I knew that moving was not going to be an enjoyable experience, as much as I wanted it to be, its just a fact of life: moving sucks. The actual process of moving is annoying, strenuous, time consuming...I could go on and on. My process though, was in its own class of terribleness. Bear with me, this is going to be a long one.
It all started on a sunny afternoon at the beginning of September. I was at work (of course) perusing craigslist for apartment listings. Gina and I had decided to be roommates a while ago, and vowed that we would start searching early. Throughout August we tried to haggle our way to a lower rent at Park La Brea, to no avail. We were scouring craigslist for cute apartment options, but every place we called said they needed someone to move in right away. Our move in date wasn't until the end of September. Finally September rolled around, and on this particular day, I found a listing for a brand new 2 bed/2 bath, hardwood floors throughout, granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, dishwater, underground parking, central a/c. A HUGE find for something in our price range. We made an appointment with the Property Manager, Justin, for that weekend.
That Saturday morning, we went to the new place to do a walk through. Justin was a grungy, pothead type who, while "on a hiatus" from acting, took this job as Property Manager for some extra cash and the free rent. He showed us a few of the units. We loved them. They were beautiful. The complex itself was still under heavy construction. The garage was full of random construction materials, the laundry room was dirty and no where close to being usable; barely anything was in working order besides the unit itself. He told us of all the plans for the complex. How if we chose the bottom floor we'd get a private patio space outside of our sliding door, and all these other cute odds and ends. We were some of the first people to come look at the place, so we could have our pick of the units. Justin told us that utilities weren't included, but with the two of us, we figured it wouldn't be too much a month. We were three weeks away from the end of our current leases, so we decided to put in an application. Justin also said that he would try to get us a week to move in before the lease began. This was the best deal we had found in West Hollywood; a terrific neighborhood, permit-free street parking for our guests, and we each had equal size rooms with our own bathrooms. Close to the Grove and Larchmont Village. Not to mention the appliances and apartment itself were beautiful, and with some minor cleaning, it would be a very classy place to live for a pair of 20-somethings making $30k a year. Three weeks was plenty of time to get the rest of the complex in clean, working order right? He told us right then and there, as we filled out the application, that he would run the credit checks tomorrow and tell us if we qualified, then we could get the process started and sign a lease later in the week. Whaa? Wait. My buyer remorse started to kick in. The place was pretty ideal though. Is this how fast this process is supposed to happen? I agreed to let the credit check happen, and crossed my fingers that this was the best we could find. Even after that week, and after the lease was signed, I continued to check craigslist to see if I could find anything better. I couldn't. I started to feel a bit better about being rushed into signing my life away.
Justin called us the day after we saw the place to tell us we had been approved. We can sign the lease and put down the deposit. I couldn't get paid until Friday, but he was once again rushing us, telling us that the money NEEDED to be in by Tuesday because he had a lot of people who wanted to see the place, threatening that it wouldn't be there by Friday. He also wouldn't let us only pay 1 month's rent as the deposit, we HAD to pay 1 1/2, and as soon as possible. That meant we would have to run to the bank sometime during our busy day and get a bank check, and for me, I'd have to borrow $1200 from Mark to get that bank check. Great. Buyer's remorse creeping up once again. We obliged, but we both work late and couldn't get all the way across town to sign the lease and drop off the deposit until 8:30 that night. Could he meet us then? Nope, it was "too late" for him. Well, could you meet us halfway? Nope. We had to take more time out of our day and leave early from work to meet this kid for this apartment I was still wasn't 100% sure I wanted. He told us he'd meet us at the new place. (What grinds my gears is that to this day, there are still three units available. "Will be gone by the end of the week" my ass.)
We get to the street of the new apartment at 8pm. He is standing outside his beat up car waiting for us. He tells us that he "forgot that the unit doesn't have electricity yet, but this should only take us 5 minutes", so we'll just sign it here under this street lamp in the middle of the street on the top of my shit ass car. Reeeeal professional. And this isn't going to take 5 minutes, because I'm going to read every single line of this shady lease. He keeps stressing to us that he needs to be somewhere by 8:45. I don't give a shit. I need to read this, calm down and be accommodating for once. At the top it said that the landlord pays for water.
Me-"Wait, water is included?"
Justin-"Oh yeah."
Me-"I thought we had to pay for utilities. But not water?"
Justin-"If it says he pays for water, I guess he does. Sweet."
Fucking stoner. He also continued to tell us that the landlord wouldn't give us a week before to move in, but he'd give us three days. Right then and there I wrote it in my planner. September 28th. Move in. Albeit a Monday, but if that's the best we could get, fine.
I took a while to read through each part of the lease, and let Gina know that it was alright to sign. We gave him the deposits. All in the moonlight of Elmwood Ave. He then told us we had one more thing to sign. A waiver. The units were originally built as condos, and then the market went sour, so the landlord decided to put them on the market as apartments for lease.
Me-"Oh. So we need to sign something that says we aren't responsible for homeowner's fees or dues?"
Justin-"Uh. Yep. Right."
He is good for nothing.
Me-"Cool. Where is it?"
Justin-"I don't have it yet. I meet with him tomorrow and will get it then. And after I meet with him and he looks over the lease you signed, I'll fax you a copy."
Hmm. Okay, well at least he knows we need a copy. Too bad I can't have one tonight, unless he has some sort of copier in his piece of shit vehicle. We'd have to come all the way back to this side of town tomorrow night to sign one, single piece of paper.
Justin-"I only need one of you to sign it, so only one of you needs to come."
Yeah freakin right. Like I'm going to go to your sketch apartment at 8:45 at night by myself. Thanks but no thanks bud. I'll bring a freakin posse.
I text him the next day to see where the fax was of the lease. He said "I won't give it to you until you sign the waiver, that way all the paperwork will be together." UGH. Fine. Gina and I go that night to his shoddy apartment at the border of Koreatown to sign this paper. He gives us a copy of the signed lease. I read the waiver paper. It is NOT a waiver of the homeowner fees. Its a waiver of our rights. If the landlord wants to all of the sudden make our unit into a condo, while he needs to get it approved by the city, he has every right to kick us out without any relocation help, etc. Uhhh. I don't know how I feel about this. Justin says its "standard". I decide that there is always a way out of a contract. It states that he needs to give us 30 days. Fine. I'll sign it. Buyer's remorse. We get a copy of that also.
The next week I call Justin to see if we can come and measure.
Me-"Can we come Sunday at noon to measure the place?"
Justin-"No, I won't be around."
Me-"Oh. Okay, what about Saturday morning?"
Justin-"Nah, I don't have to show the property that morning so I won't be there."
What? Then effing come and unlock the door for us. Thanks for being accommodating. Fine. I'll try the next weekend. The same thing happens. We can't make it the times he will be there. Why he can't just come for a few minutes and let us measure is beyond me. This happens three weekends in a row.
Gina calls to introduce herself to our landlord the week before we're supposed to move in. She wants to move in the weekend before because it would be easier. She can't move during the week, she has to work, and doesn't have as lenient as a boss as I have. He tells her no. If she wants to pay $200 extra, she can move in early. She was going to pay it. I told her it was too much money and completely stupid. I was getting a U-Haul on Monday and would come and get her stuff for her while she was at work and we'd split the cost. She was very grateful. He was hesitant to give us three days, but he said that he was "willing to work with us" and finally granted us permission. We would move in on Monday.
Finally, this past weekend, two days before we are scheduled to move in, our schedules align. We could come measure. We show up Saturday morning and meet the landlord, Mark, face to face. He is actually really nice and has a cool African accent ala Dave Matthews. He mentions how we are scheduled to move in Monday. He puts our numbers in his cell phone and is really friendly. Justin lets us into the unit. Its still filthy. It still doesn't have fixtures. Nothing has changed since we saw it three weeks ago. I talk to the landlord quickly as we leave.
Me-"Nice to meet you! Should I call you tomorrow about getting the keys and such?" (I had other questions I wanted to ask too.)
Mark-"Call whenever!...Actually the office is closed tomorrow."
Me-"Okay, then I'll call you early Monday."
Mark-"Great! We'll get it figured out."
I should've called 45 minutes from then. I'm an idiot.
Monday morning I call the office at 9am sharp. I need to get the key situation figured out before I leave work to get the U-Haul. I'm also worried, based on Saturday, that the place hasn't been cleaned up. His receptionist says that he's not in yet, but she'll give him the message. The receptionist calls me back at 10:30. Mark isn't available the whole day. WHAT? I tell her he knows we are moving in today, we need the keys. She is really sweet and tells me I can come get the master key so I can move in my stuff. I ask her if she knows if the place has been cleaned yet. She has no idea.
I leave work at 1:30, meet Mark (my Mark) at the U-Haul place, he goes back to my place to load some of the trailer and do some laundry. I head to Koreatown to get the key. Its the sketchest part of mid-town. The office doubles as a leasing office, and a woodworking/cabinetry supply and showroom. There is a crazy homeless woman sitting near the steps yelling at herself. There are three Mexican kids under the age of 10 playing under a dirty dirty stairwell with no guardians in sight. Thank God its 3 in the afternoon and broad daylight. The overweight receptionist gives me the keys and tells me to return them "whenever". Uh. Alright.
The apartment is on the way home, so I decide I'm going to stop by and check to see if it has been prepped for move in. The whole day I have this huge knot in my stomach and a terrible feeling its going to look just as it looked on Saturday morning. Please God let it be move in ready.
I open the door and my worst thoughts are realized. Its exactly the same as it has been since the first second we laid eyes on it. The only difference is that Gina got the electricity turned on. How am I supposed to move things into a dirty apartment? I'm beyond infuriated. I'm stuck at a crossroads because technically, Mark is doing us a favor by letting us move in early, but he also knew we were coming today and should have had it ready, or at least should have been available to talk to. I'm so upset. I don't know what to do. I guess I could just swiffer one room and put everything in there? I only have this U-Haul for 24 hours. I need to get this done today. I call Justin. He is upset too, which makes me feel a little better, but he doesn't do anything about it. He suggests I call Mark the next day and bitch him out, and he'll call him too. That's all he offers. He is useless. There are also a few things wrong with the place that I want to address with Mark, but if I move in my stuff, will the nicks and dents now potentially be my fault even though they were there before I moved the stuff in?
Mark (my Mark), Gina and I spend until 11pm moving in our stuff. I started with just piling it in my room, but then we ran out of room and had to let it spill into Gina's room and the living room. I don't know how they're going to clean around it, but they'll need to figure it out. Gina had to stay there last night, and I guess she just didn't shower. I still have yet to hear from the landlord or Justin regarding the situation. I told Gina to call him because I will chew his ass out (which might be what he needs) but I haven't gotten any response from anyone.
This is so frustrating. Why can't stuff just work out? Moving is stressful enough as it is, then add all of this rediculousness and it becomes suicidal. All I want is a clean apartment that I can put my shit. Is that too much to ask? Apparently.
I'll keep you all updated. Please pray for Gina and I.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Best Craigslist Ad of the Day
I just found this ad on the crazy LA Craigslist. Thank goodness I know some Spanish, or I would've passed right over this hilarious gem. I will put in the original Spanish (just in case you want to comment because some of my Spanish may be wrong) and then the translation:
Mujer bella? pon tus pies en mi cara (Sherman Oaks)
Tienes pies bonitos y suaves? Se calientan y sudan adentro de tus zapatos? Ponlos en mi cara! Dejame olerlos y probarlos... Mill dolares por semana. Busco un arreglo regular. Tienes que ser linda, 18-50 anos ded edad, y vive en el valle de san fernando. Manda foto y tu numero de contacto. Estoy muy serio y busco una mujer linda con pies deliciosos....
Translation:
Are you a pretty woman? Put your feet in my face (Sherman Oaks)
Do you have pretty and smooth feet? Are they hot and and sweat in your shoes? Put them in my face! Leave the odor and try this...a thousand dollars a week. I am looking for natural. You have to be cute, 18-50 years of age, and live in the San Fernando Valley. I must get a photo and your contact number. I am very serious and am looking for a cute lady with delicious feet.
Mujer bella? pon tus pies en mi cara (Sherman Oaks)
Tienes pies bonitos y suaves? Se calientan y sudan adentro de tus zapatos? Ponlos en mi cara! Dejame olerlos y probarlos... Mill dolares por semana. Busco un arreglo regular. Tienes que ser linda, 18-50 anos ded edad, y vive en el valle de san fernando. Manda foto y tu numero de contacto. Estoy muy serio y busco una mujer linda con pies deliciosos....
Translation:
Are you a pretty woman? Put your feet in my face (Sherman Oaks)
Do you have pretty and smooth feet? Are they hot and and sweat in your shoes? Put them in my face! Leave the odor and try this...a thousand dollars a week. I am looking for natural. You have to be cute, 18-50 years of age, and live in the San Fernando Valley. I must get a photo and your contact number. I am very serious and am looking for a cute lady with delicious feet.
Rap Battle: Corporate Style
JD and I's epic rap battle yesterday, and its origins: Check our flow:
AW:
Yo kids,
Good news!
#1: Its almost Friday.
#2: 5170's fax is working again! Sooo fax that shiz up.
Hearts and love,
A Dubs
JD: Wow, thuggin it out
AW: i don't know what you're talking about. that's just how i talk. you're not the only one with the dream of a lucrative hip hop career.
JD: Little girl, you aint the only one that got it
But I will drown you in the ball pit
At Chucky Cheese for profit-
So don't try to rhyme, just stop it
AW: Uh..uh..give me a beat..
I may be white and get fitted at the Gap,
but that don't mean I ain't fitted to rap.
Stop judgin my flow and get educated,
this "little girl" as you call me
will soon be elevated,
to high class status, baller hall of fame,
you'll still be gettin todd coffee
while they're screamin my name.
JD: Yo, yo yo.
You think you bad? You think you hot? Well are you ready or not?
To play the game, with man, who talk you to walk?
And I'm not playing, I'm just saying, that you're mostly just talk
I'll stay forever, but your name will wash 'way like Chalk
And all this fame that you speak of, is all in your head
Turn on your TV and you'll see me, while you cryin in bed
You might be famous to you friends, but to the world you'll be dead
Cuz I'm star child and you're the one they keep in the shed
Ohhhhhhhhhh
AW: Check your grammar,
spelling and syntax
you call yourself a rapper?
Check yourself real fast:
"who talk you to walk?",
and comma displacement?
Proofread yo shiz
before you get all brazen.
Cuz you'll be dazin'
While I'll be grazin'
On all the praisin'
That this caucasian
Will be raisin'.
So stop your jealousy,
Don't cry or pout,
I'll take you to a fancy dinner
when my platinum album comes out.
JD:I don't read my shit back, it comes straight out my head
The essence of these lyrics should be heard and not read
So pardon my sloppy prose, you care to much, it shows
I'd sweat the small stuff also, if I knew my rap blows
Now I keep girls awake, like a can of Mountain Dew
But, sit back, relax, I'll show you how I do
And I'll speak real slow so I won't lose you
and I'll fill up your up dish and get you back to the zoo
You animal, you come at me like you don't know who I am
How many times can you hear about me and not know I'm the man
Cuz I be Solo like Han, and a geek, still sleek
The folks at home love me like my name Shark Week
Now how's that for a Discovery, girl
Take me to your leader, girl
Crash landed on your bitchass world
From the Lord, I am god sent
with a word YOU can not represent: talent
Umm, please. Clearly, I'm more hood.
AW:
Yo kids,
Good news!
#1: Its almost Friday.
#2: 5170's fax is working again! Sooo fax that shiz up.
Hearts and love,
A Dubs
JD: Wow, thuggin it out
AW: i don't know what you're talking about. that's just how i talk. you're not the only one with the dream of a lucrative hip hop career.
JD: Little girl, you aint the only one that got it
But I will drown you in the ball pit
At Chucky Cheese for profit-
So don't try to rhyme, just stop it
AW: Uh..uh..give me a beat..
I may be white and get fitted at the Gap,
but that don't mean I ain't fitted to rap.
Stop judgin my flow and get educated,
this "little girl" as you call me
will soon be elevated,
to high class status, baller hall of fame,
you'll still be gettin todd coffee
while they're screamin my name.
JD: Yo, yo yo.
You think you bad? You think you hot? Well are you ready or not?
To play the game, with man, who talk you to walk?
And I'm not playing, I'm just saying, that you're mostly just talk
I'll stay forever, but your name will wash 'way like Chalk
And all this fame that you speak of, is all in your head
Turn on your TV and you'll see me, while you cryin in bed
You might be famous to you friends, but to the world you'll be dead
Cuz I'm star child and you're the one they keep in the shed
Ohhhhhhhhhh
AW: Check your grammar,
spelling and syntax
you call yourself a rapper?
Check yourself real fast:
"who talk you to walk?",
and comma displacement?
Proofread yo shiz
before you get all brazen.
Cuz you'll be dazin'
While I'll be grazin'
On all the praisin'
That this caucasian
Will be raisin'.
So stop your jealousy,
Don't cry or pout,
I'll take you to a fancy dinner
when my platinum album comes out.
JD:I don't read my shit back, it comes straight out my head
The essence of these lyrics should be heard and not read
So pardon my sloppy prose, you care to much, it shows
I'd sweat the small stuff also, if I knew my rap blows
Now I keep girls awake, like a can of Mountain Dew
But, sit back, relax, I'll show you how I do
And I'll speak real slow so I won't lose you
and I'll fill up your up dish and get you back to the zoo
You animal, you come at me like you don't know who I am
How many times can you hear about me and not know I'm the man
Cuz I be Solo like Han, and a geek, still sleek
The folks at home love me like my name Shark Week
Now how's that for a Discovery, girl
Take me to your leader, girl
Crash landed on your bitchass world
From the Lord, I am god sent
with a word YOU can not represent: talent
Umm, please. Clearly, I'm more hood.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Houston We Have A Problem
Oprah calls her "THE Voice". Many call her "THE Diva".
Whitney Houston. She's back, and still crazy.
I caught some of her comeback interview on Oprah the other night (don't ask why or how: when you live in my apartment, you only get to watch BET, Oprah, Black America, or trashy reality TV) and I'm sad to say, she's still messed up. I guess a long life in the spotlight will do that to you.
I truly believe Oprah was trying to ask all the right questions to put Whitney in the best light possible. I don't blame you, O. You tried. And we all have high hopes for Whitney, but she is still a hot psychological mess.
Oprah opened the floor for Whit to talk about how being with Bobby ruined her career and life, and how he abused her, made her into this "bad girl", and how they'd do drugs together for nights on end. Whitney described one instance where her and Bobby sat on the couch in a drugged stupor for days, not even saying one word to each other because they were so high. She didn't seem embarrassed or remorseful, and defended Bobby til the end. She also went into uncomfortable detail, randomly may I add, about how they couldn't keep themselves off each other if you know what I mean. Inapprops and awkward. Whitney didn't miss a beat when Oprah asked her what her and Bobby's "drug of choice" was either. She situated herself in a horse-stance on her seat and kind of got this bright look in her eye, her speech elevated, as she gleefully explained in detail to Ms. O how to lace a joint with premium rock cocaine. Yeahhh. Hm. Poor Oprah. She kept saying things along the lines of "Interesting...but did you ever think this was a bad situation for you?" Or, "Yes...but did you ever wonder why you weren't happy?" etc. Trying to prompt her to finally see that the life she was living was desecrating to her and her family. Whitney told a story of after an alleged domestic abuse incident where the police were called, her mother came to her house in a storm and told her she was hauling her off to rehab. Her mom told her she didn't want her ruining her "gift" (her voice) and the lives of her children. Once again, she didn't seem to be phased by the relationship situation. She brushed off the incident and focused on her mom being upset about her career. Newsflash Houston: Don't think she was upset that your career was failing.
There were redeeming times in the interview where Whitney spoke of her faith and how God pulled her out from the deepest, darkest parts of her life, and how she was happier in the beginning days of her career when she was "singing for God". But, what bothered me, is that she defended Bobby, his actions, and how he treated her, up and down continuously. Its like she is clean (kinda, there were times when I was wondering) but she still hasn't grasped the fact that they had a terrible, termultuous relationship that harmed her psychological wellbeing, her career, and her children. She was basically refusing to admit her relationship with him was the worst thing that ever happened to her. I'm sure that's a hard thing to admit, but its just so sad and embarrassing when you can't be honest about such a serious situation. There's a part of me that doesn't want her to come back until she has her range back, and is mentally normal.
Whitney Houston. She's back, and still crazy.
I caught some of her comeback interview on Oprah the other night (don't ask why or how: when you live in my apartment, you only get to watch BET, Oprah, Black America, or trashy reality TV) and I'm sad to say, she's still messed up. I guess a long life in the spotlight will do that to you.
I truly believe Oprah was trying to ask all the right questions to put Whitney in the best light possible. I don't blame you, O. You tried. And we all have high hopes for Whitney, but she is still a hot psychological mess.
Oprah opened the floor for Whit to talk about how being with Bobby ruined her career and life, and how he abused her, made her into this "bad girl", and how they'd do drugs together for nights on end. Whitney described one instance where her and Bobby sat on the couch in a drugged stupor for days, not even saying one word to each other because they were so high. She didn't seem embarrassed or remorseful, and defended Bobby til the end. She also went into uncomfortable detail, randomly may I add, about how they couldn't keep themselves off each other if you know what I mean. Inapprops and awkward. Whitney didn't miss a beat when Oprah asked her what her and Bobby's "drug of choice" was either. She situated herself in a horse-stance on her seat and kind of got this bright look in her eye, her speech elevated, as she gleefully explained in detail to Ms. O how to lace a joint with premium rock cocaine. Yeahhh. Hm. Poor Oprah. She kept saying things along the lines of "Interesting...but did you ever think this was a bad situation for you?" Or, "Yes...but did you ever wonder why you weren't happy?" etc. Trying to prompt her to finally see that the life she was living was desecrating to her and her family. Whitney told a story of after an alleged domestic abuse incident where the police were called, her mother came to her house in a storm and told her she was hauling her off to rehab. Her mom told her she didn't want her ruining her "gift" (her voice) and the lives of her children. Once again, she didn't seem to be phased by the relationship situation. She brushed off the incident and focused on her mom being upset about her career. Newsflash Houston: Don't think she was upset that your career was failing.
There were redeeming times in the interview where Whitney spoke of her faith and how God pulled her out from the deepest, darkest parts of her life, and how she was happier in the beginning days of her career when she was "singing for God". But, what bothered me, is that she defended Bobby, his actions, and how he treated her, up and down continuously. Its like she is clean (kinda, there were times when I was wondering) but she still hasn't grasped the fact that they had a terrible, termultuous relationship that harmed her psychological wellbeing, her career, and her children. She was basically refusing to admit her relationship with him was the worst thing that ever happened to her. I'm sure that's a hard thing to admit, but its just so sad and embarrassing when you can't be honest about such a serious situation. There's a part of me that doesn't want her to come back until she has her range back, and is mentally normal.
Email Fight!
I've been having the most awesome email "fights" with my work friends this whole week. Here is a transcription of the best one so far between me and my good friend Josh. Of course these aren't real fights. We just get bored and decide to kill time by being sacastically aggressive with each other via company email. Sometimes, I get so engrossed, I forget I'm at work. Which is the point I believe.
Ashley Walker: Hey guys, The fax in 5170 is on the fritz. You can still pdf, copy, and print to the xerox, but the fax function isn't working (sending or receiving) for some reason. If need be, please direct people to the SI xerox, and Diana is on the situation as we speak. When you fax to the SI xerox, be sure to go over there and pick it up asap; I'd hate for our papers to clutter up their groove over there. I'll let you know when its fixed.
Thanks,
A Dubs
Josh Levin: whyd you break the fax?
AW: your mom broke the fax. i just didn't want to embarrass your family.
JL: WOW. so on. it is SO on.
AW: i ain't scurred. bring it.
JL: i will use a systematic approach in dealing with spreading the rumor that your mom broke the fax machine. i will start small, maybe dropping hints that she was here visiting, and holding a bunch of papers, etc. etc. slowly word will travel, and quickly the "truth" will be known
AW: too late. i already told everyone, in the same systematic approach, that YOUR mom in fact broke the fax. i just looped you out. BOOM. people are talking about your mom behind your back. and how she ruined our fax capabilities.
JL: your mom broke the copier and i wont even get into how. BOOM.
AW: good luck convincing everyone. by the way, story's changed: i just called your mom and convinced her that YOU did it. now you're grounded.
JL: i already was grounded. BOOM
AW: this is the best email fight we've EVER. HAD.
JL: Hey other email fights, I'm a let you finish, but THIS email fight is the BEST OF ALL TIME!
My fav is the shout out to Kanye's audacity at the end.
Next post: JD and I's freestyle rap battle via email that is currently going down.
Ashley Walker: Hey guys, The fax in 5170 is on the fritz. You can still pdf, copy, and print to the xerox, but the fax function isn't working (sending or receiving) for some reason. If need be, please direct people to the SI xerox, and Diana is on the situation as we speak. When you fax to the SI xerox, be sure to go over there and pick it up asap; I'd hate for our papers to clutter up their groove over there. I'll let you know when its fixed.
Thanks,
A Dubs
Josh Levin: whyd you break the fax?
AW: your mom broke the fax. i just didn't want to embarrass your family.
JL: WOW. so on. it is SO on.
AW: i ain't scurred. bring it.
JL: i will use a systematic approach in dealing with spreading the rumor that your mom broke the fax machine. i will start small, maybe dropping hints that she was here visiting, and holding a bunch of papers, etc. etc. slowly word will travel, and quickly the "truth" will be known
AW: too late. i already told everyone, in the same systematic approach, that YOUR mom in fact broke the fax. i just looped you out. BOOM. people are talking about your mom behind your back. and how she ruined our fax capabilities.
JL: your mom broke the copier and i wont even get into how. BOOM.
AW: good luck convincing everyone. by the way, story's changed: i just called your mom and convinced her that YOU did it. now you're grounded.
JL: i already was grounded. BOOM
AW: this is the best email fight we've EVER. HAD.
JL: Hey other email fights, I'm a let you finish, but THIS email fight is the BEST OF ALL TIME!
My fav is the shout out to Kanye's audacity at the end.
Next post: JD and I's freestyle rap battle via email that is currently going down.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Winning it BIG
Subway has a promotion going on based on the Scrabble board game. Maybe this has been going on for years, who knows, but my eyes have just recently been opened to it thanks to my friend JD who is actively and fervently trying to win the $100,000 prize. You could win big money or big prizes if you collect letters to spell out certain words. While I know most of these types of promotions are gimmicks that yield odds much like state lotteries (1 in millions), I am a sucker for a fun game that involves food. I always convince myself that if I eat enough, I will win, because honestly, someone's eventually going to win. Why not me? I'm a bit upset and embarrassed that I missed the bandwagon on this healthy Scrabble game. Why didn't someone inform me that there was a lower calorie alternative when I was trying to win McDonald's Monopoly?
My sister Lauren and I were roommates for a year in college. One afternoon, we drove to McDonalds to get...honestly, God knows what. Lauren is obsessed with McDonalds, and would go about once a month to get a Big Mac or something. While sipping on her Coke, she realized that the Monopoly game was going on for a limited time. We could win up to a million dollars. We needed some cash. We loved McDonalds. We were totally in.
From that day forward for a month and a half, we went to McDonalds EVERY DAY. We were both so terrified we would get fat, but we wanted to win so bad. We each had the Monopoly board taped to our dorm room walls and would come home and put the stickers on. We'd go through the drive through and get the things that would make us feel the least bad about ourselves that would also have the game pieces on them: Two large sweet teas, which we would take home and pour into a large pitcher in the fridge to drink at our leisure; a large fry that we would split; and fried Chicken Selects strips that we would put in a freezer bag to heat up in the future. Once we collected all the easy pieces, (you know, the ones that they make 14 million of so you think you are getting close) we started to get desperate. We were spending $10 a day on McDonalds, upping our caloric intake, and getting nothing in return. We came up with a solution: We needed to disperse. Going to just ONE McDonalds in all of Orlando wasn't going to get us the pieces we needed to be millionaires, so we began traveling to other McDonalds restaurants in the metro area hoping to "cheat" the system. Needless to say, we didn't win. I won about 14 free Quarter Pounders with Cheese, and about 12 "free soft drink with purchase of a Big Mac".
What's weird with Subway's promotion is that they are only offering the game pieces on large drinks. Not even on the sandwiches. Odd. I think McDonalds (and other fast food restaurants that use these kind of promotions) should put the game pieces only on healthy foods so you'd have to eat well in order to win. "I won a million dollars!! AND lost 11 pounds!!" That would be the best day of my life.
My sister Lauren and I were roommates for a year in college. One afternoon, we drove to McDonalds to get...honestly, God knows what. Lauren is obsessed with McDonalds, and would go about once a month to get a Big Mac or something. While sipping on her Coke, she realized that the Monopoly game was going on for a limited time. We could win up to a million dollars. We needed some cash. We loved McDonalds. We were totally in.
From that day forward for a month and a half, we went to McDonalds EVERY DAY. We were both so terrified we would get fat, but we wanted to win so bad. We each had the Monopoly board taped to our dorm room walls and would come home and put the stickers on. We'd go through the drive through and get the things that would make us feel the least bad about ourselves that would also have the game pieces on them: Two large sweet teas, which we would take home and pour into a large pitcher in the fridge to drink at our leisure; a large fry that we would split; and fried Chicken Selects strips that we would put in a freezer bag to heat up in the future. Once we collected all the easy pieces, (you know, the ones that they make 14 million of so you think you are getting close) we started to get desperate. We were spending $10 a day on McDonalds, upping our caloric intake, and getting nothing in return. We came up with a solution: We needed to disperse. Going to just ONE McDonalds in all of Orlando wasn't going to get us the pieces we needed to be millionaires, so we began traveling to other McDonalds restaurants in the metro area hoping to "cheat" the system. Needless to say, we didn't win. I won about 14 free Quarter Pounders with Cheese, and about 12 "free soft drink with purchase of a Big Mac".
What's weird with Subway's promotion is that they are only offering the game pieces on large drinks. Not even on the sandwiches. Odd. I think McDonalds (and other fast food restaurants that use these kind of promotions) should put the game pieces only on healthy foods so you'd have to eat well in order to win. "I won a million dollars!! AND lost 11 pounds!!" That would be the best day of my life.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Its Hard Out Here For a 20-Something
As much as I want to, I can't please everybody. But for some odd reason, when I'm not pleasing everybody, I'm also not pleasing myself. Believe you me, I wish I had endless funds, and endless days in my week to visit people, be where I'm always supposed to be, plus find time and money for myself and my aspirations.
I don't mean to leave people in the dust. It breaks my heart when I can't attend your wedding, when I can't visit you for the weekend, when I can't send you money for your graduation, when I can't call you back for a week because by the time I can its 11pm your time, when I miss your 21st birthday party. I'm sorry. I lose sleep over it. I really do. It sucks that I can't get to know your new boyfriend, or your fiance. Or, when I do take the time and money to go to your wedding, I have never met your husband before. It sucks, and worse off, I never fully understood what a steep sacrifice I'd have to make moving here. I knew it would be tough being far from my family and friends, but I never knew how guilty I'd feel for being here.
I'm so conflicted sometimes. I love it here, I love my life, and I'm proud of who I am, what I'm learning, and where I'm going in my career. But people in my life make it seem like (whether intentionally or not) I am choosing my life over theirs, or that I am selfish for planning things for myself, or missing things because I honestly just can't make the time or pay the price. I get it. You are upset because I can't be there, but I'm trying my BEST to spread myself as thin as possible. I'm not living on the streets, but I only have so much to give in terms of funds. Believe me, my credit card company borderline hates me. I'm not staying in the office everyday of the week, but I do work 11 hour days, have a demanding boss, a boyfriend, am trying to keep some friends around me so I don't go into a depression, not to mention trying to further the REAL career I want in my "free" time. I give you the time I can when I'm not blacking out because my brain is on overload.
I moved here for a reason. And everyone knew that. I'm not here for shits, and I'm definitely not here because I like it. I'd be in Manhattan if I wanted to be somewhere that I truly loved. I'm here because I need to be to do what I want to do. Yes, its across the country, and yes, I have put myself between a rock and a hard place when it comes to having time for others, let alone myself, but everyone needs to understand I'm doing my darndest.
I don't say this to make you feel guilty for giving me a hard time, but I am working hard out here. Honestly, probably harder than a lot of you will ever work, or have worked in your life. Hopefully, it will be the hardest I'll ever have to work/have worked in my life. You're not here to see me hustle. I'm not being melodramatic, slash ghetto, and saying, "You don't knowww me", but...you don't know. I don't know anyone that will be reading this that understands what my life is like right now. And I'm definitely fine with that. I guess what I'm trying to say is this: I can't go 90 and you only go 10. We need to be at a common understanding that I'm trying my best, and you are also trying your best. I'm spending every last penny (and every last fake dollar of my high interest credit limit) to make everyone, and sometimes myself, happy. I will drive hours to see you. I will buy $400 plane tickets to come to your wedding where you barely speak to me, I'm in Palm Coast/Flagler Beach for less than 48 hours, and take 5 hour plane rides straight back to my 60+ hour a week job at 6am on a Monday morning. I'll fly home for whirlwind weekends where I need to schedule time to see 15 people in a 35 hour period. I will call you, albeit its at midnight. I will send you a birthday gift, though I can't be there in person. I'll send my condolences via phone, though I'm sorry I can't be there to give you hugs and make you brownies. I AM TRYING. It hurts me that I am merely a shadow in your life, but please, don't make me feel bad for following my dreams and trying to make it work. I am giving you everything I can, while still trying to salvage a bit for me. Its hard when I'm expected to make time and pull funds out of my orafices, while many don't understand that, sometimes, I need you to do the same. And not only do the same, but also realize that I'm going to NOT be able to do it everytime.
Like I said before: I'm here for a reason. I need the weekends to take classes. I need those "dollas" for headshots. I need the extra minutes/hours/days I have to actually feel like I live here and pay rent for a reason more than just storage of my belongings, the occasional nights of sleep, and a shower every now and then. To be honest, sometimes I want to dish out a few hundo to eat a fancy dinner and buy some shoes on Melrose instead of paying $280 for jet lag, gossip about my sister's terrible relationship, and a guilt trip about how I didn't spend 4 of my 48 hours going to a shower party for a girl I haven't seen or talked to in 7 years.
I appreciate those that make the effort and spend the money to come see ME. Thank you to those who continue to call and leave me non-condescending voicemails until I get the chance to call you back and have more than a 2 minute conversation with you. And all of you, if you ever, EVER want to come visit me, I will take all the time I have to be with you while you are here. I will even do my best to foot every bill I can. If you can't come see me, I will make sure I carve out time when I come home to spend with you and only you. I love all of you so so much. Now give a sista a break.
I don't mean to leave people in the dust. It breaks my heart when I can't attend your wedding, when I can't visit you for the weekend, when I can't send you money for your graduation, when I can't call you back for a week because by the time I can its 11pm your time, when I miss your 21st birthday party. I'm sorry. I lose sleep over it. I really do. It sucks that I can't get to know your new boyfriend, or your fiance. Or, when I do take the time and money to go to your wedding, I have never met your husband before. It sucks, and worse off, I never fully understood what a steep sacrifice I'd have to make moving here. I knew it would be tough being far from my family and friends, but I never knew how guilty I'd feel for being here.
I'm so conflicted sometimes. I love it here, I love my life, and I'm proud of who I am, what I'm learning, and where I'm going in my career. But people in my life make it seem like (whether intentionally or not) I am choosing my life over theirs, or that I am selfish for planning things for myself, or missing things because I honestly just can't make the time or pay the price. I get it. You are upset because I can't be there, but I'm trying my BEST to spread myself as thin as possible. I'm not living on the streets, but I only have so much to give in terms of funds. Believe me, my credit card company borderline hates me. I'm not staying in the office everyday of the week, but I do work 11 hour days, have a demanding boss, a boyfriend, am trying to keep some friends around me so I don't go into a depression, not to mention trying to further the REAL career I want in my "free" time. I give you the time I can when I'm not blacking out because my brain is on overload.
I moved here for a reason. And everyone knew that. I'm not here for shits, and I'm definitely not here because I like it. I'd be in Manhattan if I wanted to be somewhere that I truly loved. I'm here because I need to be to do what I want to do. Yes, its across the country, and yes, I have put myself between a rock and a hard place when it comes to having time for others, let alone myself, but everyone needs to understand I'm doing my darndest.
I don't say this to make you feel guilty for giving me a hard time, but I am working hard out here. Honestly, probably harder than a lot of you will ever work, or have worked in your life. Hopefully, it will be the hardest I'll ever have to work/have worked in my life. You're not here to see me hustle. I'm not being melodramatic, slash ghetto, and saying, "You don't knowww me", but...you don't know. I don't know anyone that will be reading this that understands what my life is like right now. And I'm definitely fine with that. I guess what I'm trying to say is this: I can't go 90 and you only go 10. We need to be at a common understanding that I'm trying my best, and you are also trying your best. I'm spending every last penny (and every last fake dollar of my high interest credit limit) to make everyone, and sometimes myself, happy. I will drive hours to see you. I will buy $400 plane tickets to come to your wedding where you barely speak to me, I'm in Palm Coast/Flagler Beach for less than 48 hours, and take 5 hour plane rides straight back to my 60+ hour a week job at 6am on a Monday morning. I'll fly home for whirlwind weekends where I need to schedule time to see 15 people in a 35 hour period. I will call you, albeit its at midnight. I will send you a birthday gift, though I can't be there in person. I'll send my condolences via phone, though I'm sorry I can't be there to give you hugs and make you brownies. I AM TRYING. It hurts me that I am merely a shadow in your life, but please, don't make me feel bad for following my dreams and trying to make it work. I am giving you everything I can, while still trying to salvage a bit for me. Its hard when I'm expected to make time and pull funds out of my orafices, while many don't understand that, sometimes, I need you to do the same. And not only do the same, but also realize that I'm going to NOT be able to do it everytime.
Like I said before: I'm here for a reason. I need the weekends to take classes. I need those "dollas" for headshots. I need the extra minutes/hours/days I have to actually feel like I live here and pay rent for a reason more than just storage of my belongings, the occasional nights of sleep, and a shower every now and then. To be honest, sometimes I want to dish out a few hundo to eat a fancy dinner and buy some shoes on Melrose instead of paying $280 for jet lag, gossip about my sister's terrible relationship, and a guilt trip about how I didn't spend 4 of my 48 hours going to a shower party for a girl I haven't seen or talked to in 7 years.
I appreciate those that make the effort and spend the money to come see ME. Thank you to those who continue to call and leave me non-condescending voicemails until I get the chance to call you back and have more than a 2 minute conversation with you. And all of you, if you ever, EVER want to come visit me, I will take all the time I have to be with you while you are here. I will even do my best to foot every bill I can. If you can't come see me, I will make sure I carve out time when I come home to spend with you and only you. I love all of you so so much. Now give a sista a break.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Oprah Doesn't Lie, Right?
I think she made this up to make us feel better about ourselves...
http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-fat-is-fabulous-in-mauritania/
http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-fat-is-fabulous-in-mauritania/
Sunday, September 6, 2009
THE BEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN
Watch him peel out in the church van at the end. This is hilarious with a capital H.
http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/video/video.php?v=1211810531812&ref=nf
http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/video/video.php?v=1211810531812&ref=nf
Friday, September 4, 2009
10 Things Cooking Taught Me About Life
I found this article by chance today, and I was brought to tears. Cooking is such an important part of my life, and a real, honest joy for my heart. I decided after reading this, that I could use the joy I get out of cooking for the joy of others.
1. Small gestures can make a big difference. The day after the Virginia Tech shootings, in April 2007, when my community in northern Virginia was shaken with grief, I found myself baking a batch of lemon cupcakes with milk-chocolate frosting. As I admired their glistening tops, I couldn't help but wonder: Could a tiny cupcake make the world feel like a more tender place, even for one bite?
As I delivered the cupcakes to my neighbors, the smiles on their faces were proof that, yes, indeed it could.
2. Cheap thrills are closer than you think. In this BlackBerry-crazed world, growing your own food, even just a little herb garden, can help you appreciate the present moment: the sweet delight of that first cherry tomato, the heady perfume of fresh mint.
During the holidays, I am always thankful for that backyard rosemary when I pluck it from the bush and add it to apple pies, roasted meats, and white-bean bruschetta.
3. Control is overrated. When my fiancé and his stuff moved into my one-bedroom apartment, I was OK with the books and the CDs, the quirky framed prints, and even the oddball knickknacks he squeezed onto my already crowded shelves.
But when it came to my kitchen, nothing was allowed to disrupt the order and flow. So when, a few weeks before we were married, he bought a knife without consulting me, I nearly had a stroke. Of course, my response symbolized my many years as a single woman who had only herself to consider. If I was going to let him into my life, I quickly realized, I had to let him into my kitchen, too.
4. Sing if you must, but quit thinking so much. Despite my culinary training, I couldn't make a pizza dough to save my life. It was either too tough, too doughy, or riddled with holes.
Then a friend visiting from Australia, who loved to sing while he cooked pizza, showed me the error of my ways: In my stressed-out quest to make it perfect, I was overkneading the dough. When I stopped fussing over it, I got it right.
5. There are always second chances. A dear friend of mine died suddenly of a heart attack in early 2007. For months I had intended to cook for him, and now it was too late. Or was it?
In tribute, I baked him a marble cake and took it to his funeral, where his friends and loved ones stayed behind to eat it and exchange stories about this wonderful man.
6. Substance beats style every time. You might think a trained chef has a gleaming kitchen filled with expensive appliances. Well, I spent the past four years in an apartment with a kitchen so lilliputian that even making room for a toaster was out of the question.
My husband, who found bread crisped in the oven an unworthy substitute for the real stuff, pleaded for mercy. So I bought a $3 collapsible tin toaster from a camping store. Not only did it take up hardly any space but it also toasted bread to crunchy perfection.
7. We all have what it takes to create something. The legendary cookbook author Edward Espe Brown taught me a lot about the creative aspects of preparing food -- how the sheer physical act of it is an artistic expression, like painting or dancing.
Now, that might sound a bit lofty when you're racing to get dinner on the table. But if you think of cooking as creating something, even when you're making the most basic meal, you might get more enjoyment out of your time in the kitchen -- where we all possess some creative ability, however great or small.
8. Communicate, any way you can. Two years ago, we weren't sure my kid brother was going to live. He is fine today, but back then, powerless to help him, I placed his photo on the kitchen counter and taught him aloud how to make meat sauce, step-by-step, as if he were next to me. Although the conversation was one-sided, having his smiling face staring up from that photo as I stirred the sauce helped me through one of the most difficult experiences of my life.
9. Your instinct may not be the best, but it's yours. A fearsome chef-instructor at a cooking school in Italy once gave an assignment to me and my classmate Max to make risotto for lunch. While I stirred, chef Sergio sternly reminded us to add salt before serving.
"How much?" we asked. "Enough," he replied and walked away. We felt lost, but lunch was imminent, so we took turns salting and tasting until we both agreed it was just right -- then high-fived to our accomplishment. Did chef Sergio like it? No. But then his food was always too salty for my taste.
10. Less really is more. Exhibit A: the grilled cheese sandwich. If I cooked my last meal over a skillet, ironing two pieces of Cheddar-stuffed bread together with some strong mustard, I would be smiling wide.
1. Small gestures can make a big difference. The day after the Virginia Tech shootings, in April 2007, when my community in northern Virginia was shaken with grief, I found myself baking a batch of lemon cupcakes with milk-chocolate frosting. As I admired their glistening tops, I couldn't help but wonder: Could a tiny cupcake make the world feel like a more tender place, even for one bite?
As I delivered the cupcakes to my neighbors, the smiles on their faces were proof that, yes, indeed it could.
2. Cheap thrills are closer than you think. In this BlackBerry-crazed world, growing your own food, even just a little herb garden, can help you appreciate the present moment: the sweet delight of that first cherry tomato, the heady perfume of fresh mint.
During the holidays, I am always thankful for that backyard rosemary when I pluck it from the bush and add it to apple pies, roasted meats, and white-bean bruschetta.
3. Control is overrated. When my fiancé and his stuff moved into my one-bedroom apartment, I was OK with the books and the CDs, the quirky framed prints, and even the oddball knickknacks he squeezed onto my already crowded shelves.
But when it came to my kitchen, nothing was allowed to disrupt the order and flow. So when, a few weeks before we were married, he bought a knife without consulting me, I nearly had a stroke. Of course, my response symbolized my many years as a single woman who had only herself to consider. If I was going to let him into my life, I quickly realized, I had to let him into my kitchen, too.
4. Sing if you must, but quit thinking so much. Despite my culinary training, I couldn't make a pizza dough to save my life. It was either too tough, too doughy, or riddled with holes.
Then a friend visiting from Australia, who loved to sing while he cooked pizza, showed me the error of my ways: In my stressed-out quest to make it perfect, I was overkneading the dough. When I stopped fussing over it, I got it right.
5. There are always second chances. A dear friend of mine died suddenly of a heart attack in early 2007. For months I had intended to cook for him, and now it was too late. Or was it?
In tribute, I baked him a marble cake and took it to his funeral, where his friends and loved ones stayed behind to eat it and exchange stories about this wonderful man.
6. Substance beats style every time. You might think a trained chef has a gleaming kitchen filled with expensive appliances. Well, I spent the past four years in an apartment with a kitchen so lilliputian that even making room for a toaster was out of the question.
My husband, who found bread crisped in the oven an unworthy substitute for the real stuff, pleaded for mercy. So I bought a $3 collapsible tin toaster from a camping store. Not only did it take up hardly any space but it also toasted bread to crunchy perfection.
7. We all have what it takes to create something. The legendary cookbook author Edward Espe Brown taught me a lot about the creative aspects of preparing food -- how the sheer physical act of it is an artistic expression, like painting or dancing.
Now, that might sound a bit lofty when you're racing to get dinner on the table. But if you think of cooking as creating something, even when you're making the most basic meal, you might get more enjoyment out of your time in the kitchen -- where we all possess some creative ability, however great or small.
8. Communicate, any way you can. Two years ago, we weren't sure my kid brother was going to live. He is fine today, but back then, powerless to help him, I placed his photo on the kitchen counter and taught him aloud how to make meat sauce, step-by-step, as if he were next to me. Although the conversation was one-sided, having his smiling face staring up from that photo as I stirred the sauce helped me through one of the most difficult experiences of my life.
9. Your instinct may not be the best, but it's yours. A fearsome chef-instructor at a cooking school in Italy once gave an assignment to me and my classmate Max to make risotto for lunch. While I stirred, chef Sergio sternly reminded us to add salt before serving.
"How much?" we asked. "Enough," he replied and walked away. We felt lost, but lunch was imminent, so we took turns salting and tasting until we both agreed it was just right -- then high-fived to our accomplishment. Did chef Sergio like it? No. But then his food was always too salty for my taste.
10. Less really is more. Exhibit A: the grilled cheese sandwich. If I cooked my last meal over a skillet, ironing two pieces of Cheddar-stuffed bread together with some strong mustard, I would be smiling wide.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Can This Be True???
Oh man. I just peed a little when I got this email from our President, Lee. I will keep you posted if this actually happens for me, (knowing my boss, yeah effing right) but until then, I'm going to daydream about what I'm going to do with my extra 8 hours of the day tomorrow!! AHHHH
START OF EMAIL:
SUBJ: half day tomorrow
SENDER: Rierson, Lee (Reveille LLC)
In recognition of the labor day weekend, subject to your supervisor's approval, Reveille and Shine International staff in the U.S. offices may leave at 1 p.m. tomorrow. Enjoy the long weekend!
your friends,
The Reveille Managing Directors
EDIT: I got off at 2:45...better than nothing!!
START OF EMAIL:
SUBJ: half day tomorrow
SENDER: Rierson, Lee (Reveille LLC)
In recognition of the labor day weekend, subject to your supervisor's approval, Reveille and Shine International staff in the U.S. offices may leave at 1 p.m. tomorrow. Enjoy the long weekend!
your friends,
The Reveille Managing Directors
EDIT: I got off at 2:45...better than nothing!!
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