O is for Other Occupants

I know you guys have seen glimpses into the crap-holes Baxter and I have lived in, but I figured I'd give you a quick run down of our adventures in living...because it's more fun that way:

He looked happy.
But he wasn't.

1) When I first got him, the place I'd been living didn't allow pets. So, within a day, I moved. I knew the girl through work, and though her eyes are always rimmed red, I figured maybe it was eyeliner. It wasn't. It was, like, a permanent eye infection.

The house was infested with cockroaches. They'd invade my food, my oreos, my clothes. We only stayed there four months or so. Her dog and cat were starving to death, to the point her cat would drink soapy water out of the sink, and if left unattended, her dog would lunge into our room and eat Baxter's food. Baxter started becoming food aggressive. Because her dog also pooed and peed on the floor EVERY DAY (her room was covered in dog poop. It stayed there for WEEKS) Baxter got a rash. I got sick for three months.

Finally, I asked if she could start sanitizing and actually cleaning. She told me to move out. Thanks to the wonder of Craigslist,we did.

2) The next place we lived seemed like a saving grace. The roommate was cool and we played Wii together. There was a man who was 50-something, and the landlord who was 30-something. They were both guys, but they said they'd give me space, etc. etc. etc.

The first question I asked was, "You guys aren't infested with any bugs, are you?"

Though they said no, after my sister joined the party, it was found that the house was infested with bedbugs, and the 50-year old just liked to fight with me, then the landlord started picking fights. And for the record, if you ever get bedbugs, burn your house down. Baxter and I ended up sleeping outside, in a hammock, during the wildfires. We'd wake up covered in ash, and mosquito bites. Awful.

You can tell he's happy when he plays by himself

3)  The next place we moved to, we moved in a hurry. Though the previous tenants were up front with us about ants and cockroaches, I was suddenly no longer squeamish with these infestations.

Really, this house wasn't a bad place to live until the hurricane. And, even then, it wasn't a bad place because of the place, just bad luck. There was icky water everywhere. Baxter drank out of Britta filtered water. But this was the place I lived when I was pregnant, and unstable. Then my roommates all abanoned me and I couldn't afford the $800/month rent.

4) Skipping the homeless escapades and sleeping in the backroom of my work, Baxter and I moved to Maine where the sketchy old man exposed himself.

Though the neighbors sucked
He sure enjoyed cuddling

5) Then to the place where I thought my neighbors were going to kill me. Or him.

6) Then we moved to the place where my roommates locked me, Baxter, and my boyfriend in the basement. And threw our food on the floor.

7) Now we live in a gingerbread house. So far, it's going pretty well. The landlord is pretty chill, Baxter seems happy because he goes on more walks, and I'm a mile from work.

Long story short, I can't live with or near people. I'm a terrible roommate, and really, I don't like people being near my stuff. Right now seems pretty okay though.

Let's hope this upward trend continues.

What's That On The Fan?

Welcome to the Dungeon

Well, as I called it on Friday, the poo has hit the fan, my friends. After my roommate/landlord texted, freaking out about my friend (now boyfriend, eek! Commitment issues everywhere) spending the night, he came over to let me watch Harry Potter. Within the first fifteen minutes, landlord's son (he's 30+ years old) comes downstairs and calls out, "It's time for company to leave."

"Thanks, but we're watching a movie."

"No, I think it's time for him to go, didn't you get my mom's text?"

"I did, and we're watching a movie. Night." (I'm so passive aggressive.)

Well, he goes back upstairs, and Damien and I continue watching the movie. And he falls asleep. Rather than waking him up and kicking him out, I let him sleep.

In the morning my alarm beeps, and I climb the stairs. Baxter, who opens the door with his face, smashed into the closed door. It didn't open. I patted him, pushed him to the side, and twisted the knob.

Terrifying, isn't it?
Worst part, when I moved in and saw it, I had a mini panic attack.
I should trust those instincts more often.

It still didn't open. They'd locked us in the basement. So I start yelling until the landlord's son opens the door, where another fight ensues. I let Baxter out, and managed to lose my car keys so Damien gave me a ride to my eye appointment. When we came back, the landlord's son blocked the entrance and was all, "You can leave now." (He is NOT a small man by any means. His entire body took up the door, so there was no way to get through.)

Now, a few days later, I'm still livid about the entire situation. If a fire had started, the three of us would be dead. The 'second' entrance is currently barricaded with the landlord's crap for 'winter'. There would have been no quick way out. Secondly, I pay to live there. Which means if I want to have friends over, who aren't doing anything, I get to have friends over. I'm not a sister/cousin/relative. It is NOT okay to EVER, EVER, EVER lock someone in the basement. (Unless you're seven and they cheat at tag. Then it's okay.) Thirdly, her little niece that got screamed at by her little boyfriend is a pot head, and yet it's okay for them to come whenever they want, without giving me notice so when they come creeping in at midnight I think I'm going to get murdered.

The so called "emergency" exit

So once again, I'm back to the apartment/house hunt grind. Wish me luck.

To end this on an uplifting note here's a song lyric that keeps me going in these situations:

"All I need is the air I breathe, and a place to rest my head" ~One Republic

More Roommate Issues

In case you haven't heard, I am not meant to live with or near people. There needs to be about a ten mile buffer zone or my crazy will bring out your crazy. It happens. Time and time again.

Baxter saying,
"Please let's move again!"

So we've reached that point with the current living situation. Maybe it's because I'm a bad roommate. Maybe it's because I don't like guys screaming at their girlfriends and making them cry at eight in the morning. I'm not sure what it is...but I seem to be in that situation where all I do is camp out in my room and avoid my roommates at all costs. This phase is the one right before shit hits the fan...(wait for it. It's coming.)

I live in Maine. It's beautiful, has four seasons, and ::gasp:: one of those seasons is Winter. Which means snow, and sometimes a blizzard. A few weeks ago, I drove home, went off the road twice and arrived only to find that the steeply up-hill driveway hadn't been plowed. After several attempts, I gave up, turned my car off, and walked angrily up the hill.

"Lynne," the roommate's son said, 'Are you stuck?"

"Yes," I said in a very short manner.

"Want to try again?"

"Nope!" I nearly screamed and walked into the house where they proceeded to bombard me with, I need to be up and gone in the morning, yack, yack, yack. I got re-stuck in the morning, and stood in the driveway at 5am crying (good day, right?)

It's been a million little things like that. But last night, for the first time since I've moved in and had to readjust to alcoholic roommates, I had a friend spend the night. Yes, I like him. After I got out of work, we drove really slippery roads (he told me I drive too fast in crappy weather), then went downstairs to watch The Hunger Games. Yes, he's cute. Yes, he slept in my room, but no, nothing happened because I'm a good kid and not currently self destructive. (Also, even if something did happen, I'm an adult. I'm allowed to do those things!)

So we get up this morning, make oatmeal for breakfast (which was delicious, though Baxter got to finish most of it), and then he offered to give me a ride to work (since we were both headed in the same direction). As I go to finish getting ready (brushing my teeth and all that jazz) the guy who wanted me to "Try again" when my car was stuck and his baby mama were taking a shower together. (Keep in mind, he also pees with the door open, and pees on the floor. Not. Cool.)

So we sit and wait and we talk about watching Harry Potter because I haven't seen the last movie (still. Have you heard it's demonic?), so because it's human decency, at work I text the roommate/landlord and say, "Hey, he's coming over again tonight because we're going to watch Harry Potter."

Her response?

Bad roads. Not safe. I'm not sending peeps home
in that

"NOT HAPPY COST ME THIRTY DOLLARS for the guy to plow only part of the driveway OBVIOUSLY After a storm you get plowed FYI Just hoping you are not planning another SLEEP OVER here. The first one was quite enough."

So let's rewind a bit. A month or so ago, as the mountain started picking up, she sat me down, looked me straight in the eye (without a beer in her hand, maybe that was the problem) "Listen, you live here. This is your house too. We want you to feel comfortable. If you want to bring people over, you can. If you can give us a heads up, that's be cool, but you don't have to ask permission or anything."

Tack on the fact that my room is FREEZING and I've asked her to help warm it up some so I don't feel like death. Okay, now re-read the text.

My brain just exploded on the ceiling. Resuming the living arrangement hunt. How is Germany these days? Is it still way over populated? (I need not crazy people in my life!)

The Perks Of Having A Roommate

I complain a lot, right? But you guys like to tell me that I'm positive a lot of the time, so while I talk about hating roommates/living near people, I figured I'd surprise ya'll. Here is a list of why it's nice to sometimes have roommates:

Lots of vehicles to choose from

1) Spare Vehicles

Once upon a time the breaks went out on my car. I was told it was no longer safe to drive. For a few days, I rocked throwing Riley in neutral and coasting to a stop with the assistance with my lovely e-brake. Then, though my car had already been started, my (current) roommate stopped me, and offered me a ride to and from work. We live 20 minutes away. It was a very kind offer.

Living alone, this is not an option.

He hates water

2) Washing your dog.

Baxter's a big boy, and when it comes to water, he becomes the biggest wuss you'll ever meet. During hurricanes  he'd wait DAYS before venturing outside.

So when the bath water runs, he hides in the bedroom (or basement depending on the living situation). It literally takes AT LEAST two people to get him in the tub, and once he's there, one has to hold him, while the other bathes.

I need roommates. He smells awful. It's been months since he's gotten a bath. (Please help.)

3) General Help

Though I now have to go to court to testify against him, before he became the sketchy 62 year old naked man, he was the creepy housekeeper. As such, one night on the drive home from work, not one, but both of my headlights went out.

I drove home with my high beams on. During the following days, I bought new lights, but had no clue how to put them in. Creepy housekeeper rescued the day.

And then exposed himself to me. Icky.

So heavy...

4) Heavy Lifting

I have a lot of stuff. One of those things is a 100lb punching bag. When there are stairs involved, it's kind of the end of the world to me. I harness my chi, put my game face on, and haul ass.

But, when I moved (into my current living situation) my roommate and her son helped carry a vast amount of my belongings down the stairs. I barely had to do any of the heavy lifting. It was bliss.

Whereas moving from North Carolina was the bane of my existence. Not only was I alone, but there were stairs. Multiple stairs and moves (don't forget that small bout of homelessness I threw in there right before I left).

Not a good time. Roommates help you carry stuff.

And while all of these things are lovely and wonderful, nothing is as good as the best perk of having a roommate:

He's all "Please don't leave me!"

5) Live in Pet Sitters

My adorable love muffing (did I really just say that?) has the worst case of separation anxiety I've ever seen. When I'm gone, he'll stop eating for a little while. Then he'll mope, and stair out the window. Then, at some point (usually about day four of my absence) he'll start getting cuddly.

To the point, when I was in Seattle I get a phone call from Laura going something like this:

Her: You need to come home.
Me: Why? Is everything okay?
Her: Your dog is cuddling with me. He knows this is against the rules.

Bottom line: I was able to leave for over a week, and know he was taken care of. When you have good roommates, they'll watch your pets (whether they want to or not).
 

Unhealthy Relationships

"You're being a fucking cunt."

Yep. You read that right. (Sorry I'm not adhering to my PG-13 status right now). But that quote is what I woke up to at 8:00am. I heard it through my ceiling in the basement. I also heard a million f-bombs, and screaming. Lots of screaming. Though I heard her voice a few times, it was mostly his, yelling f-bombs, calling her the b or c word, and it was just awful. All around.

I ventured upstairs since sleep was no longer an option, got a bowl from the cabinet  and poured some Lucky Charms cereal (because I'm five like that). Then the dude (now standing in the kitchen, too) screamed, "I'm not the one being f@#$ing inconsiderate!"

And because I'm me, I couldn't help it. As I poured the milk in the bowl, I said (not in an angry voice), "Actually, you are being inconsiderate. There were still people sleeping."

He proceeded to redirect his anger at me, and tell me to shut my f#$ing mouth. Then my older roommate (the girl's aunt) also told me to shut my f#$^ing mouth, and that I don't think of anyone else. Um. Right. Then about fifteen minutes later, she asked me for dishsoap...which I got, pissily. 

Moral of this story is, yet again, I cannot cohabitate with people and it brings us to another list.

Signs that You May Be in an Unhealthy Relationship

5) They don't support your dreams.

If you want to be an astronaut, and they buy you a cowboy hat for Christmas, things may be in the fritz. 

On my 16th birthday, the boy (who you'll read about in #1) I was dating made me breakfast in bed, and then gave me presents. There was a large pack of pretty metallic colored gel pens. 

"I saw you were running low," he said, like he wasn't sure I'd love them.

I was speechless. He knew me. He got me. He supported my journaling, my writing. Me.

He also wrote, but he was terrified to speak or read in public. By the end of our relationship, I was in attendance when he decided to read at an open-mic night. Even though he barely spoke loud enough to be heard through the microphone, I'd never been so proud in all my life.

 

Recently, I was talking to a boy (who'd been asking me out), and I mentioned being in the newspaper. I told him, "You should be impressed, I'm a pretty big deal."

And he laughed. It didn't feel like he was laughing with me.

If you think you're a pretty big deal, your SO should think you're a pretty big deal, too. Because you are :)

If this was in real time,
it woulda hurt

4) You are genuinely afraid they'll hurt you

Safety is a huge thing in a relationship. Maybe you want to reproduce with this person. Maybe you want to adopt. Maybe you want to know that when you come home there won't be knife marks in the couch and your tires won't be slashed in the driveway. If you start to feel afraid of your partner, chances are you should trust your gut instinct and bail out. 

3) Dominance

People like to say, "We can see who wears the pants in that relationship," like it's a bad thing. And it can be, if the same person is always wearing the pants. The pants should be traded back and forth. There should be an equal amount of give and take. If one makes the dinner, maybe the other does the dishes. If one does the laundry, maybe the other gets to pick the movie. If one wants to go to a club, and the other HATES clubs, maybe make a trade. Next time you'll do something you don't like because they like it. 

You don't own someone in a relationship. It's not meant to be my way or the highway. Talk things out, build a life with each other. Come to an even playing field.

2) They don't realize they've hurt you

"Hey, hey, look!" From the driver's seat, I reached behind me, and pulled out a pink covered book. My Friend Leonard, by James Frey. I'd been gushing about it for weeks, and I'd finally gotten it back in the mail. That day!

My boyfriend, in the passenger seat looked at the cover, put the book back in the backseat, and said, "Cool."

He didn't open the cover to see the signature, and the kind words James had written. He didn't act excited that I'd been checking my mailbox religiously to see if the book had come. I was crushed. I almost started crying at the steering wheel. I'd told him about that book and what it meant to me a million times. It's okay if he didn't remember why the book was so important to me, but it wasn't okay that he didn't ask why I was so excited. 

He didn't even notice I was upset.

If people love you, they'll want to know why you're happy, know why you're sad. They want to celebrate with you, they want to help pull you out of the gutter. So if they're not asking why you're beaming and throwing a book in their lap, you may want to look into why they aren't.

1) Fights.

"Maybe if you hadn't been born your father wouldn't have left."

Yep. I said that. In high school. To the boy I was head over heels in love with. And after the words fell out of my mouth, I stood there, hand over lips, with a look of shock on my face.

Sometimes fighting is fun.
Sometimes it's not.

I couldn't believe I'd just said that. It was the most hurtful thing I'd ever said....to anyone. And I said it to the boy I loved! I knew I'd hurt him (and I'd like to think I apologized, but I'm not 100% sure I did....because it was high school and it was my way or the highway).

There are constructive ways to fight, and non constructive ways to fight. If you're feeling belittled or attacked, chances are it's not constructive fighting. Once the name calling barrier is broken, the relationship is usually gone. If you're sitting there crying (like my neighbor used to do when her boyfriend insulted her and called her worthless/an idiot/etc), chances are, it's not good fighting.

Remember, if you love someone, you still want to protect them. Calling them names does NOT help put the fight into remission. Making someone cry harder doesn't help, either. Neither is helping reach the goal of the end of the fight. It's escalating it. 

Also how often are you fighting? What are you fighting about? Fighting is a normal part of a relationship, but if it's happening every day, chances are there is a serious problem that's not being addressed. If you're just trying to hurt each other, that's not a good thing.

Moral of this post is if you're being treated poorly, please remember that you deserve better. You should never tolerate being called names, being yelled at until you cry, or people saying you'll never reach your dreams. 

Keep your head up. Happy Monday.

The New Place

There's no trace of me...

The thing that people don't tell you about your early 20s is that you become an expert at being a ghost. You move into an apartment or dorm, put down a security deposit, and then a few months later, you remove every trace of you. Hair is taken out of the bathtub, that spot on the floor is buffered out, the piles of clothes get packed away in your car. Everything you brought in here, is taken out.

By the time you take the pictures of where you'd just inhabited (just in case your sketchy landlord tries to take you to court), your essence has already been Cloroxed out. You no longer exist here. But if walls have memories, your ghost will haunt this dwelling place. I hope my ghost haunts the places I've been, because for a time I've fallen in love with each place I inhabited.

I've mentioned I'm messy, right?
This is my 'living room'

I told you guys awhile back that I moved away from the crazy neighbors, but I haven't showed you the new place, or told you much about it.

Probably because I'm still going through an adjustment period. Probably, also, because I no longer have wifi at this new place so I sit in the Young Adult section of the local library, hoping that the voices of the kick-ass authors around me will help muse me. (So far it's been working, I think.) This means the blogs you read are usually posted a week in advance now (trying to utilize my time, you know).

Well, Baxter and I live in Poland, Maine now. We live with an older woman, her son, his wife/finance/girlfriend (I'm not sure which so fill in your own blanks), and their son. (That's right, three generations in one house, and me and Baxter.)

Because I'm neurotic and freaked out when they started eating my food, they gave me a mini-fridge to put downstairs (it's the black box on the floor in the picture below). I'm now like a vampire; dwelling in the basement, getting no sunlight. I'm awake at night, mornings are still awful, and I'm still a horrible roommate. To be proactive, I'm trying to keep my head low and just hang out downstairs or go running. If I'm not around you can't fight with me, right?

Look, over there on the left. There's a bed.
Not an air mattress! 

The drive is significantly less to work, so that's nice. They also let Baxter out to pee while I work long shifts, so that's a huge help, too. But my anxiety level has increased substantially. It turns out, I don't like to talk as much as I think I do. Sure, I've been calling my sister for hours every day to chat but it's not talking. I don't like the superficial, "How's your day? How was work/school/etc?" I don't like answering the same thing countless times, "Oh, you know, I hate my job."

It taxes my energy level, and I retreat to the basement to be antisocial. Tell me about important things; politics, the fact the Shell broke the ice in the Arctic and is now helping destroy the world, religion, changing the world...Don't ask me about my day, when it's the same as yesterday.

I know at some point I'll be moving again. I don't know where (especially since I didn't get into TFA), and I don't know when. But at some point, I would like to live on my own again. In the meantime, it's nice to know that while a million things keep changing...

...Some things stay the same

**Note**
If you're a Twitter follower, I said that I was blogging today about Harry Potter. Sadly, the library I'm at doesn't seem to have any of the books, and I like to have pictures on the blog, AND my sister had some issues with getting her picture to me. Stay tuned, the blog post will happen. Sorry if that's what you were expecting today.

Things I Won't Miss

I'ts official. I'm moving.

By the end of today, I'll be in the new place. But each box I carry to the car, and each air mattress I deflate reminds me that there are things I will miss about this place...

And then things I won't. At all. With that said (because I like lists, and they're easy to make when you're short on time)...

Things I Won't Miss About this Apartment

It is pretty, at least...

10) The 45 minute to 1 hour drive
Sure, it was scenic. But when I had to make stops, or get stuck in traffic, especially at night, the drive felt like the trek from North Carolina to Maine. I'd be tired, and cranky, and STILL have to let Baxter out. Speaking of Baxter, if I was working an eight hour shift, he'd be alone for about ten hours a day, making me feel like the worst pet parent in the world.
The new place is about ten miles from work. Not forty. It'll be swell to not pay an additional $80 in gas a month.

9) Stumbling in after a long day
As an environmentalist, I don't like to leave lights on or things plugged in. Therefore, when I came home from work, I'd instinctively open the door and flip the light switch to have...nothing. Right, there's no light when you just walk in. Then I'd us my phone, trip over shoes, Baxter's food bowls, and make my way to the living room light switch. It took a lot of skill not to fall to my death. It'll be nice to come home and have a light that works.

8) Bedroom Lights
Speaking of poor lighting. When I came to look at the apartment, it was daylight. No real need to test the lights, right? It wasn't until my first night here I realized my bedroom has no light. It has a switch, but no light. I've lived here since May telling myself that this fact is charming, and that at some point I'd buy a lamp. Well, I never did. Really, it's not charming. If I needed anything from my room I'd have to rely on my phone to guide me, most times saying screw it and waiting until morning. I also couldn't ever read in bed, which I also found lame.
It'll be lovely to have light in my bedroom again.

I had my car in this for perspective

7) Traffic and Trains
My apartment is the closest to the road and subsequent railroad tracks. Every night around 11:30pm, the train goes by. It shakes the foundation of the complex. Plus, each time the train whistles, you can't hear yourself think. Because I'm irrational sometimes, I'd imagine being murdered, and no one being able to hear me scream (yes, that loud). Each night I had an anxiety attack.
The same goes for traffic. Each car that passed shook the place. Each semi-truck was awful. The first few nights meant minimal sleep. Now, I think I could sleep through a hurricane, so it's not all bad.

6) Air mattresses 
::Sigh:: as much as I loved them, I deflated the first one a couple of days ago. The second will be deflated around noon today. I've slept on air mattresses for the last three months (almost four months). Before that, in North Carolina, I rocked them as well. They make a good emergency bed for a girl who doesn't own real furniture, but it gets old after awhile.
The new place has a bed. An actual box spring. It'll be nice to be human again.

5) Blinds on the windows.

The following three windows are blind-less: living room, bathroom, bedroom. About a month ago it was rumored we had a peeping tom, and I don't like to wear shirts. (I prefer just lounging in sports bras, I mean, who do I have to impress?) Well, the lack of blinds put a damper on that fun. Plus, when the neighbors started going crazy, you could see right in to everything I did/do.
It'll be nice to have privacy again.



4) Sans Microwave
I haven't been able to use a microwave since my basement dwelling days. Which means everything I've eaten was made in a blender, toaster, oven, or just eaten right outta the fridge. I got pretty creative with some stuff, but when you just wanted to nuke something for thirty seconds, and instead would have to wait 23 minutes, it was kind of lame. PLUS, I've had boxed popcorn I haven't been able to eat all this time.

3) Television
The Olympics. Every four years since I was a tyke, I'd sit in front of the TV and watch the gymnasts soar, and fly, and twirl their bodies. Well, this year, I didn't get to enjoy ANY of it. It's the first time I never even got to catch a glimpse of the track and field events, swimming...nothing. Usually I relish being without a TV, but sometimes, it'd be nice to watch a movie, you know?

2) The neighbors fighting
I'm sure you've seen me blog or tweet about this. The walls between complexes are paper thin. The guy next door is angry, and he'd yell at his ten years younger girlfriend, and make her cry, and she'd scream back, and it was just not cool. I don't like fighting. Especially when the guy sounds that angry.

1) The neighbors. Period.
I won't miss being afraid to come home, or fearing that my dog may be dead when I returned. Granted, in recent days things seem to have quieted, but if anyone was on the porch, I'd cringe. I won't miss worrying that they've done something to my car, put dog crap on my steps, etc.

While I'm going to have a roommate at the new place, and I'm back to basement dwelling, I'll be saving money for my next move. Baxter will have an adorable playmate. But the good things about the new place will be a list for another post, just as the things I'll miss from this apartment will be another post.

Hope ya'll have a good weekend. The new place doesn't have internet set up yet, so I'll be back ASAP.

Reasons You Do Not Want Me As A Roommate

This is my "work station"

I am a severely flawed individual. But, I'm aware of these flaws. It's why I prefer to live alone, with my dog, and rock out to all sorts of Justin Beiber and Mandy Moore. I am not meant to cohabit with others, because I don't play well. With that said....

A Quick List of Reasons You Wouldn't Want Me as a Roommate

1) I'm messy.
I live under the Oh, I'll pick that up later, I'm just leaving it here for now, mentality. The truth is, once that shoe is there, I can trip over it fifty times, and STILL not pick it up. You can trip over it, too, yell at me, and I'll wave you off saying "Yea, I'll get it," and then take a nap instead. Because, well, it's more interesting. My car looks like a hurricane swept through. During my basement dwelling days, the four year old I was staying with looked straight at me and asked, "Lynne, why does your car smell bad?" Aren't four year olds supposed to...not notice bad smells?

2) My books are more important than you.

I've met three of these authors.

Oh, you want to look at my book? Cool, but don't leave finger prints and DO NOT under ANY circumstances bend the binding. If there is a mark, you're buying me a new book, (I'm not kidding. My sister had to do this because I FLIPPED out on her after reading A Walk to Remember) and if it's a signed copy you've just ruined, you're giving me your soul. Even Baxter knows to steer clear of my books.
There are a few you can handle, most of those are second hand, but even still, I am very protective. For the safety of you, your soul, and your wallet, you may want to...just look. Don't touch.

                                                                         3) I refuse to do my own dishes.

For a time, I figured that living on my own would change this fact, but it hasn't. In college, my roommates and I made a rule that if a boy were coming over he had to do the dishes before hanging out with us. Well, I live alone now, in the middle of nowhere. There is no one to do the dishes, and for that matter, my sister isn't hovering over me saying, "Those are your dishes!" So...yea. I hate dishes. I'd rather chew off my left arm than wash them. I think my sponge may be moldy, too.

4) What's that? Yea, I'm not listening.
I'm pretty self involved. Usually I'm working something out about my writing, or reading, or playing on twitter. The only times I really want to interact with you is so I can later use it in a novel. If that's not possible, then you're useless to me. BUT it is your job to sit there and listen to me while I read entire chapters of my WIP out loud. However, don't offer feedback because you don't read, PLUS you don't write...so anything you say will be incorrect. I know best, okay, thanks. Continue along.
Not only that, but I like to be by myself. I've spent the last two-three months living alone without a TV, and I've LOVED it. Now I'll have to go back to a roommate....and share space...and...mornings...and...space.

5) Do not touch or move my stuff.

Both of us will trip. One of us will move these things.
And that person better be me, not you.

I don't care if the strawberries in the fridge are moldy. They are mine, do not touch them. I don't care if you've tripped over my shoe, it's mine, do not move it. The only exception to this rule is if you're doing my dishes, or walking my dog. You can pet my dog, he likes to be pet. My books/shoes/clothes/everything else does not like to be moved. I turn into the Hulk if you touch my stuff. I rip my shirt off and everything. That whole invasion of personal bubble thing. You can trip, but do not touch.

6) Food and laundry detergent.
Food is sacred to a Schmidt. At our best, we are truly primal beings, living off beef flavored Ramen Noodles for survival. Probably because as children we were rarely fed and at least two of us developed eating disorders, but none the less, we guard it. Readily.
So if we treat ourselves to ice cream, or ginger ale, or beer, we become a wild bear, and those goodies are our offspring. If you come between us, you will get maimed. But if yours is left in the wilderness of the refrigerator, I will help myself when you're not looking. But don't you dare do it to me. I'm also not so good at sharing, so don't expect me to offer anything, either.
Then laundry detergent. Granted, if you leave yours in a communal area, I'll probably steal yours.I mean, why waste mine when yours is right there? But if I catch you using mine without permission, I will go nuts and start screaming. (And never admit that yes, yesterday yours was completely full and now it's down to half. Maybe it spilled?)

It's terrifying, isn't it?

7) I will tweet about everything.
If we have a fight, if your boyfriend comes over and starts screaming at you, if you leave dog poop on my porch step, if you come into my room completely naked, the entire world will know. It's the digital age, my friend. If you don't want everyone to know, don't be dumb. You're more than welcome to tweet about me, because I will tweet about you. And maybe even blog about you.

8) The monster isn't UNDER the bed. It's IN the bed.
I value sleep more than food, or laundry detergent, or you leaving my stuff alone. A boy once straddled me during a nap and tried waking me up, only to find a fist to his special places. I was too tired to be apologetic. I trained my dog by snaps and hand signals so that for the first half hour I'm awake, I don't have to say anything. So if you see a zombie stepping out of bed, it's best to pretend I'm a T-Rex. Stand still and I won't see you.

9) Passive aggression
I don't like confrontation. Maybe it's from growing up in an abusive household. Maybe it's because I'm an Adult Child, or maybe it's just because at heart I'm chicken sh*t. If you do something like steal laundry detergent, or break my toothbrush, I will leave a note saying something like, "Whoever did this, please replace." Clearly, if it wasn't me, and it wasn't Baxter, it was you. I know this, you know I know. But rather than confronting you about it, I'll just add to the tension.

10) Mental disorders.
Depression runs rampant in my family. Sure, I'm stable now, but there will be times where I'll swim out to the deep end and manage to bring you down, too. Not only that, but I'm 99% sure I have an undiagnosed and untreated bout of Borderline Personality Disorder, which causes self destructive behaviors, negativity, selfishness. Sometimes, when I'm not trying to get myself hurt or arrested, it can be fun. Most of the time....it's not.

I read all of these things to my sister, who I was forced to share a room with during our formative years. Then when we moved to North Carolina a couple of times. She further confirmed that I am a horrible roommate, and should live alone. I'm pretty sure I've opened some wounds she's forgotten about :)

What do you think?

Villains and Fear

Last week's YaLitChat revolved around horror, and the chat went from scary, to super scary. We talked about invasion of space (that feeling you get when you think someone has broken in to your place), what really scares us (monsters under the bed), etc. But the things that scare me the most are the things that happen in my head. That whole, "What is he/she willing to do next?" Conveniently, this saga unfolded shortly after this topic:

This is a mile walk from my apartment
I love this. Love it.

I've had my share of horrible living environments. I lived in a place in North Carolina that got infested with bedbugs because of a creepy man in his 50s. Before that I lived with a girl whose dog pooped and peed on the floor so Baxter got a rash, and I got sick for two months.

Then I moved to Maine, and I thought it'd be smooth sailing. My 60-70-80 year old roommate played guitar, talked a bit much when I was writing, but I thought you know, it'd be okay.

Then he and his elderly mother decided to start terrorizing me (yelling, moving/touching my stuff, throwing my food away, locking me out of my room, turning off the heat in the middle of winter, etc), so Baxter and I began staying in my friend's basement. Then, when I returned to the house to get my stuff, he exposed himself to me....and I called the cops. (The arresting officer is a somewhat regular where I work. He's said he thinks he has PTSD from the ordeal. You and me both, kid. You and me both.)

After staying almost two months in my friend's basement, when I found my apartment, I was so blissfully happy. So happy, so excited for the future. The only reservation I had about this place was the driving distance, but soon I rocked out to all sorts of CDs, and on days where I had to be up by 5am, so I could leave by 6am, and make it to work by 7am, I didn't shower (those are overrated, anyway).

The stuff under my name is his response

The neighbors seemed cool for the first couple of weeks. There was one I didn't like because she is living with her boyfriend, and yet spent 2-3 nights all over another guy (classy, huh?). Only one of those nights she was drunk, and so I was judging her pretty much the entire time she was stealing his hat.

Anyways, we'd sit on the porch, and chat, and try out for ninja warrior. I breathed easy for the first time since November. One of my neighbors invited me over for dinner a couple of nights, another let Baxter out while I was at work.

But, as is my luck with living situations, the crazy set it much too quick.

First, it started with the crazy neighbor next door and the wifi (yes, this was the one with the boyfriend). Then it exploded this last week when I went down to the laundry room to find my Tide laundry detergent in the trash (I'm broke, I had half a bottle left. When you get one day a week to do laundry, this is not what you want to find). So I did what any other passive aggressive person would do. I wrote a note:

It was nice to come down to do laundry today and see that someone has stolen all of my Tide. I had about 1/2 a bottle left.
Whoever you are, please replace. I was hiding it for a reason, and that s#$t is expensive. 
Thanks,
Lynn(e)

A bit later, I went to check my laundry, and my note was tapped to my door, with chicken scratch that read:

Next time leave your f@#$ing soap in the house Don't accuse any of us of stealing your s%^t and speaking of s&*t the next time I step in s&*t your gonna hafto buy an extra jug of soap to clean your car. And (neighbor's girl's name) is no longer at your dog watching disposal cos of your being a b@#$h. 


First of all, it was hard for me to take this seriously due to all the cursing, the misuse of your/you're, cos rather than cuz, or even because. (I judge people who misuse words.) At the bottom he wrote other threats, and crossed them off (that purple blue streak.)

Let me explain this a bit more. The neighbor who wrote this, yea, he's been in prison for murdering someone. Clearly I'm not comfortable with having me or my car threatened, and so I called the landlord to let him know. Landlord said he'd talk to the guy, and I figured that'd be it.

Instead, after a long day at work, I came home to find this:

Yep, that's poop.

So, we're adults, right? We're not sixteen years old. The dude is 32 years old, I can hear him screaming at his girlfriend nightly, she's come over after several of their fights, once when he allegedly threw her engagement ring in the bushes. (By the way, she's only 22.) You can look up my twitter feed because the walls are paper thin and I live tweeted them.

So I let Baxter out the poop night, and we get back inside, and I lock the door because that villainous fear crept in, What is he going to do next? Followers on twitter told me to call the cops, and my manager at work said the same thing. Because it wasn't an emergency, so much as annoying, I figured I'd wait until morning.

But instead of him being crazier, it was the wifi neighbor, who created an account that same night specifically to attack me. She tweeted at me about 9 times, all of which I didn't respond to, but continued to complain about the dog poop, the psycho neighbors, etc. Well, around 11:30pm, I heard her yell something and storm over and start pounding on the door. I told her point blank (through the open window), I'm not opening the door, to go home, or I'd call the cops. She told me to call the cops, so I did.

I'd finally started making this place my own!

Well, cop hottie (who is married but let me out of the fine when he pulled me over) showed up about an hour later. He told me this is ridiculous, and I couldn't agree more, but I was somewhat more comfortable because if something happens to me, to Baxter, or to my stuff, there is now a record of this craziness.

I texted a picture of the poop to the landlord saying that he needed to speak with his tenants because this is unacceptable, and by the time I got home from work the following day, the poop was removed from my door step.

None of the neighbors have had contact with me since, though an animal control officer (who walked over from next door), came over yesterday to ask if Baxter was registered because we'd been here for longer than 10 days (yea, bro. We've been here two months. Where were you then?), which leads me to suspect one of them is still trying to make trouble.

I'm very frazzled about all of this. My mangers at work are suggesting a new living arrangement but, I love this place. Not the neighbors, but my apartment. My place to live alone, my punching bag in my bedroom with my air mattress, a mile walk to a river and beautiful views.

But, if we move, it would be closer to work, and I could potentially go home during lunch to let Baxter out. If I could find a cheap place, maybe I could actually start saving up some money.

But if we move, I wouldn't be able to hop the border and head to New Hampshire and avoid sales tax. I'd give up the river, the drive where I get to collect my thoughts (though granted, sometimes the drive sucks). We'd have to give this up:

I'm not sure I'm ready to do that, but maybe giving all of this up is better than you know, coming home to a dead dog, huh?

Lag

So, I think I have people issues. Maybe I'm meant to grow up and become like Emily Dickenson. I should hole myself up in my house, have a secret shopper, and never go outside. I'm not meant to interact with people, they annoy me, most times I just roll my eyes and don't want to talk to them.

Except...maybe...I should still go outside and go hiking, longboarding with Baxter, you know, the usual. Just with no one else. Me, and my pup.

I think he'd be okay with that

Or maybe, just live in a writer's colony. I can deal with people who read, and who write, because they're reclusive like me. These people, they're my lifeblood.

Bottom line, I was supposed to be paying $15/month for internet through my neighbor. (Note: Neighbor, not roommate! Small victories!) Well, she told me to pay her by the 14th. (I'll pause while you check your calendars for today's date.....Yes, it is the 8th. Even still, not the 14th! It wasn't even the 1st of the month when this stuff went down.) 

So yea, during the week of rain (another one), I noticed my wifi wasn't working. Well it was...on my phone, but not my computer. People suggested maybe the rain was interfering so I waited about three days, and left a note on their door, which they didn't respond to.

Then she came home, and I confronted her. Her response? "Oh, we changed the password because we thought you were avoiding us."

Hmm...So...you don't come approach me directly? 

She then continued to say, "We don't want to supply to anyone in the complex."

Days later I find this is a lie, and she's still providing to another neighbor, and I'm irate. So now I'm pirating from someone down the street, but it's spotty and unreliable. Posts will be minimal until I figure out a solution. I'm sorry, and thanks for your patience. In the meantime, loathing of this neighbor has gone full force. She and her little friends recently set off fireworks RIGHT next to Baxter, who then RAN (with a look of panic and horror) toward the apartment. Here, she said, "If he was leashed, this wouldn't be a problem."

Right, because we all love ear splitting bangs going off RIGHT NEXT TO US. 

After that, it literally took ten minutes of coaxing Baxter to go outside. He was mortified. I wanted to punch her in the face. 

Anyways, enough ranting. On the writing front, After Elizabeth has gone through another edit, as well as The Right to Live. Both are now on submission, so that's exciting. I'll keep you posted if anything good happens :)

I'd Rather Write A Query Than...

I moved recently. I managed to go two months without having to pay rent, and yet I'm still broke. It doesn't help that I keep avoiding hospital bills until they take me to collections agencies, so then I HAVE to pay them. Oops. (Turns out, knee surgery in November was a poor life decision.)

This means that I'm trying to pick up another job so that I won't have days off. (Time is money, honey) Baxter will be cranky, but he needs to see the Vet, and eat food, too.

With that said, I've been spending a lot of time filling out job applications. It turns out I hate them. It also turns out that while I thought I loathed query letters, I prefer them to job aps. Here's a list of reasons why query letters are better than the run of the mill fill in the blank job applications:

Supposed to symbolize writing vs real job stuff

*Job applications have you fill out basic information: name, soc number, birth date, high school, college, special skills. Query letters only ask what is important; contact info, this is my novel, this is my publishing background. Boom. Done.

*Job applications require references, phone numbers that are years old, old manager's names. Some even require previous living locations. Yea..I barely remember what I had for breakfast, you expect me to remember six months ago? Pass. Query letters involve character names. Maybe a conference name or two if applicable.

*Job applications are PAGES long. Query letter is a PAGE long.

*Job applications force you to BS your way though it, "I'm a people person! I love this, and this, and I think I'd be awesome at this job!" Query letters don't care. "My name is Lynne. I've been published in, and I've attended these conferences." I've heard of people getting agents without having anything published before. We're judged solely on our ability to convey emotion, verses our ability to convince managers that we're awesome.

*"Have you ever been fired from a job before?" Umm....no? *Darts eyes back and forth* "Why?" Umm.....shit. In a query letter, you don't mention how many times you've been rejected. Awesome.

*You can use the f-word in a query letter and still get a request. (I know this, because I've done this). You can't do that with a job application.

*If things go well, that query letter will get you more money than this minimum wage job will.

So, while I need a new job, I'd rather be spending time here, on my computer, working on query letters and submissions. Just sayin'

Lessons from Living Alone

Packed the car super tight.

As of May 21, 2012, I am the proud renter of my very first apartment! It's a two floor, one bedroom place of amazing. It has a washer AND drier, and a dish washer. And the best part?

NO (CRAZY) ROOMMATES!!!!!!!!!!!! Except Baxter, of course. 

(And the drier is a huge perk. I've been without one since late November.)

So on this adventure, I've started learning some life lessons already. I'm here to impart some wisdom upon all of my lovely followers:

Considering I have nowhere else to put my clothes...
This isn't so bad

Life Lesson #1-Put everything that you can away the moment you move in, maybe even as you bring boxes in. The longer the mess stays...the longer the mess wants to stay.

Life Lesson #2-Wash your dishes before you move. I am currently rocking a sink full of dirtiness, and well, like Life Lesson 1...it's probably going to stay there for awhile. Even though I have a dishwasher, because I don't have money for the fancy liquid.

Life Lesson #3-Make a list of things you need. Prior to this, I've lived by myself for spurts, but usually the place had been fully furnished, or at least had most typical things. Usually the times I'd lived alone, I'd also lived with someone so I received left over toilet paper, dish soap, aluminum foil, etc as they moved out. Here, there is no microwave, no strainer for wet dishes, no light in the bedroom, no dressers. Also, no pizza pans...which out of everything may be the most problematic.

You can't even tell it's inflateable!

Life Lesson #4-Two fully inflated air-mattresses stacked on top of each other is a dream come true. I would have slept really well last night, but  didn't close the bedroom window, and it turns out the train goes by at midnight, and semi-trucks pass all night. Tonight, I'll be closing my window.

Life Lesson #5-With the two-fully inflated air-mattresses, make sure you have blankets that fit the bed. (Mine are currently in storage. Oops)

Life Lesson #6-If you spit on the floor, you're going to have to be the one to clean it (I learned this one today)

Life Lesson #7-It can get lonely, so make sure you have things to do. Coloring books, blogs, novels to edit, books to read, people to text and harass at all hours of the night, running shoes, a dog to play with when you're bored. Oh, and twitter. Need the twitter, always. Also, if you don't own a TV (yea, that's right, I'm old school) an iPod helps cure the quiet.

Life Lesson #8-If Wifi is not included, try to pirate it from your neighbors :)

Life Lesson #9-You can do anything now; walk around naked, towel walk, sleep naked, make stupid faces, have dance parties. There is no one to impress, no one to tell you to put clothes back on. It's rather liberating. (Don't worry guys, naked-ness freaks me out. Clothes stay on, though I am prone to wearing a sports bra for a shirt. Here, my sister won't yell at me :) )

Life Lesson #10-Make it yours. Does my bedroom really need a punching bag stand in it? Probably not, but is it there? You betcha. If you look in the second picture I posted, you can see my Board of Inspiration hanging up already. I also have a closet that's full of CDs. Another closet that's full of shoes--left side is active shoes (skate shoes, running shoes, Vibrams, etc), right side is dress shoes (including the hooker boots).

Overall, I'm stoked about this arrangement. I have to drive close to an hour every day to work, but for $400/month, I'm pretty excited.

Living Situations

I blogged recently about hating the place I'm living in. Well, sadly, things haven't gotten better, and while I typically try not to air my dirty laundry on the internet, I feel like you guys may enjoy this interaction...because I sure do.

Note: The way this is turning out is really sad, because when I moved in, though they said fully furnished, and it was in fact not (it's lacking a drier, and closet space...and lots of other stuff), I thought it would be a grand adventure. I thought that maybe, after the awfulness in North Carolina, I'd found a refuge. I'd been really, really happy when I moved in...though the housekeeper always sketched me out.

So, then I fully figured out that there wasn't really any heat when the advertisement said, "Heat included." And that Wi-Fi wasn't established, when the advertisement stated, "Internet included." For a long time, I sat downstairs, on the couch (that is now inhabited by the old man), plugged into Ethernet, and then retreating to my room for the night and freezing....all night. To the point, I would cover Baxter in the blankets, too. The adventure got old, fast...especially when the old man started stealing my food, and my beer, and making people uncomfortable so they didn't want to hang out...etc...Then, when Jenny was late with rent for like, three months, and moved out in under a day...he stole her computer. THESE PEOPLE ARE CRAZY.

The house. It looked so welcoming...

**The following is a set of e-mails between me and my landlord, negating all of the lights constantly being left on, me not living at the house for two weeks, the fact I haven't been anywhere outside of my room for about a month now...etc**

Landlord:
I received your check in the mail today for the last half of March.  You are delinquent on the rent due for April.  I have to have your April check in my mailbox by Friday April 6th or you have to move out.  I give Richard Hayes permission to make sure you are moved out of the house by Saturday.

Me:

I am late with it yes, however I will have it, most likely not by the 6th and according to renting laws you have to give at least thirty days before eviction.

Thanks.

Landlord:
Sorry you have no written lease so it does not apply, don't let this get ugly you will not win.  I need your check by Friday.


Me:
Greetings Vickie,

Okay, sorry I wasn't able to type this up earlier. I just don't understand what is happening. Granted I've been late on two payments, but you've still been getting paid. I wouldn't be struggling so much if:

1) I didn't have to stay an extra week in Michigan for a funeral

2) The mix up at pay role threw everything out of wack **Okay, this one is a blatant lie, I was coming up with excuses to have my rent late, with every intention of paying it, but staying two weeks in Michigan when I'd only planned one screwed me financially...**

Other than that, the living conditions here have been sub par with Dicky still smoking in this house, drinking every day, he and his mother picking fights and locking me out of either the upstairs, or the downstairs, as well as Baxter away from his food and water. 

Other than THOSE things, there is a law that mandates that you, nor any of your subordinants may remove an AT WILL tenant, which is what I am. If you don't believe me, here is some information:

May I charge a late rent or a returned payment fee?
According to Maine regulation a rent payment is late if it is not made within 15 days from the time the payment is due.  UNDER this condition, I am not even late with payment.

How can I end a Maine lease agreement? 
Unless otherwise specified within the lease, or if a tenant is a tenant at will; (a tenant without a written lease) landlords or tenants must give 30 day advance notice prior to lease termination.  

http://www.ezlandlordforms.com/articles/maine_landlord_tenant_law_and_regulations/

While this website is the quick version of the laws, and does not have the specific laws, I can send you those links, too. This was an easier way to do so.

Therefore, if any of my belongings are removed from the house, harmed in any way, or stolen, I will call the proper authorities to have this issue resolved. Please don't make this any uglier than it has to be.

Thank you,

Lynne

With that said, I'm kind of excited. Why? Um...because I win. (Does that make me a bad person?) This house literally has been awful since I moved in. I'm frozen every night, still. There was a point where during the winter this Richard Hayes (62 year old house keeper who drinks all day and night) didn't keep the house warm enough so the pipes froze...for three days. He's stolen my food, had his mother call me crazy, they've been making life miserable.

So I'm sort of fighting to live here, more so fighting for the ability to not have my crap touched or moved and then come May 1st I have another place to live.

Boo ya.

In unrelated news, have you guys checked out the Open Mic Blog Hop?