Aw, Look at Da Liddle Baby

There comes a time in every pet owners life when they feel they must gush about their newest addition. For me, it is time. Yes, I already wrote a post/impassioned plea about not fearing my little one, but did I mention how pretty she is? No. It's time to correct my egregious omission.

The silliest part of it all is that I was more than a little disappointed when I first brought Vixen home. For weeks before the dinkiest reptile show known to man--or at least me--I researched everything I could about corn snakes. I knew the care would be similar to what I gave Henrietta, but I wanted to make sure I would do whatever I could to make my little baby happy and healthy. Included in this research were hours and hours spent poring over pictures of corn snakes. How much time could that really take, you may ask? A lot. There are hundreds and hundreds of different corn snake morphs/colorations. You are probably aware that most animals have a normal coloration and a rarer albino form. Well Corn Snakes can greatly vary between and outside of these two opposites. Herp keepers have played around with an almost infinite variation of breeding pairs in the hopes of 'creating' a pretty new color to brag about. Yellow, black, grey, white, pink, purple, orange, red, brown--any of these colors could be found on a Corn Snake. Anyway, I managed to narrow down my morph preferences to a couple colorations. I even had names for them depending on their gender and color--a female lavender, a male normal, a male grey. An idea/preference for everything EXCEPT an orange and reddish female.

I was entered the smallest convention area I've ever seen, and forlornly discovered that about only two tables had any corn snakes on them at all. If I had been looking for a Ball Python, boy, would I have been lucky. There were absolutely no lavenders, my top choice. Who wouldn't want a pretty purple snake?--well, of those people who don't have a heart attack at the sight of any snake. After less time than I would have liked searching, I half-heartedly settled on a little girl whose first course of action upon me picking her up was to immediately attempt to dart her little head straight into my shirt. A really courageous one she was. She was smaller than any snake I had ever held and I was nervous like a new mother, afraid I might drop her delicate little body straight to her untimely death. I held a few others after her, but for some reason I felt drawn to this little one. She wasn't what I was looking for at all.

Even as the brave friends who had accompanied me drove me home from the reptile show, I stared at my new unnamed pet--who was trying to escape through the tiny airholes in her little deli-cup prison--and felt an uneasy queasiness in my stomach. Maybe in my eagerness to take home a new pet that very day (the next available show was months away) I had made a grave mistake. After all, Corn Snakes can live up to 15-20 years. Would I be saddled with my 'wrong' choice for a good portion of my adult life?

My confidence in my choice was not helped when I put her in her cage for the first time and she promptly disappeared, not to be seen for another week. While she explored/cowered in her new home I looked at my notes of possible snake names, which I had compiled a few days prior. All of the names were comic book inspired, to keep in the same style of the kitten I had helped name Nemesis (finally breaking the cycle of jazz legend cat names in the Churchfamily). The name Vixen jumped out at me for my new Corn. (Vixen is a fiesty superheroine who can channel the powers of any animal she wishes, by the way).

For the first week or so I left Vixen alone, only opening her cage to change her water. Not once did I try to move around her aspen-shavings bedding, or lift up her (intentioned) hide, to catch a peak of my recent purchase. Everything I had read had told me I should not put undue stress on a baby Corn by disturbing her right away. It was painful. All I wanted to do was to spend time with Vixen so that we could bond and I could get over my buyers remorse by falling in love with her. She did not make it easy. I waited a whole five days before I finally tried to pick her up for the first time. Ha!

I opened the cage and lifted up her hide. No Corn there. I moved around every square inch of her bedding, gradually becoming more panicked, as I slowly realized she wasn't there. I had lost my new pet. Maybe it wouldn't matter she wasn't the color I wanted. Maybe someday I would hear a shrill scream from one of my unfortunate apartment neighbors who had discovered an unwelcome gift hanging out near some kitchen or livingroom heat source. That would make me really popular at the Aspen.  I rambled to Alex about ways to find escaped snakes, telling myself in vain not to panic--everything will be okay--don't worry Alex--I'll find her---I'll... Ahhhhh!!! That, my friends, was the sound of me shrieking as I poked something really squishy crammed in the hollow space that I didn't know existed in the Petsmart branch I had bought my then hypothetical Corn to climb on. I had discovered Vixen in her new favorite hiding place. Somehow this incident made me think I had named her correctly. Vixen was one malicious woman.

I eventually changed her branch to one without any hollow spaces and gave her a new hide, since the one I had originally bought her was clearly way to big for her to feel secure in. Like a cat who completely shuns the cat bed you buy for it and then curls up in a box, Vixen greatly preferred hiding under the lid of an Apple product box I had cut a few enter/exit holes into. And it made her so much more accessible. Lifting a box from a cage and grabbing the wriggly thing underneath is ten times easier than trying to pry a determined body from a tiny hiding space.

Okay, so the point of this post has gotten away from me a little bit. My original intention was to gush. What I've been leading you up to (completely intentionally of course) is how I've fallen in love with my baby, after much adversity. I was conditioned not to be happy with her color, and her hiding-in-terror-or-fleeing-at-the-sight-of-me behavior was not endearing to say the least, and yet I am now very happy that I bought her. Wha Happen'd?

The answer is two fold. One, after making her more accessible we have had numerous handling sessions. Quite a few have ended with her entire body in my shirt, or me hurriedly putting her back in her glass home when she has gotten too rowdy. But every so often, she will settle down on my shoulders, seeming to prefer being at the highest point she can find--she's my little tree climber--and we will watch TV together. During these calm moments I really feel like we're bonding. Two, I have come to really admire her colors. Yes, a purple snake would have been awfully purrty, but probably pretty boring compared to my Vixie. Over time, her colors have gotten more magnificent. With each new shed, some colors become more subtle and others begin to pop. Originally I had decided that if I did get an orangey Corn, I would want to see reds, oranges and yellows on it. It seemed at first that Vixter would only have red and orange. Luckily, the yellow that is on Vixen's neck has become more pronounced. She's my beautiful little sunrise. My citrus baby. My Vixen.

But don't just take my word for it. See for yourself.



Vixen about two months ago

Vixen a week ago.

In a few days Vixen will shed again. (That is part of the reason I made this post. The week before Vixen sheds she hides the whole time. Looking at pictures is the only way I can see her, which makes me unhappy.) I can't wait to see what subtle changes will come with her new skin. 



The yellow/ yellowish-orange on her neck/first half is getting more yellow. I am happy.

 

And I can't wait for her to be adult sized. Then, there will be no way for her to hide from me!



Access

It is 9:06am on a Wednesday and I am not in my bed. What unholy twist of fate made this terrible fact come to pass? I am…*dramatic pause*…employed.

You may ask, why I am writing a blog post when I am at work. Don’t I have other things I should be doing? Like working? Long story short, no. But because this is a blog post, you shall not get the short story.

To get the basics out of the way, I now work for a contracting company—let’s call it CT—and my contract is with a large organization of the Federal Government, which I shall call HQ. (I am erring on the side of caution, as I have recently been reminded of the dangers of not editing yourself on a public blog). I was officially hired on August 1^st, I started work on the 27^th, and today is my 12th day on the job. So, again, why am I writing a blog post at 9:34am on a Wednesday morning while at work?

The really important word/concept in this absurdity is ‘access’. Funnily enough, when you are working at a government office, you need access to things—information, email accounts, resources…a building. In order to get access in the Federal world, you must meet all the conditions of security.

Step one was getting finger printed for the first time. I went to HQ and after walking through an empty door frame of security, a HQ grunt led me down into a creepy, extremely sterile basement. As I sat down on a very firm couch, I thought about what being fingerprinted would be like. And now I must admit something embarrassing. In my mental simulation of finger-printing I put the tips of my fingers on an ink pad and smudged a piece of paper with my genetically individual mark. What decade did I think I was living in? After a short wait, a surly middle aged man gruffly barked at me to come in. He took each of my fingers firmly in his hand and, one at a time, pressed my finger onto a little scanner, moving it from left to right. Apparently, I didn’t know how to do it right because for every finger he grabbed he would harshly exclaim, “Make your fingertip flat! Relax your finger! Don’t pop it up. Flat!! RELAX!” Relaxing is not the word I would use.

A few weeks later, I had to take the next step in the security process. I completed two infuriatingly complicated, for no reason, training sessions on a website that is so temperamental and obsessive compulsive that I wanted to recommend a good psychiatrist to it. After making my computer fit all of the requirements it needed to play a little video that I ended up just reading the transcript for anyway, I spent three hours of my life proving that I am not, in fact, a total idiot. And that is all I should say about that.

And then on August 27^th ‘work began’. That week I spent the first three days at the CT office and the second two at HQ. (It looks like I will be splitting my time in a similar way for the foreseeable future.) CT is a very nice place to be. I get unlimited free bottled and canned water (which I’m told is a gift in DC where the water quality is similar to that of a pond located in a third world village) and a cozy little cubicle to call my own. But, best of all, I can come into the building without a security screening. At HQ I am not so lucky.

By the first week I had access to my CT email and…and…internet explorer? However, I had no access to anything HQ related, including, the right to walk through the front door as I please. In order to bypass a daily security screening, awkward nametag, and a HQ employee escort  who takes me up three floors in an elevator, I need a HQ badge. Without it, I’m about as self-sufficient as a baby panda. I have given them my finger prints, I have completed their training, and given references to send security background check letters to (which HQ has not sent out yet because...they don't feel like it?). But I can’t go into their building or look at any of things I need to do my job, which is kind of a problem since I am supposed to take over someone else’s job at HQ in less than two weeks.

Luckily, yesterday brought with it a breakthrough. I now have remote access to HQ’s internal servers. Meaning, I now have an HQ email address and a CT one! But still no access to anything else. And the real kicker? As it is now, I can’t access the HQ system at the HQ office, but I can at CT’s office. This makes about as much sense as a superhero that can hide his heroic identity with an insubstantial pair of glasses. The reason for my ‘access’ paradox lies in the HQ badge. HQ recently set in place a system where you have to insert your badge into the keyboard in order to log on. Man, I’m telling you, once I have a HQ badge (and access to the five databases/systems/websites I’ll need for my position) it’ll be puppies and rainbows from then on.

For now I am helplessly and unproductively stuck in the mire of bureaucracy and security requirements that will eventually (i.e. probably, I hope) lead to pure unadulterated (i.e. heavily managed and specific) access to everything (i.e. the things that HQ deems I absolutely require access to) I need to be the best (i.e. moderately productive and helpful) CT/HQ employee I can be.

Let the additional paperwork begin!

**********************************************************************************

Postscript:

Sorry, for some reason this post felt fragmented. Maybe I am just too tired—haven’t got used to the new sleep schedule yet. Connections and smooth transitions are easier to make when brain power is at your disposal. I apologize.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is 10:45 am. I have to go draw a picture of Batman riding a baby elephant now.

 

 

 

Fearssss

Ever since I can remember, I’ve liked snakes. I can’t be certain when I was first exposed to my slithery friends. I suspect it was at some birthday party or nature center where a friendly, often awed at corn snake or ball python was being displayed around to a bunch of snot nosed brats—myself included.

“Do you want to pet his scales? He’s not slimy, is he? No, I promise you, he’s perfectly harmless. Very friendly.”

During these demonstrations I don’t remember any effect of gender on who wanted to touch and who kept their distance—contrary to my sister’s elementary school book that declared “While boys love to catch frogs, girls may find them icky and scream!”, which infuriated mother to no end.
All I know for certain is that I felt no fear at ogling or touching the legless creature presented to me. My interest, and eventual love, was cemented at the animal science department of the Arlington Career Center. My favorite day camp during the summer was Animal Care at the CC. I annoyed my teacher to no end with endless requests to hold the numerous snakes available for my hands and shoulders. Undoubtedly, my favorite was the black and white banded California King Snake. I held that thing every chance I could get. Something about his beautifully contrasting, smooth skin caught my heart. I loved it so much I decided to get one of my very own.

I prepared a PowerPoint to show my parents that I knew everything there was to know about competently and safely housing a furless friend. (This was a massive technological improvement on my impassioned case for getting a dog, which involved dragging a raggedy stuffed animal around the block and picking up leaves with a ‘poop bag’.) Somehow I convinced them, and father accompanied me to the Mid Atlantic Reptile Show in Maryland where I bought Henry, the ambiguously gendered, black and white banded California King Snake I could call my own. She became not so ambiguous about a year later, when I discovered she would have to be renamed Henrietta.

I loved that big girl—and she definitely got big—for about eight years until her death from cancer, my second year of college. I mourned her loss and took a multiple year break from herpetological bliss until about three months ago when I bought a new little girl, Vixen—a baby Corn Snake.

*******************************************************************************

Some might say that I’m one of those people who don’t mind the creepy crawly things that are the stuff of other people’s nightmares. Those people, however, are very wrong. There are plenty of bugs with enough legs and speed to make me scream internally and flee from the room. (I’ve never really been one of those people who show their fear with significant volume, except for one very unfortunate, very barefooted encounter with a slug.)

On Monday, the first day of my new job, the human resources manager had sent out an email with a short introduction to CT’s new employee—Me! She mentioned I have a snake named Vixen, which I had mentioned to her earlier when she directly asked me if I had any pets. She, in return, showed me pictures of the gigantic rattle snake she had encountered on a recent hiking trip. Not everyone in the office responded to the announcement of Vixen as well as this HR person, however—as I expected. My cube neighbor asked in horror if I really had one. She could not understand how the creature that is one of her primary fears could be my beloved pet. She told me that any picture or sight of a snake sends her into fits of hysteria: heavy breathing, screaming—the whole shebang. I assured her she was not the first person I had encountered with this phobia, but that I love my pet just the same. At that moment another office mate popped up and declared that he had a family of rock-spiders as pets in high school. The girl afraid of snakes said she had no problem with spiders. The girl afraid of my beloved pet was INDIFFERENT to one of my mild fears.

This got me wondering about the nature of fear.
 
In intro to psychology at Grinnell, we were briefly taught about fear in relation to evolution. According to evolutionary theory, some fears are adaptive, especially the fear of snakes and spiders. In the past and present, venemous spiders and snakes have posed a threat to humans’ health and, in more rare cases, life. It is adaptive to fear and avoid something that could potentially hurt you. But how does that explain other phobias unrelated to our evolutionary survival? I’m sure someone in this world has a phobia of something like chairs. Why? Of course there are other psychological explanations like past traumatic experiences, but we have lots of bad experiences that do not cause phobia. I and many of my friends have been scratched and made-to-bleed by a cat countless times, and yet we still love our furry pets. Why does one species of creature make one person afraid and one person completely unmoved? How can the creature I find beautiful and interesting, cause another person to hyperventilate?

And if fear should be logical, why do so many people hold onto a fear long after they learn all of the reasons their phobia is uncalled for? If someone with a fear of snakes, objectively and calmly observed Vixen for ten minutes, they would see that she is the biggest fraidy-cat of them all. All I’ve ever done is feed her and give her a warm place to live. I’ve never even once tried to eat her! That’s better odds then she would get in the wild. And yet the briefest glimpse of my hand is enough to send her fleeing in the other direction. Despite her fear, she has never once tried to bite me. Biting just doesn’t seem to occur to her. She would even rather cuddle with her food than eat it. I have to literally put it .0005 centimeters from her mouth for her to even consider opening up. And despite what some people mistakenly believe, Vixen will never, even at adult size—even if she wanted to—be able to strangle me or swallow me whole. She will not inject me with venom because she doesn’t have any. And if she ever does decide to bite, it won’t hurt because her teeth are tiny and Corn Snakes just do not care enough to hold on.

The fact is, I’ve been holding snakes for at least 12 years and I’ve never been bitten. I am not going to say all snakes are not dangerous. That is a lie. Although I still think they are beautiful, I would be afraid to stand in close proximity to a cobra or viper. Some fear is adaptive. Keeping your distance initially is a good strategy.  After some research and introspection you can approach or walk away fully informed. But to close yourself off completely from something you could come to respect, or maybe even admire, is tragic. Keep an open mind if you can. Listen to facts. And don’t rule your life by fear.

Now. Tell that to my deeply ingrained phobia of house centipedes!

 

Doh!

Soooo. If you're wondering where all my photos are. Well, you can blame that on my new cellphone. While the ways all the apps and programs you use sync together and share information is very helpful in some ways, in other ways, it's really obnoxious. Long story short, I tried to make one app not sync with one website and in the process all the photos on my blog were ripped from their original place on this here blog. Which sucks. A lot. Oh well. Maybe I'll work on replacing them, or maybe not. We'll see. But I've learned a very valuable lesson. Don't fight the technological machine that grows larger and larger each day. Your information and photos will be shared everywhere no matter how hard you try to stop it.

Plug in and give up.

Resistance is futile.

Yep, Nothing Much

As you have noticed I have not been posting about my life. That is because I have not had one. I have been unemployed. My days have been boring boring boring. Not worth writing about. So to fill the void of nothingness here are some great synonyms for unemployment that have been recommended for my use.

                                                          What have you been up to Abigail?



Oh, just living off of my investments.

Oh me? I'm funemployed!

Looking for long term employment.

Enjoying life as a trust fund baby.

Aggressively not working.

Contemplating existence and the secrets of the universe without the distraction of employment. 

Being a bum.

Brooding Loner With Outstanding Computer Skills

As you well know, my blog posts are usually filled with a whole bunch of bla bla bla about my life. So this time I’m going to do something a little different. But first a little background of why why why.

One day Alex and I were sitting in our living room. Alex was bemoaning his unenviable task of cover letter writing. In his desperation, he pleaded me (hyperbole? Me? Noooo) to write his cover letter for him. I brought up the excellent point that I have very little knowledge of his work history. In response, he proposed a compromise. I should write his cover letter, but instead of using his work history I could use Bruce Wayne’s instead. And so here you are Alex. What I imagine the rough draft of Batman’s cover letter might look like:

Dear hiring manager,

I am writing to express my interest in the computer analysis position with your esteemed IT company.  My butler saw your job announcement on Monster.com and recommended that I apply. I believe my mental fortitude, physical honed body, bachelor good looks, and intimidating demeanor would be an excellent fit for this job.

I became a billionaire philanthropist and the head of Wayne Industries at age eight. For the next twenty-two years I traveled extensively across the globe training with masters of detection, martial arts, technology and acrobatics. Oh and ninjas, lots of ninjas. When I returned to Gotham I continued to practice all the skills I had learned in order to stop all the hoodlums and freaks plaguing our once great city with their superstitious, cowardly and dastardly deeds!!!

While I have reached overall mental and physical perfection, I also have many skills directly related to this IT position. Both my legitimate business company and personal cave are at the forefront of technological invention. I have vast experience using the most technically advanced computer system in existence to assist me with crime fighting, and some light stalking of my girlfriends. Though I prefer to work alone I can also work with others. I have experience tutoring and mentoring youths to help me with my war. Though there hasn’t been a great mortality rate so far.  Once I am offered this position my tenacity will ensure that nothing and no one, (not even you blasted Joker! You rogue!) will stop me from completing any task that I am assigned. After all, I have persevered through a broken back, false imprisonment, and death itself!

I can be reached by sky signal and am available to work until sundown. I would be pleased to provide any additions, financial encouragement, or clarifications to this application. And remember I have unlimited resources and a very practiced punching hand if you choose to not hire me for this position.

Sincerely,

The Batman

Wayne Manor

Bat Signal

I.Am.The.Night@hotmail.com

Post Afterward: So there was my attempt at humor unrelated to my life experiences. Could I have possibly used the energy and thought expended writing this post to write an actual cover letter for a real job application for myself? What a silly question!

p.s. I.Am.The.Night@hotmail.com is now a real email address. So if you feel like writing anything to Batman feel free.

Apartment Watch Part 4: The (Really Long) Finale

Do you see what I did there? Do you? As you can clearly see, I waited a long time to post again because I wanted you to feel an approximation of how anxious I was to hear from The Aspen. So that you could feel how waiting for information or news can gnaw and tear at your insides. So you could feel my pain. What? You think I’m lying? You think I just didn’t get around to posting, or I forgot? Of course not, I say! Look, I have irrefutable proof for you right he---*throws smoke bomb on the ground and runs away*.

…

*huf * huf * huf * Okay I’m back. *Wipes sweat from brow * Anyway. When last you read, I had just submitted Alex’s and my application for a two-bed one-bath rental lodging place at The Aspen Apartment complex where the two wonderful ex-Grinnellians, Jessica and Elyse, currently reside. The only plot device, I mean potential complication, was the battle that the combined incomes of Alex and Gigantor had to wage against the robust income requirements that would assure the acceptance of our humble requests to live in paradise. What I didn’t mention before was that I had been working a data-entry temp job during the whole application process. Now, for those who don’t know what data entry is, it’s the most boring, repetitive and mind-numbing process in the whole arena of temp jobs. And do you know what can make a mundane task ten times worse? Waiting to hear about something very important while completing the task. For a week of entering names and check numbers, I sat in my swivel chair, staring at a computer screen, my heart a flutter, and a light sweat covering my face and bored out of my mind…

Side note: If you think I’m writing with too much of a dramatic flair, that’s because I realized while writing this post that the stuff about the actual moving processes is going to be very dull. Nothing super exciting really happened, beyond the general overall excitement of moving into my first real place, and spending time with wonderful company. So bear with me cause it’ll be boring soon…or I guess maybe just stop reading. Up to you)

 …I knew I was waiting for bad news, but I didn’t know if good news would come with it. I knew there was no way in bejesus that we were going to meet the income requirement, but I had great hope that they would let mother cosign and give us the place anyway. And, for lack of a more dramatic outcome, that is exactly what happened. At 4pm on Friday, I received a phone call from The Aspen. It went a little bit like this:

“So you didn’t quite meet the income requirement, but if you have a cosi—“

“I HAVE A COSIGNER. MY MOM WILL COSIGN. WHAT DO YOU NEED ME TO DO, WHAT DO YOU NEED FROM ME? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?!?!”

She gave me a little list and I immediately called my mom. Good thing too because if I had called her after she left work, she wouldn’t have been able to get me in time the two paystubs I needed for her cosigner application. I was actually sleeping over at Jessica’s apartment that night because we were attending Elyse’s grandfather’s funeral the next day. So I swung over to Churchmanor to get the stuff I needed from my mother and turned it in on Saturday morning.

On Saturday we actually had a little time before the funeral to stop into a Mattress Discounters, so I could start to get an idea of what kind of heavenly sleeping pad I would want for my new place that I was assuming I was going to get because the universe could not possibly that mean to me, right? RIGHT? Luckily the nicest older man was there to help me. I lied (lay, laid, lie in past tense, does this grammar rule ever make sense?!) on the three sample beds, feeling super silly, while Jessica and Asia wandered around the store loudlyishly telling me “Get this mattress” “No! Get this mattress”. I walked out of the store, with a smile on my face, and fantasies about what my new room would look like when I was done with it. I would say I tried not to get my hopes up, but I totally did.

And that turned out to be okay because the universe was nice and I got a phone call a few days later telling me that everything had checked out and we could move in our previously-tentatively planned move in day.

I immediately started packing and buying things. Being the huge procrastinator that I am, however, I waited two days before moving in to buy a mattress and bought all my bedroom furniture the day before. Alex came with me to IKEA on Friday. I could easily go into a rant right now about how much IKEA weirds me out, and how manipulative the way it is set up is, and the annoying warehouse where you have to blow out your back to get all of your stuff into a measly cart. But instead, I’ll sum up my feelings with a brief scene from 30 Rock where Liz Lemon goes into an IKEA with her boyfriend. An IKEA worker comes up to them and says:

“SILENCE PRISONER! I mean… Hello valued costumer.”

On Saturday morning I packed all (most) of my moving stuff into father’s Scion (Mother was on a business trip that weekend and could not help me move in), and drove off to my new abode. While I signed the fifty page manifesto/my lease my dad started carrying stuff from the car to my apartment. Luckily, Alex and I were moving into a room on the first floor. Every place at the Aspen has a balcony, or in our case a patio, with sliding doors. This made moving larger objects into the apartment a relatively painless process. Alex arrived about thirty minutes later than me. After I helped my dad with the last two big bins of my stuff, I left Alex to be on IKEA delivery duty and went back to my childhood home. This time I left my Dad there and took the last of my stuff to my new, shiny, undecorated, largely empty, apartment.

The first real step to moving in was painting my room, which I had decided I wanted to do to help with the nesting process. Earlier in the week I had bought a wonderful not-quite-purple, not-quite-blue color paint. At that time, my slave labor came down to help me start getting settled in. Did I say slave labor? I meant my wonderful, helpful friends, Jessica and Elyse.  

Though neither really enjoys painting—not that I really do either—they selflessly helped me. I, being a tall freak, was in charge of painting the tops of the walls while they took care of almost everything else. Sadly I was not quite tall enough to make it a painless process. My arms were quite tired by the end and my part definitely lacked something--like enough paint. Overall, I was super happy with it though. Jelyse also helped me assemble a few things that same day (the IKEA stuff had come while I was at home picking up more things), before I went back to Churchmanor to sleep for I not yet had a bed.

On Sunday, Asia joined the assembling party, and through some delegation of work, we assembled, a bed, a dresser, and a bookcase. After dressing the bed, we all took turns pretending to sleep/be murdered on it, to celebrate our accomplishments. 

The moving and settling in continued for the rest of the week. Jessica helped me figure out what I needed from Walmart, and Target, and BJs for my kitchen and food needs. I went to a few hardware stores to get everything I needed to mount my bookcase and dresser to the wall, so they wouldn’t fall over and kill me. Long story short—funny how that saying always come at the end of a long story—I spent days putting things in their place, organizing everything, and falling in love with my bedroom.

I had moved into my first apartment as a (sort of) real adult. It was nerve racking, it was exciting, it was excellent. And good news, I still love it. With Jessica and Elyse seven floors up, how couldn’t I?

T H E            E    N   D

BONUS STORY:  I realized I forgot to mention another part of the getting ready to move in story. I will include it here, so as not to break up the excellent flow of my perfectly organized piece of thoughtful writing. On the night before move in day, I went out to dinner with Papa (pronounced in the British way), with the secondary goal to buy a new TV for the apartment. I had finagled my two move in gifts with the Churchparents. Mother payed for my mattress, while my father got me a new TV. We stopped in an HHGregg and pretty quickly picked out a television. Easy as pie… Except, that particular TV was out of stock in their store. Therefore, after dinner, we had to drive out to a Fairfax HHGregg located in the Fair Oaks Shopping Mall. See, Easy as pie…Except, here’s the thing: there is no HHGregg in the FO mall. After calling Alex for directions to where the store really was, and stopping at a gas station to get further clues about its whereabouts after we got lost using Alex’s directions, we finally found the store we were looking for.  The HHGregg on Fair Lakes Drive. Thank you helpful, fully-informed sales associate at the Arlington branch. Let’s just say, going on a two hour road trip/maze was not the way I thought the night before move in day would go. I was kind of worth it though because my TV is beautiful and has helped Alex and I play hours of video games. Now that’s what I call a happy ending!

Apartment Watch #3: It'll be Over Soon. Promise.

When last we left this story's heroes and heroine, one before-mentioned hero had become an unexpected foe, renegading on his previous promise to room with us. At the time, the details were sketchy to me because Thomas had texted Alex with the disastrous news instead of me. I was, however, to say the least, very confused. I mean, if anyone was going to back out it was going to be me. Sure, I knew that eventually I would move out of my parents' house, but not so soon. I had, on three quarters of a whim, joined in on Alex and Thomas's hunt for a dwelling place. So shouldn't I be the flaky one? Well, it was a good thing for Alex that I didn't drop out too, or he would have been (some nicer synonym for the word) screwed. Yes, I am magnanimous.

Anyway, for a few days after Thomas's news, Alex held out hope that we could find a third person for the townhouse. He had been training with about thirty other twenty somethings for the past two weeks, and many were looking for housing, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem. Right? I think we all know the answer to that question. Long story short, after some initial hope, we knew that the townhouse was not meant to be. To be honest, I wasn't too sad, as the very short lease had been getting less and less attractive in my mind. I felt for Alex though. I offered him a place in my parents' home while we continued to look for a two person place. (It was always meant to be temporary! Despite what some people thought. I had not, in my own words, "gained the Churchmanor another tenant"). Eventually Alex took me up on my offer and stayed in our humble abode for a week before temporarily living with a friend of (his) family.

Before leaving our house, Alex went with me to see a townhouse in Del Ray Alexandria. We had chosen to view it mostly because the rent was cheap. You know what they say--'you get what you pay for'. It was not the worse place we could end up. The main road nearby was nice, and we were close to metro and my dear friends Elyse, Jessica, and Agememnon in THE ASPEN *foreshadowing* *foreshadowing* *foreshadowing*. The inside was also not terrible, but not great either. Every detail was just off enough to give us a bad vibe. The real nail in the coffin, however, was the basement. Or should I say, tall peoples' torture chamber. The ceilings were covered with a ventilation system that warned off any people over the height of 5 foot 9. Consequently, I was quite relieved when after a bought of silence between the two of us, Alex declared, 'no, I don't think so'. We were in agreement and left.

Throughout our apartment search as a twosome, I had been dropping hints and elbow nudging Alex about a wonderful apartment building that I had visited many times in the last year or so. A bright and cheery place, with big rooms, clean walls, and hardly a bug in sight. Not to mention the two lovely girls living on the eighth floor. On a Saturday afternoon Alex agreed to check it out. However, we called at approximately 3:55pm and the office closed at 4pm. Alex and I agreed that he would go and see it at the end of his short training/work day on Monday. I had work at far-off Reston and thought I couldn't make it. However, it turned out on Monday that our roles were reversed and I was the one who could see our potential room at the Aspen. Which was, to say the least, ironic since I was the one who had seen the apartment complex many times before. I think Alex was pretty ready to find a place though because he told me to do everything I could to get the ball rolling for renting an apartment in The Aspen.

I was given a lovely tour by a lovely office worker, who showed me an apartment with clean white walls, a huge living room, and newly updated appliances. My potential room also struck a cord with me because of its ample room and closet space (Alex had said I could have the bigger master bedroom, for a small price). Let's just say that after the tour I really wanted to close the deal as fast as possible. That same night I had Alex fill out his application and give me some verification of his employment. The next day, I rushed after work to turn in our papers. The person I met with arranged a hypothetical move in day for us (assuming the application process went smoothly), and I was filled with hope...and a slight sense of dread. To get the apartment we needed our credit and criminal check to go well--which shouldn't be a problem--and the two of us needed to meet the income requirement. 32 times the monthly rent. Ruh roh. I'm a temp, I don't make a lot of money. Enough to pay my rent, but probably not enough for the requirement. There was some hope they would take my investment account at good ol' Chuck into account, but not much.

Consequently, the wait for the next week or so was not fun. Not fun at all...

Coming up next... Aren't you glad? It's the Finale!

Apartment Watch #2: Decisions, Decisions, What?

So, I have been very busy lately. The last few days have been full of packing, painting, assembling… but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Shortly after I contacted Alex, expressing my interest, Alex and Thomas toured a three-bedroom townhouse near old town Alexandria. I had other engagements, but they took pictures and sent them to me. Both seemed pleased with the general condition of the house. Alex was especially pleased because the house had a six-month lease, and his job is only guaranteed till June. I was not so pleased. Moving is, for lack of a better word, a bitch. I wouldn’t want to do it again six months later. Still I kept an open mind and the three of us kept the town house on our list. After all, a short lease might provide a good testing ground to see if the three of us were good roommates.

Option number two was a more traditional apartment complex, titled Cityside Huntington Metro Apartments. I don’t know how we found this one, but after learning we were going to visit I did some internet research. During this research I learned a horrible truth. Apartment rating sites are pretty much absolutely useless. Sure, you know the apartments that get one star are horrible and those with four are bound to be pretty decent. However, most fall in a middle range that tells you nothing. You’d think looking at specific comments would help a little bit. But no. For every one person who says the complex is ‘located in the seventh ring of hell’, complete with locusts and demon apartment managers, there is the kind soul who says the management is from heaven and no bugs ever doth enter here—“I don’t know what those negative reviewers are talking about”. Yes most rating websites have the same general problem. You can always find at least one reviewer who is always negative and must let their one bad experience ruin potential happiness for others. But apartment reviewers are the worst. The sad truth is that the two or three stars that most apartments inevitably get can warn you just enough to avoid a place that might have been perfect. People’s experiences can’t be so completely and utterly different in the same complex, so why doesn’t everyone just tell the truth? Leave the drama to yourself, help a sister out.

Anyway—one rant later—on one unnaturally windy Saturday, Thomas, Alex and I visited Cityside. An immediately obvious flaw was location. The complex was a 15 minute walk from the metro, but it wouldn’t be a pleasant one. Instead of a nice neighborhood, like the townhouse was located in, our potential backyard at Cityside would be a highway. Long story short, the surrounding area did not give off a great vibe. The vibe inside our potential apartment was not great either, but that was because it was still under construction. The whole complex was in the middle of a remodeling. All of our floors, walls, and cabinets were stripped and I think I counted about five toilets sitting in what would be our living-room. Let’s say looking at the apartment required quite a bit of imagination. The plus side would be that when we moved in the place would be newly finished. Basically, new everything. But like everything the plus would come with a negative—construction going on around us at all time.

Seeing how Alex was going to be kicked out of his free hotel room very soon, we didn’t really have much time to look at other places. Consequently, we decided to head to a small independent coffee shop nearby (*cough* Starbucks *cough* *cough*) to list the pros and cons of the townhouse and the apartment, and hopefully make a decision. In the end, it really came down to a few simple statements.

Everybody: “The townhouse is located in a better neighborhood, but it has a short lease”. “The apartment would be totally new and was considerably cheaper”.

Abby and Thomas: “We like the townhouse better in general, but the short lease really sucks”.

Alex: “Yes, but a short lease works for me”.

In the end, I was pretty okay with either, and so was Alex. Thomas, however, needed more time to decide. He would let Alex know as soon as possible what his decision was.

Two days later I got a text from Alex. Thomas had gotten cold feet, and was backing out of the whole thing. Alex and I were on our own, fluttering in the cold empty wind. What were we to do? Buh duh duhhhhhhn!

To be continued…

Apartment Watch # 1 : Endings and Beginnings

Sooooooooooooo, I haven't posted in basically forever (I know full well a post that only contains a link doesn't count). Luckily and unfortunately my brother seems to have been picking up the slack with increasingly frequent posts. Luckily, because it fills the void and the latter, well, because it makes me look bad. And I CAN'T HAVE THAT!

For months, I have been planning out a lengthy blog post of sociological magnitude about my recent temping experiences. I would write about how my first, one day job as a receptionist made me question how companies suddenly appear, filling a technological need that hadn't even been there a few years before. How my one day of hard labor at a FedEx packing facility revealed to me the hypocrisies of a nation that rewards a monkey in a suit sitting at a desk all day more than a person who wakes up at 3 every morning and comes home at night with blisters on his hands! How the daily care of the economically unfortunate elderly are put almost SOLELY in the hands of third, second, and FIRST GENERATION immigrants who PROBABLY have ELDERLY LOVED ONES OF THEIR OWN TO CARE FOR who have FALLEN BETWEEN ONE OF THE PLENTIFUL CRACKS IN COVERAGE OF OUR DEEPLY FLAWED MEDICARE SYSTEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But then today I finally realized this post was probably never going to actually happen. It is time to move on, and let it go. It is the only way this blog will continue. And so I'll say goodbye to that mental roadblock and talk about this instead: my newest baby step into ADULTHOOD....

About a week ago I got a Facebook message that I thought might be coming, but I was not entirely prepared for. A week previously, a friend from Grinnell had posted celebratory news on his wall. He had gotten a job in the DC area and wondered if anyone in the area might be interested in joining him in his apartment hunt. I, being the wimp that I am, was sorely tempted to respond, but let fear and uncertainty hold me back. (Yes, I am being dramatic! I have the right. BIG LIFE CHANGES!). I posted a congratulatory "Yay!" comment, but nothing more.

Consequently, it didn't completely come from left field when this friend messaged me, asking if I would be interested in looking for a three person apartment with him and his friend. I read the message lingering on the screen of my KindleFire while sandwiched between my companions Jessica and Asia (not the country. Short for Anastasia. My new friend. Yay I can still make those!) I'm pretty sure I let out some kind of whimper/excited squeal because J and A turned to me with questioning and concerned looks. So I told them about the invitation, and asked if I was crazy for thinking of saying yes. After all, I don't have a full time job, and temp assignments in the last few months have been scarce. Isn't it too soon to live away from the nest? The answer, at the time, was a hesitant "No".

The universe was clearly giving me a sign that now is the perfect time to take that step every post-graduate must eventually take--Apartmenthood. When would be the next time someone I actually knew would offer to room with me? The longer I stay in the comforting cocoon of my childhood haven with "my" cuddly kitten, the harder it will be to leave. Sure, living somewhere free has it's benefits (it's free!), but adults--or whatever you call people my age--aren't supposed to be dependent forever. It's time for me to learn some of that independence our founding fathers--and the political conservatives who never seem to shut up about 'the founding fathers'--seem to love so much.

And so. Big, wide, open, unknown, intimidating, yonder. I'm coming for you!

To be continued...

(I promise)

I'm not a Total Slacker, I Swear!

To sort-of-kind-of make up for my prolonged and egregious lack of posting here's the link to my new deviantART account:

http://gigantor5.deviantart.com/

That is all.