runs away at 17, that’s karma coming back at you for when you decided to abandon two cats and leave them to starve and die. Karma’s a bitch.

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A Day at the Brain Doctor’s Office

23 Mar

Yesterday, me and my pal Restless Leg Syndrome climbed into the car and dropped in for a visit to my doctor at South Shore Neurology.

Walking into the waiting room at 851 Main Street is an enjoyable experience which I look forward to every six months. Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I wish I could be Michael Keaton in Multiplicity and go shopping while my clone is left to leaf through a decaying People Magazine for a couple of hours. Despite the waiting, people-watching in a neurologist’s waiting room is fun. There are cute old people accompanied by their younger handlers, attempting to keep the flighty wanderings in check with inconsistent success. There are middle-aged, be-lipsticked working women impatiently bobbing their high-heeled feet. Yesterday there appeared to be a couple of divorcées on their 4th date, evident by the liberal laughter in response to the man’s second-rate jokes, and the absence of a goodbye kiss as the woman departed to get her brain checked out. But the most fun in people-watching at 851 Main Street comes via my vivid yet drastic imagination. It’s kind of a pleasure to imagine the crazy nonsense that is occurring behind each of my fellow patients’ skulls.

Old Mr. Pennyloafers to my left is undergoing the first stages of dementia. Somewhere in his brain, a group of synapses are munching on York Peppermint Patties while watching reruns of The Price is Right. Meanwhile Mr. Pennyloafers’ daughter, Elise, is downloading an iPhone app that will estimate the value of her father’s estate for when he croaks in oh, 2, 3 years. Across from me, Sharon Gladstone-Perry and her migraines might find relief in a new drug heavily promoted by Redbook. As for the lovers in the corner, Amy has decided to save her tidbit about narcolepsy for a later date in the relationship.

The nurse calls my name. I am led down a hallway to a familiar room which, though the building was built only ten years ago, still appears to be from the seventies. Leather-bound books with titles such as “Restless Leg Syndrome and You” and (in excessively large and visible lettering) “DEMENTIA,” line the walls. I settle into a chair and become entranced by a paperweight on my doctor’s desk. Is it very windy in this part of the building? At one point in the day does my doctor desperately scan his desk for something of just the right size that will secure flyaway papers to his desk, something other than the equally heavy stapler and book that are also within reach? At this time Dr. Herman enters the room and we exchange hello’s.

The conversation gets a bit off track with a discussion about the pitfalls of German cuisine. Such is the manner of Dr. Herman; our last visit was mainly about the two Canadian DJs who prank called Sarah Palin, peppered with a bit of discussion about my RLS. (For a man of sixty, my doctor really knows his way around YouTube.) He recommends Berlin for my upcoming Eurotrip, we advance to the screening room for a more comprehensive version of the sobriety test, and then it’s back to his office for the icing on the cake.

This is the part where Dr. Herman dictates a letter to my primary care physician into a tape recorder, which I assume is later typed up by some unfortunate medical assistant. I am still unsure as to why my presence is necessary for this portion of the visit, but I enjoy it nonetheless. As a man of sixty, Dr. Herman has probably been doing this tape-recording-shindig for decades. And at one point in time it was probably a cutting-edge technology. Dr. Herman begins. After every sentence, he says “STOP.” It sounds very official and I can perfectly visualize said unfortunate medical assistant rolling her eyes. Last is the update on my vitals. This is the part where Dr. Herman strings words and numbers together into a mess of gibberish. If you asked me if he were describing a 22 year-old girl or the approximate size and weight of a lawn chair, I would not be able to tell you. Click. He stands up, we say our goodbyes and I find myself once again in the waiting room.

As I make an appointment with the receptionist for 6 months in advance, I am saddened by the fact that I may have to cancel. (I’m aiming to flee Massachusetts for a warmer climate and better job market come Fall). My only hope is that Dr. Herman can refer me to a doctor’s office that is just as much fun as 851 Main Street.

The Hangover, JPEG Style

3 Mar

Welcome to the JPEG edition of The Hangover. See if you can piece together the explosion that was this past weekend.

The End

I’m on Twitter

4 Jan

Hey loyal Interneter readers,

Just thought I’d share with you that I’m on Twitter. I Tweet whenever I post a new blog, so if you want in on that sh*t, follow me. And I’ll follow you. It’ll be cute.

Also, you should search “Twitter f*ck” in Google Images. It’s a collection of the most ridiculous, random pictures, second only to the keyword search “old naked”.

Love,
Samantha

Handtowels

16 Dec

Handtowels. They seem so insignificant, but they mean the world to me. Especially when they are NONEXISTENT.

Picture this. I’m visiting a friend’s house. I have to pee. I shut the door, relieve myself, go to the sink to wash my hands and

FUCK. There’s no fucking handtowel.

And this means that I am forced to emerge from your bathroom with dripping-wet seemingly pee-soaked hands, which I inefficiently banish by rubbing on my skirt/pants/dress/leggings. Congratulations, friend, you have successfully doomed the next 20 minutes of my life to distracting, clammy-thigh hell. All by choosing to buy that cactus at Ikea over a multipack of friggin handtowels.

You could have the dirtiest, cat-furriest house ever, and I wouldn’t be bothered. Not if you had one single handtowel in your bathroom. Because to me, that says “I care.”

I know what you’re thinking. That bath towel that you hang over the door is not a giant version of a handtowel. You know you just wiped your private parts all over that thing nearly 8 hours ago. So yea, don’t just assume your house guests will happily wipe their clean hands all over your dirty, damp bath towel.

From this point forward, I will rate my friends and significant others on the status of whether or not they keep a handtowel in their bathroom. Extra points if they are clean and dry. (Presently, I am cringing at the memory of a long-gone boyfriend from Allston who definitely did not own a handtowel OR any clean bathtowels for that matter… and I am smiling fondly at a recent boyfriend’s Mom who always kept about 60 handtowels all on the same rod (it defied physics, I tell you). )

TV Moments that Changed My Life

9 Nov

When I was 7, TV was my crystal ball. I really trusted it to tell me what life would be like when I was a teenager. TV was completely wrong, of course, because I never dated a Zach Morris in high school and I never developed a rack of epic proportions that made my older sister jealous. Which brings me unveil to you the most pivotal moments in television during the nineties. The TV moments that changed my life.

laurenWhen Corey Cheated on Topanga

Remember the ski lodge? Remember that whore named Lauren who leeched off all the bum-legged tourist skiers who innocently spent the day off the slopes at the fireplace? Yea. Lauren, you are the root of all future problems between the most perfect TV couple of all time. Corey and Topanga were untouchable until YOU ruined everything with your ill-hidden perfumed pink letter. I grew up watching Boy Meets World and thinking that one day I would fall in love and it would be as perfect as what Corey had with Topanga. Then your little episode debut of DOOM came along. After 14 minutes I quickly realized that Corey Matthews was just another cheating hormone-induced cluster of XY chromosomes. Your episode taught me that love is FRAUD and the perfect love doesn’t exist.

jackWhen Jack Came Out on Dawson’s Creek

In the nineties, TV decided to shed light on a fairly taboo issue by making Capeside’s  ultimate guy’s guy, Jack McPhee, gay. I’ll be honest, the extent of what I knew about being gay was what I heard the boys yelling at each other during recess at school. Jack coming out was my first introduction to a (fictional) gay person. And hey it even allowed critics to casually ignore the absence of black people and other issues not stereotypically white in nature.

 

 

 

alboobsWhen Al Got Boobs on Step by Step

This episode led me to believe that one day in high school I would unexpectedly wake up with huge jugs, which I would at first hate, then in 30 minutes with the aid of my loving stepmother would grow to love. My sister would be jealous of my bodacious body. My brother would creepily ogle me. Life would be good. This turned out to be a false prediction.

 

 

When Becca and Tucker FINALLY Kissed

Built entirely around the sexual tension between two 14 year-olds, Disney’s Flash Forward just had to wait until the very last episode to get these two to kiss. Classic story of the goofy, funny “friend” guy who gets the girl, Tucker’s character is the type of guy I developed a soft spot for. I’m glad that I’m not followed around by melancholy music all the time, though.

 

Don’t get me wrong, I love Saved by the Bell, Full House, Growing Pains, and all those other unmentioned 90s TV shows — but none of those really changed my life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s Carnie Time!

27 Sep

It’s that time of year again! The trees are turning orange, the air is brisk, and the Uggs are flying off the shelves. Yes, people, we have again entered state fair season.

Saturday night I paid $15 to get into The Big E, the biggest state fair in New England right in Western Mass.  What I actually got was the chance to peace out on societal norms for a night. Breath of fresh air, it was. Smelled like sausage.

The Big E 008

There is no other place where it is socially acceptable for a girl to shove three corndogs down her throat. (Well I’m sure there are some, I just haven’t been to them.) I watched as 15 year-old bastard children of carnies sadly dropped dough into vats of hot oil, struggling to earn their keep. A “M8K YOUR OWN SLUSH” cart failed to see the expansion of the 711 chain — but, paradoxically, people lined up all night to pay $5.95 for the same experience. My friends and I searched for 2 Girls 1 Cup on my cousin’s iPhone while standing in line for Fried Oreos — yet the thought of eating poop didn’t phase us when it came time to have an unofficial eating contest for the tasty, gooey-brown-center treats.

The Big E 001

Children on leashes, hick-couples handing over a buck to see “The World’s Biggest Pig,” a Bear Funhouse which hopefully didn’t contain a live bear, a horse show which I still have NO idea what the purpose was, fat people mowing down on steak hoagies. At the end of the night, a large splatter of vomit on the pavement was the icing on the cake.

Good times, good people; Fall has officially begun.

Sun is to Moon as Taylor Swift is to

14 Sep

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alien1

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Photo by Megan Smith

Photo by Megan Smith

Travelocity Gnome Feels Recession Too

20 Jun

Travelocity

Hi there! I’m the Travelocity gnome. You’ve probably seen me on the telly as the spokesgnome for cheap getaways to faraway places. Today I’m here at a store called Big Lots in Greenville, North Carolina for a family reunion. You see, even travel industry spokescharacters are feeling the wrath of the recession. No more jet-setting to Spain for this guy!

Please kill me.

Vicious Criminal on the Run

8 Apr

stick-stickley-wanted

APRIL 8th, 2009 New Haven, CONNECTICUT Police have released this likeness of Stick Stickley, 21, who fled the scene after allegedly assaulting his pregnant 15 year-old girlfriend, whose name has been undisclosed for privacy.

Mr. Stickley was last seen at about 7:30 pm on Tuesday night. A witness to the crime, Chalky Studebaker, 28, described the violent scene that he watched from his front porch:

“There was yelling, she was crying, she covered her face, and he kicked her in the stomach, over, and over, and over… it was horrible. The worst part is, he was smiling the entire time. I’ll never erase that vicious grin from my mind…”

After performing a search at his former address, authorities have concluded that Mr. Stickley is in possession of his deceased father’s 9mm handgun.

Police are requesting that anyone with information on the whereabouts of Stick Stickley come forward.

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