Suffice it to say, I would have saved a lot of time and avoided all the stresses that come from dating someone old enough to have been my teenage momma. Madame Cradle Robber was on her third husband, who revealed after years of marriage his own bisexuality and confessed to unprotected sex with his lovers while he was still coming home and banging her. Awesome, right? I learned that news after MCR tracked me down at Pride a few years ago, having decided in her new singledom to find me and take me back to her place for some sapphic lovins. Except that I wasn't interested in going with her no matter how many times her hands grazed my butt "accidentally" and she finally left, pissed. We went back to our not speaking (which was more about just having lost touch instead of malice) and a few months ago she sent me a friend request on Facebook, which I ignored. You're now 52. Move on.
(I've gotta start writing this shit down. There's a character sketch in there richer than those venti breve chai tea lattes at Starbucks that I can only drink about four times a year because all the half-and-half makes my pants not fit. As you might guess, there are far more Cradle Robber and Baby Dyke adventures but I don't want to dredge them up lest I give myself nightmares.)
Back when MCR and I were dating, we were on the phone and she was running down a list of all the things going wrong in her life, things I knew nothing about like mortgages and raising children. As her rant wore down, I changed the subject by saying, "Let's talk about something happy." She never let me live it down. Seriously, though: 21-year-old me lived with my parents, was struggling to make it through even one semester of college without dropping out because I wasn't ready to be there, likely working a clerical temp job during the years of Not Realizing My Potential, and had few, if any, bills. Suggesting we focus on sunshine and puppies made sense to me. Tragically, MCR wanted to stay on the cross even though lots of people needed the wood.
* * * * * * * * * *
On Tuesday, I found myself having a great day. I'm housesitting for King V and Queen S while they're celebrating their 40th (!) wedding anniversary in Mexico and I stayed at their house Monday night. I slept in their gigantic king-size Crate & Barrel touch-me-it's-so-pretty bed and then had a delicious shower. They may have no water pressure but there's room to dance. I'll accept the trade-off. I borrowed my mom's after-shower oil and spent the day smelling almond-y, I started a gig as a reading tutor to fourth and fifth graders and LOVED it, I found a $20 in my jacket pocket, I voted, and I paid a bunch of bills. All of that happened before 1:00 p.m. I spent a half-day at Vox and then hung out at the folks', making stabby little freewriting attempts at NaNo while listening to The Weepies. The other part of the evening I spent texting friends about a condo I'd found online (after four years I'm finally making serious attempts to move).
The condo? Girrrrrrrrl.
It's too good to be true. There's no way around it. It's furnished, less money than I pay now (and I already have cheap rent, especially considering I'm close to downtown River City), has ridiculous shit like a garden tub, a washer/dryer in the unit, a big-screen TV, and the utilities are included. Turns out the owner is allegedly in England and only she has the keys, so a contract would have to be signed and payment delivered before she could hand them over.
RIGHT. Insert hysterical laughter here.
I thanked her for her reply and let her know a tour would be mandatory before anything was signed or paid for. Wouldn't you know it -- she hasn't replied and her posting has been flagged for removal from Craigslist (likely my first mistake). I sure hope she's okay. Maybe she's just busy riding her magical pony around the Land of Gumdrops and Scams.
Today, I had a much different day. Even though I slept in the big bed and got in the big kids' shower again, I put some of Queen S' coconut oil in my hair (hey, it was in the bathroom) and was unfortunately tired of smelling coconut after about 15 minutes. I got terrible coffee from McD's, though I still drank it. I suffered painful muscle spasms after I twisted the wrong way this afternoon and then I went on a crappy tour of a not-as-pretty-offline apartment. In addition to The Condo of Deception, I had looked at a place billed as an artists' colony. Oh, kids. The visions that went through my head. Natural light and me at my writing desk or easel, admiring the unobstructed view of downtown, other artists spilling in and out of my space... sigh.
The floor plans looked cute, the location was good, the price good, etc. Turns out the building is being renovated -- as in "about five apartments are ready and the rest look like death" -- and we had to step around a bevy of mask-wearing workers straight out of a Benetton ad (minus the white people). The smell of varnish or black molasses death goo that was being spread on the floors was so strong we had to hold our breath to make it through the tour. That went well. I saw three apartments, two of which were too small even though I know I'm going to downsize when I move. The only one that was large enough was more than I want to pay. I have learned not to settle (*cough* see earlier girlfriend story) and I was already a little pissed. I had called the office and made an immediate appointment. When I arrived 10 minutes later, I was informed the office had JUST received a walk-in and the new prospective tenants took priority over me.
WHUT.
The leasing agent volunteered to take the new people and then come back for me, which was quickly followed by "Hey! Let's go on the tour together!" I went for the latter suggestion because I had to get back to work. (Ding! Things I Love to Say.) Being bumped down the list REALLY rubbed me the wrong way. I'm glad the place wasn't what I'd been dreaming it would be. The agent needed a shave and didn't have any business cards on him, so he wasn't going to win any professionalism points. Also, the building was referred to as being historic, but that apparently just meant old and gross, based on one of the admittedly pre-renovation bathrooms. Also, none of the apartments had fridges and that was just weird. I also found out tenants have to supply their own air conditioners.
Oh, HELL no.
The same company has other properties I'll probably check out. They're on a side of town known for its artists, freaks, hippies, and liberal straight couples who drink soy milk and carry their Himalayan whistle children in handmade hemp slings. If the apartments aren't any good, at least the scenery will be entertaining.
After the tour, I went back to work, which I had escaped when two coworkers went on their lunch breaks at the same time and decided to eat at their desks. (Aneurysm!) I made it through the rest of the workday and then headed home. I had sudden inspiration to go to Qdoba and, despite living in River City for 25 years, turned the wrong way onto a one-way street with traffic approaching (panic is fun!) and then got stuck behind an accident and watched as car after car didn't let me over. In summary: WOW. That was a different day than Tuesday. Jeez.
Things were fine once I got home, luckily. I hung out with a very cool biracial plus-size lesbian I know (*ahem*) and together we enjoyed more of The Weepies. It was certainly better than being in the midst of lunch crunchers.
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