You know how you feel when life decides to sucker punch you in the face? I am familiar with the feeling (aren’t we all?). Going about our business, minding our own business and tending to our business, when out of the blue the sky seems to fall an our life becomes an immediate shit show…
Thank God for t-shirts that say it all and before noon screwdrivers.
It’d been one of those weeks (that seems to keep reoccurring over the last four months) and I couldn’t wait to meet up with my First Mate and her hubs for a few happy hour libations on Friday.
The happy hour trio.
It was a dreary start to the weekend, so we were more than happy to stay dry and hydrate our livers while rain soaked the Nashville streets.
This calls for another round.
And many repeated cheers to the weekend!
Happy to return home and snuggle with my main feline squeeze Teddy B., I found a note taped to my door, which was odd but then thought maybe it was a letter from a secret admirer or better yet a clue to the beginning of a very cool scavenger hunt…but of course it wasn’t anything of such fun.
Letter of lovely news.
My mini-manse (and the zip code it comes with – read here) is one side of a duplex and the owner’s stoner son lives on the other half with his gal pal. This note I received basically said in a very formal way, “I got my girlfriend pregnant on accident and now you’re f’d because we need your side of the duplex by the end of July because we don’t have any money to move and need more space. Sorry and let us know if we can do anything.”
First, I was utterly flabbergasted, as when my neighbor told me of the pregnancy news a few months ago, I asked him point-blank if they’d need my space with the answer being, “No, we’d move out before asking you to. You’re totally fine – you may just be getting a new tenant.”
Second, I was completely livid that I’m paying the price for someone else’s life changing event. And can you do anything for me? You bet your ass you can. Do you have $3,000 for first and last month’s rent, pet deposit, security deposit and moving expenses? Oh, and about 12 hours per week to look at places during lunch, after work and all weekend long? Along with hours for the boxing and organizing your belongings?
Lastly, I kinda lost my mind. Life hasn’t been easy the past few years and I’ve taken solitude and pride in my little slice of my neighborhood, being able to scrape by and have finally – in the past few weeks – felt that I was getting back up on my feet financially. So this news feels like salt being scooped by the barrel into an open wound.
So what’s a gal do when she goes off the deep end? Buy a pack of cigarettes of course (which by the way, are the most expensive habit in the world. $6 for one pack? WTF?). I am a non-non-non smoker. Like don’t socially smoke. Never crave a cigarette. But once every decade it seems as if the moment of sheer insanity raids my body and I feel the need to become a chain smoker.
While sitting outside, bawling my eyes out I thought I would share just how ridiculous I look while smoking (and as I threw butts in the yard (because I’m having an acrimonious moment and can do that), I was secretly hoping a smolder might catch the lawn on fire…).
Smoking wreck. Not a natural when it comes to nicotine.
And while I let this news get the better of me – I missed out on a friend’s party, a few days of Nashville sunshine, working out and maybe single-handedly gave myself lung cancer in one sitting – I ran out to have my dad ‘baby’ me (you know, say things will be OK while I’m crying, take me to eat Mexican and offer to pay on student loan bills so I have a little extra dough for moving) on Saturday night. Sometimes you just need your stand-by guy.
Dad to the emotional rescue!
While this news isn’t the end of the world (although it truly did feel like it this weekend), it just snapped me back into place of being the girl who once again needs all the help she can get, as I watched my pride sink back into the size of an inch worm. Luckily, I have amazing family, friends and a fur ball who stand by my side – whether it be forcing me out of my house to get fresh air (and a cocktail), wiping the snot off my nose or making sure I don’t resort to selling my body for extra moving money (I’m kidding mother), I know everything will be fine.
Cuddle dud let me maul him into the wee hours of the evenings.
On my way out of my beloved mini-manse, I’ll want to leave a note that simply says “SUCK IT.” And while I probably won’t, I will definitely be leaving behind a box of condoms.
Happy times are here again!