This is not how I wanted to start this blog.
I wanted to start it with self reflection and a mild dose of reality tinged with optimism, because I was recently told that even reality has its pangs of optimism. <– Don’t know if I really believe that. But, whatever.
This is not THAT type of blog post.
This post is a peek into the shenanigans that manage to pop up in my life at the most INCONVENIENT of times. Just things that if I weren’t there myself, I swear I wouldn’t believe it.
So here goes…
Right now as I type this, at my desk, on my last day, I look a WRECK! In no way is that an overstatement, and it very well could be an understatement. I look like a Rasta! My braids are ashy, my eyes are red and irritated, and I have one of those sub-dermal pimples that no one can see, but you sure as heck can feel it…yea! Not to mention I am STARVING, but I am not going to eat until I complete this post!! <– Now THAT’S dedication.
The things leading up to my current crappy disposition had nothing to do with me! Yea, for once, I can say that in no way did I bring any of these “events” upon myself!
So last night, on the eve of my exodus, I was contacted by my #1 RI BFF, whose name I cannot disclose because I do not have explicit written permission to use their name in a public forum such as this, to have my final going away meal and meeting for the last, last, LAST time (seriously we said “bye” on 3 separate occasions). Those of you who know me, know that Panera Bread is my new sandwich obsession spot!! So that’s where we went to basically act like we didn’t have good sense. Good times. So our evening comes to a close and we part ways, but not before having another 15min laughter-laced conversation in the parking lot that ended with “venta” and “lehigh”. <– Long story, but let’s just say that in my quest to be a good friend, I’m also advancing my marketable skills.
So I get in the car, cue up my lovely summer 90’s mix, and head down the road. I call my Bestie and we begin discussing one of her many misfits that has, somehow, imprinted on me. As I’m making my way on to I95, the paper work I need for Temple decides to make an exit stage right via the passenger side window. F.M.L!!
Pause: If I believed in omens, then this was a pretty good one. The Universe was really trying to tell me something.
So now I’m freaking out. I double back to try to find the papers.
Mental note to reprint them at work. I drive on because I just realized that there are still a few loose ends that need to be tied before I lay my head down in RI for the last time.
I get to my apartment, and realize I have a Redbox movie that needs to be returned and it’s 8:33pm so I can still make the 9pm deadline! WOOT!…Before I pull off, though, I notice a U-Haul truck blocking my entrance into the driveway of my apartment (umm, great!) and there are about a half dozen or so of HoodBoogers posted on the front steps of the apartment (umm, double great!).
I drop the movie off. All the while still on the phone with the Bestie, debating the acceptable level of loyalty that should be displayed between friends of friends (more about this at a later date).
I return to my apartment, where the giant U-Haul truck is STILL blocking the driveway. Expletives. I park on the street and make my way to my building.
Pause: Everything that you have been told so far has been to set the tone. It was necessary for you to know that, outside of my stupid papers flying out of the window, my day got continuously better as the hours rolled on. In no way was I prepared for what I got.
So I see these big burly dudes getting stuff out of a truck, and paid no attention to it.* I spoke pleasantries and used my manners to skate past them, and then proceed to move on with my life. I assumed that they were moving into the apartment on the first floor. Yay for you. Welcome to the building. Whatever.
*Note: It should be said that the reason that I paid no attention to the truck and movers is because over the course of the last month “folks” having been moving in left, right and center. So no big deal, right?
I was wrong.
I see people coming down the stairs. Oh, umm, ok. Maybe they are moving into the 2nd floor apartment. I haven’t seen the guy who lives there in about a week or so. Maybe he moved out. #Kanyeshrug.
These people were moving into my apartment…THAT I HADN’T YET MOVED OUT OF!!! <–Yea. I’ll wait while you reread that and try to get your brain around it. Mhm. Yup. Ok, now the look of sheer confusion mixed with anger mixed with WTF…is EXACTLY what my face looked like.
To the Bestie, “I gotta call you back.”
I hung up. Without her customary “ok.”
I proceed cautiously into MY apartment to find about 7-8 people moving sh*t into the bedroom, “Uuuuuuuuuuuh! Excuse me! WTF is going on??!!”
A cute kid, no more than 15, extremely well spoken, approaches me and says, “Oh. You’re the one who lives here, right? Yea, come with me. I think we have a problem on our hands.”
The world’s BIGGEST understatement young man.
So I follow him, through MY living room, MY kitchen, and partially down MY annoying spiral staircase, and then met face-to-face the person who was in charge of this territory encroachment.
Me-“Umm. What’s going on?”
Her-“I was told that this apartment was vacant.”
Me-“Ummm. It’s not.”
Her-“Yea…I see that.”
Silence from me, silence from her, silence from the giant posse she bought with her.
Siiiiiilence. Because no one had any words.
…well that’s not entirely true. I had words. 3 of ’em to be precise. And from the look on her face, she had the same ones too.
W. T. F!?!
So her posse leaves the room. I’m, now, a bit more at ease because I was waaaaaaaaaaay out numbered!!! <–Real talk. She and I begin to get to the bottom of this, this, this-ness.
Here’s the issue: Her realty agent told her that MY apartment had been vacant for weeks. IMPOSSIBLE!! I’ve been there for weeks!! My realty agent told me that the person, more specifically DUDE, that was taking the apartment, would be moving in on Sunday. Ok. Neither one of the agents apparently talked to each other. No one did their due diligence! HTF does that happen?!? YOU WORK IN THE SAME OFFICE WITH EACH OTHER!!! ACROSS THE HALL, NO LESS!! <–Pissed.
My security and peace of mind have now been mercilessly ripped away. All in mere minutes.
She calls her realty agent.
I don’t have a private number to reach mine.
Then reality punches me in the head: Umm, hey, the $1800 love of your life is here…and isn’t in the box hidden like normal.
I think I went temporarily deaf for like 2.5secs. Not MacLovin. Not my iTunes. Not my LIFE! OMFG! I think I’m having a stroke.
So I maneuver to the last spot where I KNOW MacLovin was. And there it sat, a little dusty, but still as beautiful as the day I laid eyes on it.
Still in my possession.
Thank you, God.
So what do we do now? Her stuff is half moved in and my stuff is half moved out!! The realty office is closed. And her realtor, who BTW, I blame for all of this, will not answer the phone.
So being two college educated, reasonable, young women, we talk about it.
She has to go to work at 11. Umm, ok.
So I sit and lament, because I’m still in SHOCK! Rightfully so, I believe.
Then I speak. “You might as well move all your stuff into the back room.”
Yea. I know. “…WTF were yoooouuuuuuu thinking!!??!”
I’m glad you asked.
My thought process went like this: We are both in the same boat, albeit different ends, with no paddles to maneuver this ::ahem:: creek. I have all of my stuff in the kitchen, minus my mattress. She is going to work, and already had it worked out to go stay with one of the 766546731347643 family members she bought with her to move her stuff in. Plus, they were nice. Hood…but nice. They were the type that acted like BoneQuiQui at home, but if you took them somewhere, they’d have some Act Right.
No, they were NOT black.
And they were really interested in my Temple move! <–Seriously, how could I not like them? They let me big myself up and they loved it too. LOVE THEM.
My vanity got the best of me…SO SUE ME!
Spent the rest of the evening listening to her cousins, who sounded like Rosie Perez, but with a BK accent, talk about random childhood experiences in Spanglish. They kept speaking in English and would then just roll into Spanish.
Pause: I’ve been asked what my nationality is several times, while I’ve been up here (the usual guess is some type of Caribbean classification. Usually. However, here, with the high number of Latinos who, LOOK LIKE ME, I’ve gotten Dominican). IDK what they thought I was.
So reality, with its warm and nurturing touch, punches me in the head again: Umm your not so understanding family will be here tomorrow morning and this, this right here, IS NOT a good look.
So I call my Right Hand.
Me-“Yo…we got a situation.”
Right Hand-“What are you talkin’ about Scali?!”
Me- Explains situation
Right Hand-“Shut up!”
Me-“Yea I know.”
Right Hand-“Answer me one question.”
Right Hand-“Are they front of the hand or back?” <– Say word.
Me-“Uhh…back. I guess…”
Right Hand-“Oh, aiight. Hold on I’mma call Mommy.”
It escalates from there. My mom, God bless her soul, is, well she’s my mom. And her #1 job is to protect her cub (Tee-hee I’m a cuuuub).
She started to go in…without letting me explain. Me and the Right Hand calm her down. I fully explain everything. And make it clear that, “Ya’ll gotta get up here earlier than originally planned.”
Mom-“Ok. Hold on. I’mma call your Dad.”
Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph!!!! NO!
A million times NO!
She calls him.
He gets on the phone. He’s tired. I hear it in his voice. I guess working 16hrs will do that to you. He’s irritated, and my mom didn’t tell him the situation.
I explain. He gets mad. I STFU. Nothing gets accomplished.
All I wanted was a solid ETA. That’s it. All I got was, “We’ll be there in the morning!”
Fair enough…I guess.
He hangs up. Mom’s pissed. I realized that I’d rather be dealing with the issues in MY apartment, instead of listening to her complain. I hang up.
Fast forward 3 or so hours and now its midnight and my “roomie” has all her stuff crammed into the back room. I give her the mailbox key. I assure her that I’ll be out by 3pm (even though I was not completely sure of that). We exchange pleasantries. Me and all of her 97646764654346 family members, who, again, were very nice, exchange pleasantries. I lock the door behind them.
Then all is silent.
Thank you, God.
I pack MacLovin away. Take a shower. Clean the bathroom. Put all the last minute things away. Gather the last of the trash. Make sure that I have EVERYTHING. Then I turn the lights out and go to sleep.
Too quiet. The HoodBoogers aren’t being themselves. The Hill isn’t as alive as it was in weeks past. MacLovin is off, which means my jazz sleepytime playlist is silent.
Ugh…it’s 2am and I have work in the morning. Still awake.
Sleep comes. I’m out like a rock.
Mommy wakes me up with a chipper text stating they are on their way.
Thank. You. God.
If anyone would have told me that THIS is how I would have spent my last night in RI. I would not have believed them…FOR OBVIOUS REASONS.<–P.S.- Uhh, #1 RI BFF…Thank you!
If I were told this is how I would be starting my very first blog. I would not have believed them…Though it makes for GREAT reading.
If someone told me that my level of anxiety, mixed with excitement, mixed with uncertainty, mixed with my refusal to be anything less than amazing, would have me ready to say, “I’m over it.”
Well, that…THAT I would believe.
Speak your mind…