The One Where I Burned My Boob

So the power went out on Sunday, as I previously mentioned. It came back 3 days later. And apparently I forgot how to use it.

Yesterday, I made an appointment with the doctor. I waited for a half hour past my appointment time. Then, the nurse asked "What happened?"

"I burned my boob."

"With what?"

"Hot wax."

She giggles, "What? I'm going to need more of the story." I tell her. She takes my vitals. 120/80. She tells me there is a student doctor today.

"Perfect," I say, "I was hoping to flash as many people as possible". She laughs and leaves.

The doctor comes in alone. (Nice, one less person to flash.) She asks me what I did. "I burnt my boob with hot wax."

She smiles, but obviously not thinking it was as kinky as the nurse did, she inquires as to how. Well, I'll tell you:

I'm an idiot. And I might have A.D.D. I was packing and cleaning out all my bathroom stuff and found a wax kit I bought a few years ago. I put it in front of the bathroom door until I decided if I wanted to keep it or chuck it. A couple of hours later I went to take a shower and saw the wax kit and was like "Hell, I'll just use it now, then throw it out". So I put the wax in the microwave for a minute - not reading to do 30 sec increments - and took it out. Only the middle was warm - the rest was still hard - so I put it in for another minute. Since I was heading to the shower, and my roommate's already gone, I was barely wearing a towel and when I took the wax out a second time it was a lot thinner of a liquid than before. Since the microwave is above eye-level, it spilled on my chest.

I show her. She makes that sucking air through your teeth noise. "Ya, you really burned yourself."

I asked if I was a first. I am indeed. I have 2nd degree burns. She gave me Silvadene and gauze. Hot.

However, on the plus side, if you have a semi-serious burn, you notice the pain less when you wax yourself. How's that for commitment?

I assure you, it looks more painful in person. And, no, for the record, I did not scream. I was too busy slapping molten wax off my body. Blonde...

Blind

 
if ever you wanted to love me, i was always here. (Popped into my head; had to type it.)

I'm slightly blind at the moment.

Well, hold on. I'm always slightly blind; glasses since the 2nd grade will do that to a girl. But I mean figuratively.

I learned a couple of weeks ago that people I interact with - or at least share a same social group - are "interested" in me. Fittingly, they thought I was in a relationship for some unknown reason. I say fittingly, cause that's typical of how my life rolls.

Well, hold on again. During this conversation I was told that my abrasive personality creates this...um...aura, or something, but also since I have more guy friends than girls, people who don't know me assume I'm dating my guy friends I hang out with. Once people get to know me, they laugh at the ideas they had before about me dating these people.

So, there's those two things down. I'm well on my way to figuring out why an attractive, funny, smart and moderately "successful" (depending how how you want to swing that term) single twenty something never gets asked out. Modest enough, no?

Well, hold on. On the metro last weekend I did get hit on by a young black man. With plenty of seats open, he gets up from his and walks and sits next to me. I have my iPod in my ears and listening loud enough that he could probably make out every word of Quiet Riot and starts talking to me. I take out an earbud: "What?"

"I like your hair," he says. Well, there's a first. Very original. I tell him thanks. He keeps talking - asks me my name - repeats it back to me wrong - I take out the other earbud to correct him as is impulse by this point in my life - he repeats it back the same way - I correct him again "It has an 'H!" - he says it correctly. He puts out his hand with nails that are well manicured but clearly need cut (in my opinion). I stare at it for about 30 seconds before I shake it with hesitation. He says nothing, then starts to pull my hand to his face - to kiss it, I'm assuming. I pull my hand back and say "Don't do that," then reinsert Cum on Feel the Noize into both ears. He sits there for about 2 more stops, surely coolly playing off the rejection, then goes and stands by the door.

THIS IS TYPICAL. Or I just randomly get yelled at: "YEAH SEXY!" or casually hit on as I walk by. A lot. Or just stared at. (Ya, that's not creepy, guys.) What the hell?

I am the type of girl you take home to your mother. Damnit. Screaming at me walking down the street isn't going to work. Fear? Might I be just too damn sexy for people to actually approach me? Shall I start dressing like shit? Maybe I'm too honest? Or perhaps, just perhaps, I'm an asshole. And that's why I don't get asked out. Then again, I come back to that conversation where people go "Oh, yea, he was totally into you" and I go "WHAT?!".

I'm blind to these things. And then I never see him again. I'm back in middle school.

 

Homeless person finds home, ditches shopping cart, tchotchkes - packs nothing

So, here’s the scoop. Last Thursday I looked at two places in Columbia Heights, DC. It’s Green/Yellow line – which, if you know anything about the District isn’t the best place to live, but certain places are up and coming.

My desperation that night was at its peak. My anxiety about homelessness was about a 9 out of 10. I went home that night, laid face down on my bed and repeated into my pillow “I just can’t do this anymore”. I went to bed thinking about housing – I had a dream my car got towed from the one place that looked half-doable with an Asian chick and a 10x10 room with a dirty carpet and tiny closet after, in my dream, I had an “over night test stay” – and woke up thinking about housing. [I got an email from her today saying "unfortunately, I don't think we're a good roommate match. 1. Ya. Duh. I was desperate, 2. Just say you found someone else, dumbass, and 3. ARE YOU BREAKING UP WITH ME?!]

On Friday, still in full-on panic mode, I decided to reassess. Upon the suggestion of about 5 people and looking for any new outlets at all (since Craigs List is just getting weird and I’d been staring at blue and purple links for DAYS nonstop), I went to roommates.com. I answered one ad, she told me to stop by on Saturday at noon.

My roommate came home while I was watching LOTR on his sweet ass LCD TV, before he took it away, and perusing Craigs List when he came back with his previous/future roommates (I was an interim replacement). At this point, I had begun to laugh about the situation. I mean, panicking only gets you so far – the motivation is good, yes, but it was starting to make me lose my mind, e.g. face in the pillow dive. I kept making the joke that was going to be pushing around my things in a shopping cart (and then kept making the push-my-cart motion). Any time someone made any slight reference to moving, my invisible shopping cart came back. I lightened up and then discussed the possibility of asking our current landlord if I could possible renew the lease in the event that one of the 3 appointments I had set up for Saturday didn’t work. I wrote her an email: She’s a little loopy, and missed the “if” part. She started emailing people that I was definitely staying…so it got in my head that I was definitely staying too; though I wasn’t looking forward to switching gears to finding a new roommate now, after all this work to find a new place back in the District and closer to the metro. Regardless, I wrote a Craigs List posting to find a replacement for the very-soon-to-be empty room. I went to bed at about 4am – content with the idea that sometimes, if you have no place to go, it’s best to stay where you are.

I almost didn’t go to the one at noon. But decided for the sake of testing out all options, (and since it was close and in a neighborhood I wanted) that I would take a look and would skip the other two since my landlord had basically committed me to the place and the places I had looked at before had all been holes. Or they were nice enough, but I never got that feeling that they would be “home” to me. Or have any place for my "things".

I walked in the door of my noon appointment – yet again, awkwardly running into someone else who was looking at the place. The first thing the girl who was attempting to replace herself on the lease said to me was “I like your hair”. I felt comfortable around her. I looked around – still rather convinced staying where I was, was probably best – and she said “You want to live here. I know it. This is your house. It’s awesome. You should live here.”

I told her I was a Libra. I told her my situation. And I told her I’m more than awful at making decisions. We talked for a while...deciding we'd be friends if she wasn't moving.

Is this entry long enough yet? Don’t worry, it’s almost over. And the irony is to come…

My friend drove up from Richmond to visit a mutual friend – we were going to lunch. He called when he was at my place and I asked him to come up the street to help me make a housing decision. (You thought I was kidding about being an awful decision-maker, didn’t you?) He had a look – we discussed and decided I should go for the move. I wanted to be back in the District, I wanted to be closer to the metro, I wanted it to be cheaper. It's about $30 more a month, but 2 out of 3 isn't bad, we decided. Another deciding factor was the girl who was showing me the place told me what a wave of foreign people nightmare it was to try to rent it out – and I was so over anything that had to do with hunting apartments or people to live with. I met the owner, he asked if I had a job and for how long. I asked if they would be interested in a new couch and chest freezer. They said "yes". Then I signed a lease and gave him a check. ::slaps hands together:: Done and done. I was there for about 3 hours. I can start moving in Wednesday evening.

Afterward, my friend and I grabbed lunch. He paid for lunch. We came out to find out I paid more for parking…I forgot the ass of a state that is Maryland wants meters paid on Saturdays…and so I got a $45 parking ticket for a meter. No, really. Forty-five fucking dollars. But, at that point, I was just happy I had a place to live and it was all over. So I kind of giggled it off, but damnit. But seriously, oh well: I HAVE A HOME!

BUT, you want to hear the best part? Yesterday, after softball practice and a trip to Value City Furniture after (in which no one wanted to ask sweaty me if I needed help – haha), a storm came out of nowhere and our power went out as I pulled onto my road at about 3:30pm. I napped a couple hours then packed till dark - which wasn't much. But it has been out ever since. Reports are saying it could be days until it is restored. I don’t get home from work until 7-7:30pm and I can’t pack in the dark. So…in fitting with the story that is my life…I can’t pack.

Ha. Ha-ha-ha. My life…

Homeless person chucks tchotchkes, clings to Trivial Pursuit, bed

 
I’ve been absent. I know. But forgive me, I’m homeless.

WHAT?

Okay, not yet. Give me 9 days and I’ll be on the sidewalk with a dining set, a sweet ass sectional and my prized bed – which I love dearly. Oh, and probably my 5 versions of Trivial Pursuit.

Clothes are optional.

I’ve been searching for a place for months to no avail. I want to punch all those stupid DC reality shows because now the world can see DC is a pretty rad city – one in which I found no problem finding an abode in for the last 4 years, but suddenly it’s more competitive than real people trying to get internships at Elle over the Whitney Ports of the world. But I digress.

No. No, I don’t. It sucks. It’s consuming my life. I found a roommate and we were looking for a 2BR together. Monday, that option took a back seat and now I’m looking for any means of accommodation. For me. And my Trivial Pursuits --- if those cards get wet, it’s all over.

I wish someone would have told me not to make a home with someone until I was sure. (And, let’s be real, how sure can you be at 22?) HAVE YOU ANY IDEA HOW MANY KITCHEN CANISTERS I HAVE?! Ten; I have ten. [edit: over the weekend I saw two more I forgot about. So, I actually have 12.] That is preposterous. And now that I’m looking to move in to someone’s pre-established residence – there is no room for this shit. Nice shit. Ohh…all this SHIT I’ve collected over the years. All the things and selective tchotchkes (and I fucking hate tchotchkes) and games and books and clothes and art and and…and…I’m spent.

I made a home with someone. A home. He had to move back with his parents; I kept everything in the house. (Thanks for the Wii, past-lover.) But now I have a house worth of stuff we purchased to make a home and no place with which to fill.

Living with someone taught me I was planning on spending the rest of my life with the wrong person. That love is fickle...and unsuspectingly fleeting. It taught me that who you are in one place, at one point in your life, is not who you are in the next. And it’s the transitions that will kill you; a partner for life is someone who can make those transitions with you – and ease the pressures of them. (But honestly, I don’t think any 22 year old can do that effectively.) It taught me a lot of things, but it definitely taught me not to make a house into a home with someone until you're married. (You can quote me on that.) I wish someone would have told me to live in a studio with him and not fill out a house worth of things because the packrat, the frugal Mable, and the what-if persons inside of my head are going DON’T THROW THAT SHIT OUT!!!

But that’s all I want to do. Purge EVERYTHING. My motto: The more stuff you have, the more you have to lose - the more you have to worry about losing. And all I can worry about right now is not even having a place to put shit in order to lose it.

So I want to pull up a dumpster next to my window and dump everything I own in there – except my Trivial Pursuits, of course. I want to just clean house and be rid of all of it. [Cause when I'm living out of a shopping cart, it just won't have that same je nais se quoi.] But I know I’ll want it in the future…or at least I think I know. Then again, last time I knew something, is how I ended up with all this shit in the first place…



Dear World, Please provide me with a roof – and possibly the option to keep my sweet ass sectional. And bed. The tchotchkes can go.

Gchat Snippet: "Women are Insane"

C: men don't realize that when we say to go or do something, really we want them to fight a little for the opposite.
in that regard, women are insane.

me: lol. yup.

Lucky Bitches

The day before vacation, I'm slightly distracted. After getting in a small fender bender this week that left my car pretty much the same as it was before (especially after the Mazda dealership checked it out, cause it happened on my way there anyway for new rotors, then gave me a few new bolts for my license plate), I can slightly relate. If only I hadn't hit a brand new Acura. Guess I stole it's V-card. Better than a keying for no reason 3 weeks after you buy your brand new car and had yet to even make a payment...just sayin.

Anyway, this video is crazy/awesome. Make sure to watch all the way to the end. Cops should require college degrees. haha.

Jokes! People. Just jokes. Calm down.