In Which I Make A Trimphant Return to Blogging

Well, kids, you asked for it.  I am back, hopefully consistently.

I took a break from blogging because my most popular posts were about my dating disasters, and now that I am no longer dating I felt like I didn't have a lot to write about.

But the universe has blessed me with a job which I believe will be endless blog fodder, so I am going to document it.  We'll see how it goes.

So for those that don't know, I got a part-time temporary job working for the Man in the capacity of one who will be taking demographic information of those who reside in my community in an event that happens every ten years.  To avoid people finding my blog by searching for the actual name of this operation, I will not be using it.

This week was the training week.  So far training has gone about as expected.  It has been pretty disorganized and I have spent a lot of time reading my book.  The people in my training group are overwhelmingly middle-aged white men.  You work in your neighborhood, and this demographic is pretty consistent with the overall demographic of my neighborhood so I guess I shouldn't be surprised.  But I know I am not going to be good friends with anyone.  I should note here for people who read my blog, but don't know me or haven't been updated since my last post - I have since moved out of the ghetto in Brooklyn  to lower Manhattan in a more middle/upper-middle class neighborhood. 

Today was the last day of sitting-in-a-room training, which is good because if I had to listen to this one obnoxious guy ask one more moronic question my head was going to asplode.

The story for the purpose of today's blog is about one of the middle-aged white guys in my training, named William.  William's MO throughout the training has been to talk too loudly about how no one is going to a) answer their doors to us b) be nice to us when we come by or c) give us any information that might help us.  William also had come up with several nonsense hypothetical scenarios that took up immense amounts of discussion time and would then complain that things were dragging on.  I had decided that I think that William's feelings about how others will act is more of a reflection on how he himself would act were someone with our job to come to his home.  And I was proved right in the following exchange in which I decided for some unknown reason to strike up a conversation with him.

William had mentioned that a local VIP lived on the same floor as him in his building.  During a break I made a little comment about this local VIP and somehow ended up mentioning which apartment complex I live in. William started off friendly and said "Oh I live in that complex too!" And I said, oh really? What building? And he answered that he lives in building X.  And I said "oh that's funny, I've never seen you, I live in Building X too!"  (This is not out of the ordinary.  The building has 35 floors and I probably have only seen a fraction of the people who live there.)

But this is where it turns weird.  It was like I could see on William's face that he was really wishing that this conversation would be over, but I couldn't really understand why. I plodded on and asked what floor he lived on and told him what floor I live on.  William got even more uncomfortable and said "that's secret."  "Ok", I said, "but when I see you on the elevator, I will know."  William just shrugged and it was clear that we both wanted this conversation to end.  I kind of half-continued to conversation with a weak discussion about development in the area, even though I should just have left him to himself, but I felt like I couldn't leave it at his weird rebuffal.

For some reason, I am still thinking about this conversation because it just felt so strange to me.  But, it proved my original assumption - William is expecting everyone else to be weird, cagey, and assholes because those are all true of himself.

There was a brief moment today when I thought I would end up paired up with him to practice going door-to-door, but mercifully that didn't take place because I was almost in tears at the prospect of two hours of that miserable conversation.  I am sure William feels the same way.

Actual door-to-door is on Sunday...updates then.
 In fun news, local VIP lives in my buidling...although I may never know on which floor.

I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike

A couple weeks ago the building inspectors came and left a notice saying that all this stuff that was in the halls of my building needed to be cleared out. So Mute Guy got right to work and cleared a bunch of stuff out. I live on the 3rd floor, so rather than haul my bike up the stairs all the time I just left it in the 1st floor hallway. Unlocked. Yes, you can see where this is going.

So around the time that Mute Guy cleared out all of this stuff I noticed that I couldn't see my bike in the hallway when I came in the front door, so I thought maybe he had moved it to the side. However, I didn't check because I also thought that maybe it wasn't him who had moved it, so I avoided checking.

Well, Saturday was a beautiful day so I got ready to go for a ride, went downstairs, and of course...no bike.

Mute Guy lives/squats in the basement, and as there was no other place for him to have put it I was hoping maybe he had taken it down there. So I mustered all the courage I have and went down into the basement.

My bike was not down there. However, there WERE two live rat traps (empty, thank god), a filthyMickey Mouse rug, a huge pile of work boot-type shoes that Mute Guy has apparently been hoarding, and a pretty unpleasant smell. So that was pretty awful.

My next step was to put a sign up, still hoping that maybe Mute Guy or someone else had moved my bike and might know where it is. About 10 minutes after I put my sign up, Mute Guy came knocking at the door.

Now, here is the problem with Mute Guy. He thinks people can understand him because he's not actually mute because he can still make Helen Keller moaning sounds. And I guess because he can hear the words that he is saying in his head, he assumes that it translates to his moaning. He is incorrect.

Anyway he comes up flailing his hands and groaning and getting very frustrated that I am not understanding him. So I got him a piece of paper on which he writes "do not open the door when you leave"

So I was like, oh are you not here about my bike? I'm just wondering where my bike is....

He writes "close door".

Now, what he is referring to is that the door to the building is shit and either doesn't lock properly OR locks so that you are unable to open it with your key. It's pretty awesome. And you have to really make sure it has been pulled shut when you leave.
But I still wasn't sure what this had to do with my bike, so I told Mute Guy that I do always shut the door but that I still don't understand what he means.

Also in between his writings he is continuing to moan about something and it's super awkward because I keep having to tell him I don't understand. Then he gets frustrated and motions for me to follow him downstairs, which I do and we go to the place where my bike used to live. He motions at the now empty space, and I confirm that yes that is where my bike used to be. Aaaand then he is flailing his arms around moaning and moaning and gesturing towards this other bike that's on the other side of the hall.

So I keep saying, yes we're talking about my bike. Yes this is where it used to be. Yes it's missing. Even though I was pretty sure he already knew all that, but I couldn't understand what else is was trying to ask or tell me.

Finally he writes something like "Miss gone bike"

Awesome. He might as well have moaned that for all it made sense. I told him I didn't understand and he wrote "what day bike stole", which is when I said that I was thinking he had moved it when he moved everything else. He made an exaggerated sad face and shook his head. "So you didn't move it?" I said. He shook his head. "So it's just stolen." He nodded. "Well, I guess I'll just take my stuff then" The bike thief had left behind my helmet, bike basket and unused lock, the latter of which Mute Guy took out of my hand, shook in my face, and moaned his clearest expression of the whole day, being that I should have kept it locked. Then through a complicated series of gestures and moans I gathered that he was telling me that it was possible to see my bike from the street if the front door was open, and that it would have been tempting for a bike thief. Which explains why sometimes he would move it to the other side of the hall that isn't visible from the door. And which made me feel like a jackass for never realizing.

He then took me to the front door to show me where it looks like someone may have dug into the door to push open the latch....maybe to steal my bike or maybe for something else. He then made a hand-phone gesture and moaned a little. My Mute Guy communication skills had improved by this point, so I let him know that I would call the landlord about the broken lock, to which he responded with a prayer-gesture and an almost-intelligible "please".

So, good-bye bike. You will be missed.

you're never gonna leave and i'm never gonna leave, but you're never going to love me like i need

By the end of 2005 I had been sleeping with my coworker, J., for almost a year. For maybe about 2 months of that year we were what could have been possibly in some circles considered almost a legitimate relationship. But otherwise it was basically par for the course for Caitlinships and since like October of that year he had been in love with another girl we worked with who he was also sleeping with.

And you might be like, wow, was this like Brad Pitt over here? Quite the opposite, friend. If I had to compare J. to a well-known figure I would say Phillip Seymour Hoffman plus about 50 lbs. My sister suggested Tweedle Dee. There are many mysteries in the universe. One of the most significant is how this kid always got these really cute girls despite having few redeeming qualities. Anyway, all this set-up to discuss what happened the day after Christmas in 2005.

Around 2 am I start getting calls and texts from J. He was always a really big drunk dialer (oh I should mention he was pretty much an alcoholic). He was at the coast with his parents for Christmas. But because they didn't have enough room in their condo they had put him up in a hotel and he suggested I come out and stay with him at this hotel. "C'mon Caitlin. It's great. We could start a really nice life together here." I am not kidding you, that's what he said. And I fucking fell for it. So at 4 am I pack up an overnight back and head out to the coast, still wearing my pajamas. Incidientally I just realized I am wearing those same pj's right now. Think about it.
It was a 2 hour drive to his hotel and around 5 am I got pulled over for speeding. When the cop asked me why I was speeding I said, "Listen. It's the day after Christmas. It's 5 am. I am driving in the middle of the night to see a boy. I am wearing my pajamas and it's stupid." He let me go because he said my "honesty was refreshing." I showed up to J.'s hotel at 6 am and he was smashed, of course. At arounded 10 am we headed over to his parents' condo.

When his parents asked how, exactly, a friend of his from town was at the coast he told them that he had gotten drunk and texted everyone he knew asking them to come out, and that I was the only one who responded.

I am going to let that sink in for a minute.

I should have at that time gotten up and said it was now time for me to go back home. But I didn't. I stayed the weekend with him at the hotel. I even called in sick because I was supposed to be back to work after the holiday. And we didn't do shit. We laid around in bed and watched Dog the Bounty Hunter. We went to the aquarium and had nothing to say to each other. I dropped a bunch of change and he stood there while I picked it up. But the whole time I was fighting so hard for us to have this life together he had promised. After all, I was the one who cared enough to respond...not the one pathetic enough and eventually he would realize that. Right? Right?!?! No. Of course not. Every once in a while I do something sad enough that I have an out-of-body experience when I can actually see myself how I would look to an outsider. The last afternoon, sitting on his parents' couch while I tried to flirt with him and he ignored me to watch My Super Sweet 16 I had that out-of-body experience. "I'm going to go," I said. He didn't say anything. I cried the whole way home.

We continued to get drunk and have sex for a couple months after that. See: My issues with self-respect.

But I am working on it, so last night when I got a text in the middle of the night from this guy, apparently not satisfied about his starring role in ball less breakups, asking why he'd never been in a dating disaster post and then suggesting that perhaps I would like to come over, I declined. I think we all know that not a lot has changed about my dating patterns in the last 4 years, but I don't respond anymore to booty calls from people who don't care about me.

There you go, mister.

Dating Disaster #7: Some have travelled far and wide, some have given up and died, for the love of a sweet lovin' man

Ok, so several years ago I was doing a lot of craigslist dating and one dude who had written me never sent me his picture, which I figured was fine. I sat outside of a bar looking expectantly at every guy who came up, until my date finally rolled up. Yes, rolled up. On roller skates. Not even roller blades. And he had this scraggly beard (which he nervously picked hair out of for the entire date) and was obviously someone I would not have dated had I seen his picture ahead of time.
When he rolled up and looked at me he said, "You look disappointed."
He was correct.
But this post isn't about this date. This post is about the date that I just got home from. This was an okcupid date, so this guy had seen my picture....but, when he walked up his face looked like I imagine mine must have when I first saw roller skate guy. I feel like there was a moment when he was a) hoping that he had walked into the wrong bar or b) hoped that I hadn't recognized him and he could turn around.
So this dude is 35, which is older than guys I tend to date. Example: He talked about having been to Eugene for a Grateful Dead show...now, he didn't say when that was, but Jerry Garcia died when I was 12...sooo... And in general he is just in a different place in his life than me.
And maybe he realized that right away, maybe it was just a feeling he had. But he ordered sake, which is baaasically the smallest drink you can get at a bar aside from a shot, and he did not nurse that motherfucker.
After about a half hour he said, "So, um, this is kind of like a school night for me...so I had better get going."
Yeah, buddy, better make sure you get home at 9 o clock. Asshole.
Shortest date ever.
I at least stuck around for two drinks with roller skate guy.
So I don't know what happened, maybe he realized we were at different places...maybe I look grossly disfigured compared to my picture. I have no idea.
What I do know is that I can't do this anymore.
Taking a break from dating, indefinitely.

sports theater

So, I am planning on doing a duathalon in April, assuming I don't psych myself out. But I keep running into mucho problemas, some of them legitimate and some of them that are more or less self-created.
Problem number one is I have an overuse injury. How awesome is that!? My calves were getting really sore when I was running, to the point that I had to stop because it was too painful. So I started doing all the stuff that running websites tell you to do -- I got an ice pack, I did stretches, I got tiger balm, I got heel inserts for my shoes, I got new shoes -- but it wasn't really helping. So the other thing you can do is get a brace for your shin/calf. So after trying everything else I, being me, went the dramatic route and got the brace. So now I wear it at the gym and I feel kind of bad ass because I look like a legitimate athlete.
Problem number two is it's fucking cold which presents two problems. 2a is that I am worried that I won't have enough outside training time, so I use that to psych myself out thinking that maybe I should wait because I won't be ready in time. 2b is that it I'm not always all that motivated to walk 15 minutes each way to the gym in 20 degree wind chill weather.
Problem three is that my gym is way too crowded after work. Normally if I go right after work if I get off at 5, it's not too bad. I went today and it was insanity. I waited around for a machine and finally gave up, telling myself that I will come back, which there is probably a 25% chance of me actually doing.
I considered joining the gym next door to my work, but then I was reading reviews of it and one person said they had been to better gyms in Beirut. So I am not going to pay twice as much for a third world gym, which is probably just as crowded.
So until April 5th I plan on limping around with my brace on, moaning about interferences to my "training schedule" and generally being extra dramatic. And hopefully I won't talk myself out of the duathlon.

if love is a drug i guess we're all sober

The evening security guard at my work is very friendly. Every day when I leave we chat and he gives me a stick of gum. He knows more about me than is really probably necessary for a security guard to know. A while back he asked me if I had a boyfriend and I said I did not and he said "why?!". Well, Hassan, it's obviously because no one will ever love me. Tomorrow we'll begin a series of 3 minute discussions on my choices in partners.

Today I asked Hassan about his day off, and he in return asked me about mine. I told him I had gone to see a movie. "Alone?", he asked. I said that no I had gone with a friend. He looked so heartbreakingly hopeful for a minute and said "A friend.....? A...boy? friend?" And I said that it was a female friend. Crushed. He was so crushed. "You don't have a boyfriend, right?" And I confirmed that I do not. He gave me this pitying smile and I was like, "what?". He paused for a minute..."I don't like that...you look good! You are young! You should have a boyfriend!"

Thanks, Hassan. No, really.

I have recently had yet another dating disaster, which I don't have enough distance from to blog about (making it sound much more tragic than it was)....and I was thinking that maybe I really just want to spend some time on me. Isn't there a sex and the city or something where they date themselves? I don't know. I don't watch that show.

But then I was like, my friends are already always thinking about setting me up with people ...but you know it's bad when the security guard at your work is tired of you being single....so I guess I will plod on in my ongoing quest to not date an asshole and at least Hassan will be happy.

Target, I love you, but you're bringing me down

This is a conversation I had with my friend today:
E: I think I am going to get a bike this spring
Me: You totally should, I was really glad I got mine last year
E: Where do you keep yours?
Me: Um, ok...well....so there is this mute homeless man who I guess squats in the basement of my building? And he hoards stuff? Like, I threw out this chopper that didn't work and then he had it. And sometimes he has food back there and I am not sure if he gets it from a food pantry or the garbage. And then sometimes he has other stuff that he hoards but you wouldn't know why because it's not useful and you can't sell it. Anyway, I keep my bike back there. I keep it in the little back area where the homeless man who sleeps on a cot in my building's basement keeps stuff he finds in our trash.
E: Oh ok. Yeah, who knows why people hoard what they do.

I love Brooklyn.

I forgot to blog about my two year living in New York anniversary! It was the 8th. In thinking about it I was trying to think about my favorite moving to New York memory. And at first I was thinking about re-living the day I went from the hotel I was in to my friend's apartment and the cabbie threw all of my crap onto the street because he didn't want to go to Brooklyn. But then, this blog showed up and reminded me that of course I had to write about the worst day in my whole life, which is the first time I went to the Atlantic terminal target.

Unfortunately, I deleted my myspace so I no longer have the gem of a blog that I wrote back when the wounds of that day were still fresh and my tears barely dried. But I will try to sum it up as best I can, keeping in mind that the lens of experience and jadedness mars the ability to portray exactly how devastating this episode was.

To set the scene: It is January, 2007. I have lived in New York City (said as in Pace salsa commercial) for less than one week. This is the day that I move into the apartment that I will live in for my first 18 months here and although I don't yet know it, will be the scene of many stories to come.
I am extremely anxious and on edge about everything. I only have what I could bring with me on the plane, so I head to Target to pick up some essentials. My new roommate -- who I actually don't even live with yet -- has a shopping cart similar to the one pictured, that I decide to take with me.

When I get to Target I get a regular shopping cart and put the old lady shopping cart inside of it and go about my business. There is an escalator in this Target with a separate entrance for carts. As I head to the second floor and put my shopping cart on the escalator, I note a wall next to the cart escalator and think to myself "Hm, I wonder if my old lady cart will be too tall sticking out of the cart and get stuck on the wall?" And then I proceed to put the whole contraption on the escalator.
Now, you may have heard me tell this story before. Or you may just have sensed the foreshadowing and are not surprised, that yes the cart does get stuck to the wall. I watch in slow motion as the old lady cart begins to bend until it is completely jammed up against the wall. At that point, the Target cart tips over, spilling out all of my carefully selected school supplies. I reach out and let out a movie slow motion "Noooo"...but there is no hope. Other shoppers look on in disgust as their own carts are victims of the pileup. Several employees band together and free the cart, handing me back the old lady cart that is now at a 45 degree angle to its original formation. And I. start. crying. And I can't stop. And I'm just crying and crying and crying. But I have shit to buy, so I am shopping and walking through the store and just crying the whole time. Obviously this is going to become my normal state. Like the girl who had hiccups for however long...I will just be the girl that cries...I will have to live out the rest of my life going through every day activities sobbing.
So, with a full cart I go to pay...only to learn that all of my credit cards are declined because my banks helpfully put holds on them due to suspect spending. Nothing changes for me though...I just keep crying and crying and I leave the store. In the melee, I have lost one of my gloves, so I walk out with one hand in my pocket and my gloved hand towing the wrecked property of a stranger (where's THAT lyrics Alanis?). It is bitter cold, but my tears flow hot and do not freeze.

Bedding was included in the many items I picked out that day that never left the store. I didn't have a bed and my new roommate had been kind enough to let me take the futon from the living room into my room to sleep on, and she had even got out some sheets for me. After destroying her personal things, I didn't have the heart to ask for a blanket. I spent the next 3 nights sleeping on the futon with just a sheet...wearing every item of clothing I had brought with me, including gloves and a hat...shivering and crying until I finally bought a blanket.

For a long time I blamed the Target experiene on my own general ineptitude. But then Fucked in Park Slope comes along with their secret cameras to help me prove to the world that the Atlantic Center Target is the worst Target in the world.

Observe:
This is Part 1.

FIPS Undercover - Worst TARGET Evah (Brooklyn, NY) from Effed in Park Slope on Vimeo.

This is Part II


FIPS Undercover II: Target Sucks (Brooklyn, NY) from Effed in Park Slope on Vimeo.


I am pretty excited for III and IV

I like to think I have come a long ways since that day two years ago. But....basically...I live in a shittier apartment in the same neighborhood with worse roommates and I still shop at that Target and hate it every time. BUT I generally move through my days without excessive tearfulness. So that's something.
And now I have a bike that a mute bum watches over.

Measles Mumps Rubella

Here is a picture of measles:



Wikipedia says this is a picture of a kid with mumps. I suspect it is just an Augustus Gloop kid. Regardless, notice the swollen cheeks.


This is a picture of Rubella.



After the oil cleansing method's massive failure I decided to get back on some kind of acne medication. This was an extensive 2 months-long ordeal involving the insurance company and 2 stupid doctors and a bunch of frustration, until I finally went and saw a dermatologist that I liked. He prescribed me Retin-A and some other stuff.

The derm said that about 25% of people get worse before they get better but to "stick with it!!" I believe he may have been disingenuous about that figure, or I fall into the 25%. But basically, Retin-A was like, "Oh, what? You were self-conscious and upset about your face? Hm? You bail all the time on plans because you don't like to go out in public. Oh, well fuck you. Here, let me make you look like you went to get the MMR vaccine but it went horribly, horribly wrong and mutilated your face." For like 4 days my face just got worse and worse. The bottom of my face was all swollen up like Mumps up there. I will spare you the details of some of the nasty bumps, but it was a bad, measeley, pussy scene. And then it got red all over and hot and rubellaed. And also really hurt a lot. And also peeled and was flaky on top of the symptoms of MMR. Pretty awesome. This was all while I was home over Christmas...so the plus side is that I at least didn't have to come to work with my deformity. The negative was that my family, who I only see twice a year, now has to live for the next 6 months with their last memory of me looking like every Proactiv before image layered on top of each other.
It is now pretty much back to what it looked like when I went to the dermatologist and itches. Woo progress.

Anyway, supposedly my skin is gonna look sogood once it gets better. Fingers crossed, otherwise I am probably going to have to get a face transplant. I have decided that this is either a lesson on how to love myself from the inside, or punishment for every bitchy thing I have ever said about another girl.

i read with every broken heart we should become more adventerous

Well, I was dumped today. Via e-mail, which rounds out the other ball-less ways people have broken up with me including phone, text message, and instant message. And yet, never in person. In case you didn't already know that I have a shitty track record, this should give you an idea of the type of person I date. I would like the next person who dumps me to do it via telegram.
I didn't want to have to do this. Stop
I like you, but just not enough. Stop
I hope we can keep in touch. Stop

And you may be saying to yourself, wait Caitlin was in a relationship? Wasn't she going on all these other dates? And you are partially right, friend. But I was not in a real relationship. I was only in the type of relationship that I continually am in, which is one that sucks up my life for months and months at a time with someone who likes me, but not quite enough to not be an asshole. Thus, the side-dating with other equally douchy dudes who I vainly hope will be able to commit.

Normally I would be back on the prowl and probably have an immediate one night stand. Maybe even tonight. It's not unheard of. Unfortunately, my skin situation is such that I barely want to leave the house leave lone go on a date where I try not to self-consciously keep my hands in front of my face the entire time. But I did go to the doctor today. Predictably, she admonished me for being a skin picker. I have never heard a convincing enough reason to think that that shit needs to stay inside my skin. Also, I have very few joys in life. One of them is discovery health shows about freaks. Another is picking at my face. Don't take that away from me.

Sad News for my blog

Most of my readers now come from google searches looking for amish friendship bread or pictures of robin weigert. I'm not sure how to feel about that. I doubt they come back for a second read, although hopefully I have deterred people from starting an AFB ring of cinnamon sugar hell.

in between the place you want to be and where you are

Ok, So I really didn't want my blog to turn into just a bunch of venting about my stupid roommates. But, there are a lot of things I don't want. For instance, I don't want to...live in this apartment any more. I don't want...the binge eating problem I appear to be developing. I don't want....Sarah Palin as vice president. Unfortunately I seem to have no control over any of these issues. So here it goes.
Last time I bought milk, I thought that it seemed that it had gone empty before I thought it should. And i wasn't sure if I had used it up and forgot, or if someone else had used it. So, next time I bought milk I wrote a little "CJ" on the cap, to avoid any milk mixups. Today I went to look at my milks, like you do, and discovered that there was maybe 2 tablespoons left in each the soy milk and regular milk. I do not leave small amounts like that in my milks because it annoys me. You know who does that? Slobs. You know who I live with? Slobs.
But still, I was like, well, maaaybe I used the milk. But then I realized. There are 4 boxes of cereal on top of the fridge (none of them are mine. I can't buy cereal because of aforementioned binge eating problem). There is NO other milk inside fridge. And, come to think of it, I'm not even sure I've ever seen any other milk in the fridge.
And, as in other areas of my life, I see that other people are not buying their own cows, but using my milk for free.

I learn a lot in my new apartment. Like problem solving. there are always several solutions to every problem. For instance, flies are a problem. And, unsurprisingly, a problem in my apartment.
One solution is to sit on the couch and watch football for 6 and a half hours straight with a can of raid at your side. When you see a fly, you get up and spray it.
Another solution is to do your goddamn dishes and eliminate the source of the problem.
Guess which is the preferred solution in my apartment.

Finally I am going to be starting a segment called, "Things in my fridge that shouldn't be there"
So far:
Empty bag of cheese.
Melon in produce drawer that has been there since i moved in and is developing a spotted pattern
Grocery store receipt.

Roommate Fail

I don't know if I've ever lived anywhere before where the roommates absolutely failed at taking care of biznass related to, you know, being on top of shit.

This is the roommate breakdown:
Roommate 1: Unemployed, getting PhD in forensic psych (finishing dissertation), looking for job as waiter. Roommate with whom I have had the most contact. Has lived here 1 year.
Roommate 2.: Grad student, socially awkward, have only seen for 5 mins since moving here. Also has lived here 1 year.
Roommate 3. Moved in a month ago. Stoner. Chill. Only person so far to acknowledge unfortunate bathroom sitch (see below).

I don't know if I mentioned it in my last post, but it bears repeating. The apartment smells kind of bad -possibly due to a mouse infestation, which I cleaned up a ton of mouse poop the other day from under the sink and filled up a black garbage bag with other plastic bags so as not to continue to leave a nice little habitat for mousersons. The other odor problem is a broken toilet. There are two bathrooms, which means less inclination to get said broken toilet fixed. But, as roommate 3 said, the toilet is STANK. It is so nasty. I don't know what it was like before...but I think my mover may have peed in the broken toilet. Thus, there has been piss just sitting in the toilet for a week.

So whatev, I have some issues with the roommates in general because they just don't really care about stuff. They had to have known about the mouse, but they just don't deal with it.

So then I was looking at the mail that is around and saw a bill from the electric company and noticed that they had missed a month. Roommate #2 is responsible for bills. So I was like, well I would prefer that bills were paid on time, but everyone forgets a month now and then and it's not in my name so I don't care.

Then I was looking at mail on the kitchen table today and saw a notice from the gas company. Apparently they owe $500 and they are going to shut off the gas.

Fabulous. These are all adults here, but absolutely nothing gets taken care of. It's ridiculous. And I was actually looking for bills to find the cable bill because I think I will take it upon myself to order us DVR. Given that Roommate #1 said he had been thinking about getting DVR since they moved in - 1 year- I'm just gonna go ahead and assume that this place is a DIY kind of deal.

On a positive note I cannot recommend highly enough DiscountContactLenses.com. I was reluctant to order online b/c I wanted contacts right away. But I went to a place by my work to pick some up and they were charging $35 a box. DCL.com was $13 a box. I put in my order and they emailed me 2 hours later (record time!) to say it had shipped. I ordered the expedited shipping (making the total per box about $16...still way cheaper), and they came today! And I ordered Weds!
Total fan.
Also, the new TJ's is opening up like 4 blocks from my work.

Thwarted by technology

Thursday morning I got a text from a dude that I have been trying to cut out of my life. Later that morning, I accidentally spilled water all over my phone, frying it and impeding my ability to text. I would have texted back, because I have no self control, so it was clearly the universe intervening before I created further heartache for myself.

The universe wasn't thinking ahead though, and I emailed the dude while I was at work. Then I spent all Thursday and Friday and also Saturday being irritated, that although we had emailed back and forth a couple times, it wasn't to the degree I would have liked. So I was all mopey.

Friday night the dude called me and left a message (EVEN THOUGH I had said my phone was broken. Fucking moron). I can see phone calls and texts, but I can't reply or call back. A few of the keys on my phone still work though, including the one that gets me to voicemail, but not the numbers in my password (side note, I really hate having to have a voicemail password. I don't give a shit who listens to my voicemail. Oh you want to listen to my mom calling to tell me to remind her to tell me a funny story about what happened at the market? Be my guest.). So I go to the website to change my password to numbers that work on my phone. The message that I got was "Invalid Mtn." Which, a websearch tells me does not mean I have an invalid mountain, but in fact an invalid mobile telephone number. Which is bullshit, the website enters it for you and it is actually my phone number. No dice there, can't listen to the voicemail. I would probably have emailed the dude, but...

Saturday night my roommate got drunk and spilled crap all over our cable modem. No more internet. I am in Starbucks paying 6 dollars for an hour...although a hobo just told me there's a free place down the street.
Awesome.
Why was a hobo in Starbucks?

A lot of posts tagged "fail" recently. Things are a little rough for Caitlin right now.

Dating Disaster #3 or,The date that wasn't

So. I've been posting these dating disasters. And guess who should resurface but Griffin, of the blog stalking fame.
This motherfucker found my blog a while back. Wrote me a comment. Wrote me several emails, trying to get me to go out with him. I didn't, because the psycho checked my blog EVERY HOUR for a while.
So then i write these blogs, and Smith (reported first name) at smithstreetbrooklyn@hotmail.com (obvious fake email. i know that. but in case you want to send hate mail) writes me and says "oh, if you'd like a date you can blog happily about, you should let me know.
Turns out that he has written me on a day when I am bored and lonely, so we agree to meet at this bar in Carroll Gardens at 7:45.
I was a little late. 7:55. I walk into the bar and see friends of my bff Steph -- Bernard and Rebecca.
"Oh, hey...friends of friends" I say, awkwardly. "I am here to meet a date. Some creep who reads my blog and won't leave me alone."
I look around. Everyone at the bar looks the same. and they all look like my potential date. But none seem to be my date. Seriously...they all had the same haircut, same generic t-shirt style....it was bizarre.
"Hey sit and have a drink," my friends say. I comply, all the while looking for my date. For like the first half hour I was watching the door, looking around. I even got out my cell phone to check my email and get his picture from the email, which I showed to Bernard and Rebecca and even the bartender who all confirmed he was not in the bar and had not been in the bar.
He never fucking shows.
There is a dude who looks a lot like Smith. My friends agree that he looks like Smith and "dare" me to go ask if it's him. I do.
No, he says, I am not Smith.
I walk back to my barstool, mortified.
Later, not-Smith comes up to me. "There are about 5 guys over there claiming to be Smith," he says. I laugh, but none of the other not-Smiths come over. I was flattered, and probably would have talked to any of them, but no luck there.
5 drinks later, I decide to leave the bar. I'm drunk, pissed and amused all at the same time.
All this time, my friends insisted that the bartender had a thing for me. I agreed, especially since he kept giving us all these drinks. Normally, he would not be someone I was interested in....but I do like free drinks, and it had been a weird night.
As we get ready to leave the bar, it turns out that he was charging us for the drinks.
Still, my friends decide I should leave a note on a coaster for the bartender who clearly had a thing for me. I do. He shoves it under the bar.
Apparently he looked at it after I left and said, "oh, that's sweet."
Basically? Fuck you.

And here's what I don't get....this dude is kind of obsessed with my blog...kind of obsessed with how amazing I am, and I finally consent to a date, so why the no-show? Was it because I was 10 mins late and he left? I told him I would blog about it..did he get cold feet? Did he not like the picture? 5 not-Smiths, the bartender and Bernard would all say the latter could not possibly be the case. So what gives.
Regardless, I have zero tolerance at this point for date stupidity. So, in case anyone was wondering, there will be no second chances. And I'm taking a break from dating for awhile. I think at least the rest of the month. In the meantime, I'm going to be working out my self-respect and self-esteem issues.

I'm also going to be taking a little break from blogging. Return date TBD.

I got scammed!

So, my mom sent my sewing machine to me and I was very excited. So it came in this big box with all these packing peanuts. And I took the sewing machine out of the box and took it upstairs and threw the box out. The box sat out on the sidewalk for several days and every day I was like, I should just check in that box and make sure i didn't miss anything. But I didn't do it.
So then, last weekend I was all excited to work on some crafts and I go to get out my sewing machine only to see that the foot pedal and power cord were not with it. I had apparently thrown them out. :(
So I had a mini nervous breakdown about my failure to manage basic life skills. Then I did a search online to find the replacement parts. It turns out that they are kind of hard to track down. I did call one company and he was like, "nope, I don't know if we have that." And I was like, "um...ok...would you be interested in checking?" And he gave me a whole bunch of nonsense. So I ended up deciding to order from the only place online that I could find. So I put in the order, got a little receipt and my card was charged. So that was on the 28th.
Yesterday, I emailed to see if I could get a tracking number, and didn't hear back.
Today, I kind of got concerned that it might be a scam, so I called the company. The phone was disconnected. Not a good sign.
I emailed a different email address and it was returned.
I googled "Sewing Style Scam" and came back with several hits, including complaints to the Better Business Bureau. I was totally hosed!
I called the bank to dispute the charges, and then in the meantime decided to call local Janome dealers to get the part.
One place said I needed to send in $20 and that he isn't going to order parts for another 2 weeks anyway.
Another place told me to trace the holes in my machine and bring in the tracing so that he could match up the plugs. I said, "Um, I have given you the make and model for this machine...so you should just be able to look and see if you have it in stock, and if you don't, you order it."
I seriously got the same shit from all the places I called. They wanted me to bring in my 20lb machine (not going to happen) and gave me a bunch of bullshit when I questioned why they seem to have so much trouble telling me if they have the part, or ordering it if they don't.
So then, I decided to call this place in Eugene b/c my mom was going to stop in there anyway.
When I called the woman was so nice and said she would check to see if they had it. When she checked and found they didn't have it, she said she would order it.
No bs about me needing to bring in the machine. No crap about tracing holes. And she was so nice. When she looked up how much it cost she was like, "oh i'm sorry, but it's $90". So nice! No bullshit!
And that is why I am moving back to Oregon next June.
My mom said, "Is that the reason New Yorkers are so angry all the time?"
Yes! Exactly! Because there is absolutely no reason for a sewing machine store to not tell me if they have a part. Argh!

Daily functioning Fail.

When I was in 6th grade (see left) I had a locker in school for the first time. I could not get the lock to open on my locker and it was a major source of stress. I had a lot of anxiety in the 6th grade. My mom even came into school after school to help me on more than one occasion, and still I couldn't manage on my own.
We may have even made up a rhyme to help me remember. We made up a rhyme to help me remember my bus, after I got on the wrong bus once in 1st grade. SE-23, in case you are wondering. it wasn't a rhyme so much as just the name of my bus set to a little tune.
Anyway the point of this, besides the opportunity to post this awesome picture of me that I love, is to tell this little story. I went to the 99cent store today to get stickers. They did not have any besides these jumbo Dora stickers that I did not want. But they had some other stuff I wanted, including a padlock. I have misplaced my other locks, I think when I moved, and have been using a little luggage lock when I go to the gym. It's not convenient, so I got this little lock for a dollar.
Well, you get what you pay for and I can't get the son of a bitch open. It's 6th grade all over again! Where's my clip-on tie and my Mary Englebret lunch bag (I didn't start carrying the Sailor Moon lunch box until 8th grade I think).
My mom said I looked like Annie Hall in that outfit, btw, which I think had a coordinating skirt. And my Grandma Sugar loved my glasses so much she was inspired to get blue ones for herself.
Also, I never did learn to open my locker. I began to share a locker with Marissa (who reads and comments!) and Ember (who is probably too busy being a grown up to read my blog)...thus setting the stage for my middle school career. What a happy ending.