Tag Archives: broken window

This Must Be The Place

5 Jul

In keeping with this year’s theme, “And now for something completely different,” I packed up all my belongings and moved out of my lovely, old, Victorian neighborhood and into an apartment with the boyfriend. Now I live in Midtown next to a grocery store, pet store, hardware store, Dollar General, a jazzercise studio, Taco Bell and Subway. Yikes.

I’m handling it surprisingly well, if I do say so myself.

Well, barring that massive meltdown I had over the last week.

The moving day was set for Monday- my day off and usually our ‘date day.’ When Sunday night rolled around my brain came to a complete stop. COMPLETE. I couldn’t think of basic phrases or sentences.  Needless to say, I had a stupid horrible night at work. When it was all over, two of my best friends called to tell me good luck, and to check in to make sure I was ok. They know me just far too well. After some crying, screaming- and I think I threw something at some point- I finally got to sleep.

Enter Monday- the moving day. I was running behind in getting my stuff packed into my buddy’s van, and I needed help. The boyfriend was off cleaning his apartment. If I had known just how dirty that apartment was, I would’ve begged him to keep cleaning but instead I asked him to come by. As I got all my memories stuffed into the van, I was overwhelmed again by those same waves of sadness that come every time I move. I have a LOT of history, and a lot of evidence.

When we entered the apartment with the first vanload of stuff, I immediately walked outside and started crying. It was FILTHY- just filthy. After a bit of a screaming match, I rolled up my sleeves, swallowed my anger, and started cleaning. I took the next three days off of work to simply clean the place, unpack, organize my shoes and comic books, and try to hide my crazy from the rest of the world (if only for a minute.)

It’s crazy how well two people can compromise when one of them is in a completely psychotic and irrational state. It’s also crazy how far a little jewelry, flowers, and Rod Stewart Radio on Pandora can go to calm down an angry woman.

This week comes the fun part. Painting, new furniture, new linens, new stuff. Shopping is usually a good way to soothe me.

I have some great friends, and it was definitely a group effort to keep me together throughout the whole thing. On Wednesday one of my buddies discovered me sitting beneath the bridge to my old house in a pool of my own tears. He helped me crawl though a window, as I had locked my keys inside the house. On Thursday another buddy had to come get the van out of an impossible parking space I had it in. On Friday I nearly killed myself with a garage door- but that’s another story entirely.

Lessons I learned: next time I move I’m paying someone to do it for me.

 

A Walking Case of Broken Window

22 Feb

It was a birthday that would go down in ‘Lindsay history’.  Actually, most of my birthdays have been accompanied by some sort of doom and gloom.  I am not a fan at all of the idea of aging/sagging/wrinkling/etc.  February is my least favorite month because it includes my birthday (and Valentine’s Day- ew).  But this one might be the most memorable birthday to date, and that’s saying quite a bit ever since that birthday that my now ex-husband proposed to me.  If getting engaged isn’t one of the most shocking birthday gifts, I do not know what is.

I spent the one week of February before my birthday being disgustingly sick.  I was in a haze of cough drops, Benadryl, band aids, and Epsom salt baths.  I hate to miss a party however, especially if it is for me, so I willed myself out of my sick bed and greeted the day like Snow White opening her window and calling to all the birds and bunnies and fuzzy animals that make children smile.

Starting off excellently with champagne and French fries, it was shortly followed by more champagne, then  whiskey, and then more champagne and seafood.  I’m amazed I was still standing by 9pm.  But in the true nature of my chaotically organized (or, more accurately unorganized) brain I decided I could meet every single one of my friends for a celebratory glass of champagne.  I had a new date every two hours, essentially.  I demand to get what I want!  I was tired at the end, go figure, and so I decided to head to my local downtown bar, and announce to everyone that it was my special day, and that they should all follow me down to the strip club- a seemingly logical idea at the time.  Once I was sufficiently settled into the tittie-bar, I had my credit cards (all of them) stolen along with my driver’s license, bus pass, and library card.  I was in no mood to deal, and simply decided to worry with it on the following day.  In the immortal words of Scarlett O’Hara, “I’ll think about that tomorrow.”

Well, the following day when I woke up and strode outside to take my car to class, I discovered that during the night someone had run into my the car, on the back left side, and left it sitting in three pieces in the street. It was completely totaled even to my non-mechanics’ eye.  No note, no witnesses, no nothing.  Total crap!!

So that’s what I got for my birthday. Robbed and wrecked. It’s looking to be one of those years. I should’ve realized that on New Years Day when I woke up and the first thought of 2011 to run through my head was the song ‘Push It’ by Salt and Pepper.   Not to mention that ever since the accidents I have had “Caught Out There” by Kelis stuck in my mind.  It’s a wintry mix of terrible pop music playing in my noggin’.

But no, the night of robbing and wrecking would prove to be only the beginning of an epic crap-of-a-February.  The day following my dealings with police, insurance agents, and incompetent city bus drivers was a little bit shadowy and ominous from the start, and it was in no hurry to brighten up.  I got a call back from a company for which I had interviewed for a job, and of course they had found someone else.  Bummer.  So I decided to cheer myself up by whopping my ass into shape at the gym (alcohol is exceedingly more attractive when it is fizzy and sparkling, and less attractive when my body converts it into a donut), but as I was feeling a little tired and worn down, I only succeeded in giving myself an incredibly painful strained back injury.  I couldn’t decide if it was caused by stress, over exertion, or if it was simply the Lord’s way of telling me that I can only have so many 23rd birthdays before he would remind me of my real age.  I digress- first thing the next morning I went to the doctor, got muscle relaxers, and went home to enter into a tiny coma for the weekend- and in so doing hopefully shield myself from anymore frustration or stress for a day or two.

I succeeded for a moment in saving myself from the fiasco that is my life, but when I emerged from my tiny coma it was Valentine’s Day.  The premise of Valentine’s Day is to be as annoyingly in love- in public- as one can get away with without being arrested.  I find it revolting.  Not to mention I was still crabby about being in pain and having now to walk my crippled butt to dinner (which was nice).

So other than Valentine’s Day crapping up last week it was fairly uneventful.  You know, just the usual- spent all week getting stood up by my insurance agent, fell off a runway during a fashion show practice, hurt my back again, had a death in the family, missed a test, broke a shoe (the horror!), forgot to buy a plane ticket, my computer took a dive from which it cannot recover, and had the back tire on my scooter blow out while I was going 30mph without a helmet.  Karma had its way with me twice over that tire blow out ordeal because the person who ended up showing up to drag my scooter out of the street and take it to the shop was one of my least favorite exes.  Why don’t they all live in Texas?  My life would be much less complicated if they would.

So I’m surviving.  I took this last weekend to have another hibernation session (a friend of mine actually called because she was worried I was entering into a ‘Courtney Love’ phase.  I don’t think she was referring to the music on my iPod.)  I’m not exactly known for handling stress well.  Booze, shoes, and a lack of moderation seem to be my go-to coping mechanisms.

February can be so lovely in New Mexico.  It is the month that the days get longer, the sun starts shining, and the temperature goes from 6˚ to 64˚ (sometimes in one day).  This February has been decidedly dark in my eyes but I am confident that things are turning around.  I recently padded the walls in my bedroom and have taken to wearing a helmet and knee pads when I walk down the street.  (Oh yea, we all know I love to be the center of attention.)  I’m also on the market for a big cushy bubble in which I can live my life free of worry.  Well, I suppose I would worry about something piercing the bubble.  Or perhaps suffocation.  Skittish can’t accurately describe how I feel lately.  I mean, honestly there are 6 more days left before March, and I know just about what can happen in six days!  On the bright side, I successfully made it this far, it would be a bit silly if I couldn’t come through this February, too.  I just might greet March with a limp.

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