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).
 

The Truth About Craigslist

Guess what, guys? We have our first real complain about 2013! Aside from Bax being sick. Just when you thought it was safe to forget about all of the quarrels of 2012, one comes creeping back. Kind of like a court case that just doesn't go away...

Wait, that's exactly what it is.

If you missed any of the drama of the Roommate Saga, you may want to freshen up here. Once upon a time, I lived in a super sketchy place because when I moved to Maine I had no place to call home. So I went on Craigslist, and found this place. The landlord said, "Oh, the house keeper is kind of strange, but he's harmless, I swear."

Can we just forget I lived here?
Please?

Turns out, not so harmless. So the other day at work, the arresting officer (in civilian clothing) came up to me as I restocked the liquor aisle. "Remember me?" he asked.

My face lit up. "Of course, how are you?"

"Good, and um, sorry to be the bearer of bad news," he said, handing me a piece of paper.

I opened it, and wham-bam, it's a subpoena. I am now to appear in court any time between January 9th-31st.

I'm trying to tell myself it's just research for a future novel, but really, I just want that whole ordeal to be over. I'd be a happy girl if I never had to see him again. So the truth about Craigslist, is that you may want to fully research your place before you move in. This is the second time things have blown up in my face (the first being that incident with bedbugs).

Any of you have any legal issues? Or, better yet, what's your worst (best) roommate story?

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.

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?

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.

The Roommate Saga

So for those of you who haven't heard about the roommate drama, feel free to click on some links. Or if you're really ambitious, go through my twitter feed, there is some interesting stuff going on there. This is a long post today, sorry. I added pictures to make it more fun :)

The house that was lovely...aside from the residents

Long story short, for the last few months I've been living in a crap hole. I was desperate, I had just moved from North Carolina, and I had nowhere to live so I looked on Craigslist. Without really looking into the situation, I moved into the house in Woodstock.

The first thing that went wrong was heating. I don't like to sleep with my door open, because I don't like or trust people. So I would close my door, and then freeze. Then the landlord got on my case about having a space heater, and told me I wasn't supposed to have it because the house could burn down. But I continued doing it so Baxter and I wouldn't freeze to death. Plus, the sketchy old man would leave the oven open, leave the stove doors open (a few times wood exploded out of the fire and lit the floor up). The old man and the cougar roommate also would leave candles on. All. Night. Long. Oh, and there were three cats living in the house, too. They liked to get out counter tops and tables. And yet the space heater was the problem.

I'm so creative :)

The next problem was that the house claimed to be furnished, and yet didn't have a drier. There was only a washer. Which was okay, all of my clothes were crusty, and so were my towels, but eh...I could deal. At first. There are two stoves in the house that were used for heating. One in the living room, and one near the back of the house, which is where my bedroom is. When he started fighting with me, he decided to turn off that stove so that the only source of heat was where he was sleeping...on the couch. Once the stove near the washer had been turned off, my clothes wouldn't dry. They'd freeze over night, and warm the following day and stay wet. So I decided to make my own drier.

But then the old man started fighting with me. All the time. I think it was because I freaked out one day because he was smoking in the house, which he was NOT supposed to do. Either way, I started going into work angry because he'd moved my stuff, stolen my food, picked another fight. Then the only roommate I sort of liked moved out in less than a day, and the sketchy old man stole her computer...which made me start to wonder...

What will he do to my stuff?

I stuck it out for awhile longer. But then things got worse (see Living Situations blog), and I started trying to stay at friend's places more regularly. I also started trying to take Baxter everywhere with me; to work, to friend's. I hated leaving him alone because I was now terrified that they would hurt him to get back to me.

Not only that, but they started picking fights with me when I was trying to just stay in my bedroom and write my memoir, or edit, or just not be around any of them because they were all crazy. It got to the point I was tweeting my complains (on a regular basis) and my friend made me a "Quiet Please, Memoir Writing in Progress" sign. Then I had a friend over one day, and they (at this point they is the Dickey and his mother) picked fights in front of her, too.

Huge gaping hole

I'm not sure when I hit the breaking point, but I hit it fairly recently. I started packing up my room so that way I could just cut and leave as soon as I found a place. Because I came in freaking out every day, my managers all started looking in newspaper ads for places to rent that allowed pets. None of us could find anything. Just recently, I've been spending a lot of nights at a friend's house because well, they feed me, they offer me beer, and they're lovely company. Plus, they allow Baxter.

For the last few days I'd been staying with these friends, in another town, with my pup. Last night I went back to the house so I could move more of my belongings over to their house. I called my mom when I was in my car so that the creepy old guy wouldn't talk to me as I entered the house. I went to the outside stairs to find, amazingly, he'd redone them. Up until now, they'd been removed so Baxter and I had constantly been having to jump up and down the gaping hole (which was incredibly dangerous at night).

When I walked in, out of my peripheral vision I thought I saw that he was naked, but kept my eyes straight ahead and ran up to my room, still on the phone with my mother.

The dog Baxter abandoned me to play with

After barricading myself inside my bedroom (because Baxter decided to stay outside playing with the other dog), the sketchy old man didn't even knock and came into my room. He handed me my mail, where I then fully noticed, he was completely NAKED. And I mean NAKED. Like I saw 62-year-old-man-penis.

Immediately I dropped some f-bombs in the form of "Why the f3$% are you naked?!!!?! Get the f@#$ out of my room!!"

He then tried to take my mail from my hands, and demanded that I give him my house key, which I refused because I don't have all of my stuff moved out yet (and until I get sent to court, it is my legal right to have said key). We continued to scream at each other, he remained naked, completely un-phased by the fact I was flipping out because of seeing his member.

I could tell he was drunk (as all he ever does is drink), and he was naked. In my bedroom. And not leaving. So, I told him if he didn't leave, I'd call the cops. He told me to do it, so I hung up with my mom and called 911.

The only picture I could find of the sketchy
old man. This was a game night I had with
some folks from the mountain

He continued to yell at me until he realized I'd actually called them. Then he disappeared downstairs for awhile while I spoke with the dispatcher. By this point I was shaking (and maybe crying a little bit because why the f#$ was he naked??? IN MY BEDROOM??). The person had me stay on the phone with her until the poliece arrived. During the time of waiting, Dickey decided to come back in my room (I'm not sure if he had clothes on this time) and continued to yell at me, while I was on the phone with the dispatcher. Who (thanks to loudspeaker) told him to get out of my room and leave me alone. It took her about 5 times telling him to leave, and I was terrified that I was going to get shot, knifed, or punched.

The dispatcher asked how long I've been living here, and I answered that I'd been living here since December. She asked if we'd had confrontations before, I told her we had. She asked why I'd never called the cops before, and I answered because he'd never been naked before.

At long last, the cops arrived, and asked me the same questions the dispatcher asked. I showed them my bedroom, explained about the high tensions and the fights, and how they're trying to evict me, but haven't gone to the courts yet, etc, etc, etc. They had me wait in my car, and I ran inside to get my phone to text my friends that I was okay, and would be over ASAP because old man was crazy.

When I left the house, Dickey followed me out and yelled at me to return my house key, and I booked it to the safety of my car. The four officers immediately yelled at Dickey and told him to go back inside (he wasn't listening), and thus, screamed at him until he finally listened. When the coast was clear, they allowed me to re-enter the house, recommended that I not stay there that night, and I kept packing.

It got to the point I was afraid he would hurt Bax
So Bax started coming to work with me

In the end, Dickey got arrested for indecent exposure, and some other stuff that I can't quite remember (I think terrorizing was one of them). When they hauled him out he only had shorts on. Which, I was thankful for (again, who in their right mind would think it's appropriate to be naked???)

I was told that the next time I come to get the rest of my stuff, I am to notify the sheriff's department and to have an escort with me because the old guy is batshit crazy. I was also told that he does in fact reek of alcohol, and weed. Which doesn't surprise me, at all.

The girl is the one whose computer was stolen.
The boy is the kid who got kicked out of the
bar...later that night

When I got to my friend's, a previous roommate texted me, told me to drop everything that is going on with Dickey, and basically sounded like he was threatening me, too. He also called me a psycho (although he spelled it wrong), and said some other mean things, and I just wanted to punch him. (Keep in mind, this roommate was the one who got kicked out of the bar for being a creeper the first and only night me, him, and our female roommate tried going out together. She made him walk home.)

So that was my night on April 20. Baxter and I are currently residing in the basement of a friend's house, and I'm constantly praying that my stuff is okay (as I had to leave some of it). The only downfall of this, is that Baxter and the other dog keep fighting (they've drawn blood a couple of times now), and it terrifies me because I don't want Baxter to get hurt or to be uncomfortable...Ugh. I need to find my own place.

How are you?