21st Century Loneliness

Apartment hunting is a stressful business. And aprtment hunting in a time crunch (say, within 24 hours), in an unfamiliar city? Even worse.

And so my parents, boyfriend, and I approached last weekend's apartment search in Pittsburgh with anti-anxiety meds, inhalers, and Kevlar in tow. And so it was our first appointment was at The Most Depressing Apartment Building of All Time.

Judging from the pictures and the price, I thought the M-- building housed luxury units for graduate students and young professionals. But when we got inside the shabby lobby and took the elevator to the 7th floor, which smelled like an old folks' home, I knew my assumption had been dead wrong.

As building manager R-- led us to the first apartment, I tried not to wrinkle my nose at the smell and the 70s-era red patterned carpet. We entered the first studio, which still looked to be inhabited. Pictures lined the walls, and several surfaces held doilies, plants, and more photographs. A single bed, shoved against the wall, was covered by an afghan. A cupboard door had been clearly labeled with a sticker that said "PILLS." It was clear we were in an old person's apartment. And it became even clearer, viewing the three 40-something people packing up boxes, that we were in an old, dead person's apartment.

Upon piecing these facts together, I was horrified. I nodded mutely as R-- pointed out the features of the space. I wanted out of there--fast.

Before entering the second apartment, R-- expressed resentment over how dirty the current tenant was. She assured me the studio would be thoroughly cleaned before move-in. She knocked on the door and received no response. Before entering, R-- covered her nose with her hand.

The place reeked of cat piss and general griminess. The sound of water could be heard from somewhere off to the right. "She's in the shower," R-- explained, and once again I felt horribly intrusive; combined with the smell, I was ready to leave as soon as we had arrived. We quickly toured the place under the glare of an angry-looking black cat and, mercifully, left before the tenant exited the shower.

The third and final apartment was a 1-bedroom, pricier than the rest. While it housed a living tenant, and did not have any malicious odor, it could still have been considered the most depressing.

"This tenant," R-- explained, "sleeps in the living room."

Upon entering, the only sign of life within view was a pile of shoes next to the door. In the living room, there was indeed a bed, or rather, a boxspring and mattress, messily made up. A computer sat in front of it, humming away atop some packing crates. Cords were strewn everywhere, and there was no other decoration in sight. I wanted to suggest to R-- that instead of renting the apartment, she should preserve it as a contemporary art piece and charge admission. Perhaps call it "21st Century Loneliness."

I said goodbye to R--, lease application in hand, knowing I would throw it away as soon as she was out of sight. Even if she had been giving the apartments away, I could never bring myself to move into that domicile of depression.

Observation

What's the worst part about telling your friend that his/her boyfriend/girlfriend/fiancée sucks? You CAN'T. Sigh.

One is the Loneliest Number

Being on vacation alone is no fun. Actually, I am on "fakecation," which in my case means a work trip at a swanky hotel in Puerto Rico. But still. Even though i have to work a majority of the time, it's a great place. The kind of place you wish you could share with someone else; preferably with one you love.

The one I love is in NYC, which means I am left to marvel at everything alone: the palm trees, the ocean, the way the maid arranged my shoes and cosmetics in an aesthetically pleasing manner. It's just not as much fun when you can't share the "ooh"s and "ahh"s with someone else.

So what to do? Drown my loneliness in alcohol? Flirt with a stranger? No and no. (Though I did have a few glasses of wine. Open bar!!) Instead, I bought tuna at the gift shop and fed some stray cats. And dangled a jump rope from my balcony, to annoy my co-worker with the room directly below mine. I don't think he noticed. His significant other is in there with him.

Highway to Hell

This is the second time I have been on a torturously long bus ride and thought: maybe I have died and am in some sort of awful purgatory, where I am forced to ride a bus for all eternity, forever deprived of decent food, sleep and an empty bladder.

We have probably been clocking an average speed of 45 mph this whole trip. It is insanity. I am losing my mind. I wish 1990s Sandra Bullock would bust in and press this guy's foot down on the pedal. To be fair, there is a lot of construction going on. But still, we're in a freaking megabus! Take out some orange cones, dude. Ain't no thing.

But back to that first bus trip, it was Barcelona to Granada. The one memorable thing about the ride was my friend M. relieving himself in his Nalgene bottle about an hour into the trip. His brilliant plan to get tanked before the 14-hour drive had one flaw: no bathrooms on the bus.

Since I'm Trapped...

...I might as well post a link to The Folded Word! My 3-poem series has been nominated for an award, and you can vote here:

http://folded.wordpress.com/2010/06/16/vote-for-3cheers-spring-2010/

Cheers!

El Autobus, Part Tres

So there's this guy on here that looks like Bill from Bill & Ted. Kind of. But what's perplexing to me is he is doing nothing, just kind of hanging out, talking to people occasionally. No iPod. No books. No magazines. How can you get on an 8-hour (now about 10-hour) bus ride so unprepared?

And a couple has been coloring, in a coloring book. I'm not sure how old they are, but certainly too old for coloring.

I can't imagine going anywhere without a book. If I don't have reading material on the subway, I feel antsy. Really! As a kid, I used to keep the box of cereal in front of me while I ate breakfast, just so I had something to read. Did you know there's only one gram of sugar in cheerios?

7 hours down, 2.5 to go

Megabus Part Deux!

Well, there was a minor freakout for a while there, as the power was out on the bus and I had to shut off my iPhone to conserve battery. But power is back! However, the bus is still crawling along at what feels like 45 mph. Make that 15 mph. Hopefully we'll get there before Sunday.

I've got some exciting posts in the hopper, including Part Two of my guide to CrossFit, and a tribute to Butter Jesus. Who/What is Butter Jesus, you ask? You'll have to stay tuned to find out. These posts require much linkage and photograph-age and right now I'm mobile, bare-bones blogging only.

So for now I would like to share a thought I had today--which is totally inappropriate, unsuitable for minors, and probably indicative of a serious problem--about an aspect of drinking I kind of enjoy. It's this: I think it's funny to wake up the next morning, and slowly start to remember all the stupid shit I said and did the night before. Like: why was I running up and down the steps of all the brownstones on my walk home, chanting, "Up the stairs! Down the stairs!" the whole way? Or yelling, "Kobe, you suck!" at a bar half-filled with Lakers fans? Because I'm an idiot, that's why.

So kids, do as Auntie Snippy says and not as she does: drink in moderation! Forgetting things you did while drunk is dangerous and not funny at all.

The bus has slowed to a stop on the highway. Help!

4 hours, 20 minutes down, hours to go: endless

Live! From Megabus!

Last night I had a fantastic time at my "I'm 26 and 10 days old party!" I imbibed A LOT of tequila. This despite the fact that I had to wake up at 6:30 this morning, drag a suitcase to work, leave work with said bag, and take a bus to Pittsburgh: an 8-hour trip. Apparently, with age does NOT come wisdom. I've tried reading; I've tried sleeping; neither venture was successful. I tried downloading an album of nature sounds to help with the sleeping, but all the falling water noise made me feel like I had to pee.

2 hours down, 6 to go

Snippy Snacks

Snippy Snacks

1/4 c. coconut oil

1/4 c. honey

1/2 c. pumpkin

2 tsp. vanilla

2 1/2 c. almond flour or meal

1/2 tsp sea salt

2 tsp cinnamon

1/2 tsp baking soda

1 c. walnuts, broken into small pieces

1 c. coconut flakes

1/2 c. raisins

In a large bow mix the oil, honey, pumpkin and vanilla. In a smaller bowl, blend all of the dry ingredients: almond flour, salt, cinnamon, baking soda, walnuts, coconut, and raisins. Stir the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients and mix completely. Drop by the teaspoonful on to a baking sheet lined with parchment. Flatten the cookies slightly and be sure to space them adequately. Bake at 350F for 9 - 11 minutes.

Credit where credit is due: adapted from this recipe from another CrossFitter