Apartment #3: There Are Hardly Ever Cockroaches

That's what the landlord said to me as I stood in the tiny kitchen, looking at the smaller-than-average oven, the shallow sink, the rotting cabinets. I peaked into the bathroom, and my first thought upon seeing the dark shower stall was, "This is a perfect place to commit suicide." I could almost see the dead body hanging there.

I look at jobs every day. Most days, twice a day. I have approximately four months of unemployment checks left. Then I will officially have run out of incoming money. When I go to sleep at night, I think of different things I can do to Wooffers. A Facebook friend emailed me to say she lived with a similar roommate, and when she was moving out she may have "accidentally" thrown out some of the roommate's things. That crosses a line for me, but it got the mental ball rolling. Even though I'm sure some would say dreaming of revenge is not healthy, I must wonder if those people ever got screwed. Living well may be the best revenge, but when I was at my highest point, even then nobody ever would have said I was living well. I was just living the best I ever had.

I've never had cockroaches. Once, when I lived in Florida, I found a huge bug crawling across the living room. I screamed and rushed to vacuum it up (because that seemed like the logical thing to do after bashing it with a shoe). After that buggy day, I kept any open food in the refrigerator. Box of crackers? Fridge! Bag of pretzels? Fridge!

I do not want to live among cockroaches. I am trying to be more open to compromise, but I think cockroaches may be a line I am unable to cross.

So I'm Not Moving to the Inner Richmond

Yesterday I went to see an apartment in the Inner Richmond. For those of you not familiar with the area, the apartment is literally across the street from Golden Gate Park. I met the Asian landlord named Jack who told me he came to this country over 25 years ago and lived in an apartment in the Mission that had roaches, and he stayed because the rent was so low. Now his daughter is starting Berkeley in the fall, and he is a mailman and owns a slew of apartments with his wife.

When I first emailed Jack about the apartment he wrote back that I sounded like the perfect tenant. Sitting on my bed reading his email, I said out loud, "I *AM* the perfect tenant!" We arranged to meet at 3pm so Jack could show me the apartment. I was worried about switching buses and getting lost (Inner Richmond is not my side of the city).

The bus to get there goes straight through Golden Gate Park. I showed up early, so killed time by wandering around a few blocks. It was all very flat and residential, though I later found out I was in walking distance of Geary and Clement.

Jack and I talked for about a half hour. I could tell he liked me. The apartment was fine. I could live there. In our talks, Jack mentioned he was seeing a number of people, so I filled out the application while I was there. Jack said he needed a check for a portion of the security deposit, so I wrote a check for $500. The application needs to be accompanied by $25 for the credit check, so I gave Jack $25. Jack told me he needed proof of income so I told him I would ask my boss (a.k.a. my friend, who offered to let me use her as a faux employer on my resume) to e-mail him confirming my income.

On the way out, Jack all but hugged me. Tonight I got a very nice e-mail from Jack saying in part:

Fortunately, I was able to cancel your screening process. Therefore, I will be able to give you back the $25 fee along with your deposit check. Please advise if 10 Great Sight Lane is the address that you would like me to mail to. Additionally, what is the apartment number?

I am terribly sorry for the inconveniences this may have caused you. I wish you the best finding a place that you like. Thank you.

I wrote back giving my full address and thanking Jack for his time and for being able to give me back the $25, saying it was nice to meet him, etc.

His response?

It was my pleasure meeting you.

I will put in mail first thing in the morning with your deposit check, plus a check payable to you in the amount of $25 (for cash is not allowed in mailing). Rest assured that all documents pertaining your personal information has been destroyed through shredding. Thank you for your understanding.

Even though I am sad, I am not really surprised to not get the apartment. Once he ran my credit I wouldn't have gotten it anyway. Who would rent an apartment to someone who doesn't have a job, has shit credit, and is moving after living in their current home for three weeks? It kind of seems stupid to even bother looking for a place to move at all under these circumstances, but I don't know what else to do.

I just wanted to share this because I thought it was sweet and funny - Jack won't mail cash because he knows, due to his mailman career, that it's not allowed.

Life Sucks

Mama Nabi totally hit the nail on the head the other day - working makes me happy. I like having a reason to get up and get dressed each morning. I like making my tiny contribution to society. I like having structure to my day. I like earning my money rather than collecting unemployment.

The two-week temp job has ended, and I am sad. This evening I went to look at an apartment in this same neighborhood. It's $985. It's at the top of five huge hills where no buses run. It's a room in an old lady's house. There's a kitchen smaller than my bedroom closet. It's not an apartment attached to a house. It's a bedroom in someone's home. A home that smells like an old woman.

Today I got an email from the City of San Francisco. I applied for a job with them several weeks ago. Apparently I am disqualified from the application process because of something I did not understand. I guess you have to be in a training program, or have taken a specific training, but I didn't, or haven't.

Wooffers had sent me an email earlier this week asking me to respond back that I agree, saying that on May 15th she'd given me 60 days notice. I didn't email her back. Yesterday, at my temp job, I met with a lawyer who does tenant advocacy. Three or four times he said, "I wouldn't pay her any more money."

That is what I walked out of our meeting understanding. That a lawyer advised me not to pay any more rent. Wooffers expects me to pay her $500 on May 29th, representing half a month's rent from June 1 - June 15th. Then my last month's rent that I gave her before I moved in would cover June 16th through July 15th.

When I got home from the temp job this afternoon Wooffers asked me to read my emails and respond. I went to look at the old lady room, and when I came back I told Wooffers that obviously she does not want me here, and obviously I don't want to be somewhere that I'm not wanted, so I want to leave as soon as possible. Which means if I can be out of here by June 15th, I will.

Wooffers reply was that as long as I give her 30 days notice that will be fine. She then told me that she wants me to move out because I do not follow her instructions with her precious woofs. This, even after she has gone out of her way to praise me for ignoring them routinely (which is what she told me to do when I come home), saying that most people can't repeatedly ignore dogs that rush to greet them.

What I understand is that Wooffers wants to tell me in great detail (that keeps changing) how much I suck, and then wants me to agree with her, and THEN on top of that, agree that she is generous to be putting up with me for as long as she is. The cherry on top is when Wooffers all but begs me to discuss my feelings about whatever issues she's raised, which of course I refuse to do, saying my feelings don't matter.

Wooffers, emphatically: But your feelings DO matter, to me.

Thing is, I don't give a shit what matters to her at this point. She wants me to care so much about her delicate emotional state, and that for a couple of days she was in her bedroom with her door closed, supposedly because of me. And I just don't. Wooffers wants me to agree how much she's gone out of her way for me, and I won't.

She has created a world where everything revolves around her. I refuse to revolve around her. The end of this month is two full years since I got laid off and stopped working for Tuna and Nice Partner. I can not sustain myself. I am totally fucking cracking. I can not both be out of work and not have a comfortable place to live.

I am a homebody. I like to putter around my house, reading books, playing online, rearranging my furniture. Right now I can not find my true lefty scissors from second grade. I can not reach anything on the top shelf of my closet. I can not find my favorite bowl. I am not comfortable here. I want to go home, but I have nowhere to go and no money to get there.

Edited to add: Wooffers has told me that it's best I keep my bathroom door closed at all times, because the woofs will otherwise go in and make a mess, eating the garbage and whatnot. I keep the door partially closed, but not completely. I have never even seen either woof so much as stick their nose in there. Also, don't bathrooms need to air out? There's no window that can be opened. Maybe I'm imagining things but I feel like it smells musty and moist. This bothers me. Just wanted to mention that since apparently this is an airing of the grievances.

Less Than Two Days Left

For most of last week and all of this week, I'm temping at a law firm, covering for two new-to-the-firm partners whose also-new-to-the-firm-because-they-brought-her-with-them secretary is on vacation for two weeks.

These are like the nicest partners EVER. Seriously, just such a pleasure to work with, they give me plenty to do, etc. I even said something to the female partner today while I was filing in her office about how much I'm enjoying my time here, and hey, has Barb considered retiring? I swear to you it was due to major restraint that I managed not to break into song and dance when the partner confirmed that yes, in fact Barb HAS floated the idea by them.

I sit next to a lovely Italian woman from New York who is the assistant to HR. It is such a breath of fresh air to chat with somebody so direct, with somebody who talks fast, somebody who understands why it's great to find a nearby place for lunch that sells Boar's Head meat.

So far, I have not heard anyone screaming, nor have I seen anyone crying in the bathrooms. Both of these things have happened at other firms.

The desk I have been sitting at is covered with turtles and pictures of cats. On my very first day, I said something to the next-door woman about "I guess Barb like turtles," and she leaned over conspiratorially and as she pointed to the picture of two turtles said, "This is George, and this is Elizabeth. Wait, maybe it's the other way around. Anyway, George and Elizabeth ... ya know ... do it. When Barb puts them together they stay connected for five whole days! And Elizabeth here, she has a delicate bladder, and what with her uterus being right next to her bladder, well you can imagine the problems! So Barb has to be very careful in making sure George doesn't hurt Elizabeth."

Even the staple remover at the desk is in the shape of a turtle. Apparently this firm never hires temps and everyone is confused as to why these two partners need a temp. I can understand this being confusing, especially considering that each secretary (aside from the one I'm covering for) has four or five attorneys (which is too much!).

On Wednesdays this firm bakes cookies in the afternoon. At 3pm they just send out an email saying "Warm cookies are in the kitchen!" and there's a stampede to go get some. On Friday mornings they have bagels and pastries and fruit. Those are the good things. The bad things are the high lawyer to secretary ratio I mentioned, and the fact that you have to "punch in" and "out" on a virtual time clock. I mean, I don't have to, since I'm not an employee. But that can be a real pain in the ass. Say you're coming back from lunch or walking in first thing at the start of the day, and one of your five lawyers sees you and asks you to do something, telling you it's a rush. Of course you just start rushing and 28 minutes later when things have died down you realize it looks like you just took a leisurely hour and a half lunch.

The last thing I'm not a fan of is that this firm has terrible training. There are no instructions anywhere (granted, they never have temps, so maybe there's really no need) on how to do things, office protocols, who gets called for which issues, etc. It's pretty frustrating to come in to a law firm, wanting to appear competent and make a good impression, but then spend 10 minutes away from your desk looking for an envelope, or taking double the time it should take to get a copy made because nobody told you a user number was needed, or which one you should use.

As I said though, everyone's been super-friendly, so I'd rather put up with these frustrations than dealing with lawyers who scream. I hope they plan to hire some new baby attorneys for the fall. You know, like maybe five. Or Barb could just retire and spend her golden years with George and Elizabeth.

P.S. Apple has not said anything to me other than hello and goodbye when I say it to her as I walk past.

The Good Parts of Having Moved Here

It hasn't ALL been awful. I knew this was a nice neighborhood, but I've learned how to take new buses, which always makes me happy. Two new buses have been discovered, and I've gotten to explore the wonderful world of the J-Church.

I'd been out here before, but actually living here gives me the opportunity to wander around, ducking into interesting stores when they strike my fancy. Finding stores that are good for presents is important to me, and I've definitely found some cute shops that have now been tucked away in my brain for when I need presents for people in the future.

Another thing is that ages ago, pre-move, I'd decided that despite my status as a water-snob, I was going to break away from the bottled water and learn to embrace a Brita filter. Eventually. Like maybe when I moved.

Turns out Wooffers actually has a Brita filter, and I've used it exclusively since moving in. I used to buy those huge flats of bottled water and heft them up, to be stored on top of the fridge. To be completely honest, if I could get Poland Spring water again, I'd probably do that without a second thought. But you can't get Poland Spring water out here, and I'm pleased to finally have crossed over to the Brita world.

Speaking of water, it's the drink of choice for me nine out of ten times. Today at lunch I was in a restaurant and they had a soda machine that had a little tab for water. I put ice in my cup, pressed the tab, and filled my cup before capping it and going to sit down. It had been a long morning. I'd just walked to lunch. So I took a big gulp. It felt like my mouth had exploded! My tongue felt like it was on fire. Quickly I swallowed, and right away, I knew what had gone wrong with my water. I'd just had 7-Up or Sprite, not water.

I hate carbonated drinks. I'm like a Mormon in that I don't drink alcohol, soda, or coffee (yes, I know coffee isn't carbonated but don't like the taste). On the rare occasions when nausea has hit and I've needed to sip Coke to calm my stomach, I've poured a little back and forth between two cups - it's an easy way to get the bubbles out when you don't have access to a blender. I can't remember the last time I drank soda with the bubbles.

Once when I was around five or six, my mom was sitting in the living room, drinking clear liquid. I was thirsty, asked if it was water, and she handed me her glass, saying, "Taste it and see." So I did, and then ran into the kitchen to spit into the sink - it was seltzer or Perrier or something.

Anyway. "Water" under the bridge now, if you will.

Part Two: Out Ya Go!

Here's Part One.

Very nicely, I asked what was wrong, and mentally raced to review the agreement we'd signed to try to think if there was anything in there about not having guests. Wooffers tearfully told me she was upset that my friend (who'd helped me move) had said something about the side table staying in the living room the day before. I reassured her that 1. she was living with me, not my friend, and 2. that I knew the side table couldn't stay there based on our prior discussions, and it would be moved before the end of the day (ultimately the table was out of there less than 24 hours after I moved in).

Then Wooffers told me something about how the apartment was not ready for people to be coming over to see it. I assured her my brother was coming to see me, not to judge HER on the apartment, and that he's moved, and knows how crazy things get during a move.

Wooffers then gestured to herself, saying she was not ready to be meeting people. When Wooffers was saying this to me, she was dressed and had makeup on. I again said my brother was not coming over to judge her, and that anyway, he was just my brother, not like, a king or anything.

After that she said something about having people over and how it affects her sensitive woof, to which I replied that her sensitive woof was out for the day (joint custody) and my brother would surely leave before the evening when it was scheduled to come home.

Wooffers then cried the second time and in all honesty, this startled me so much - that a 40 year old would cry over a roommate having someone over in the middle of the day for a little while - that I asked her if she really wanted me to call my brother and tell him not to come. I was absolutely SHOCKED when Wooffers reply was, "Yes, thank you."

I ultimately waited down in the lobby and had a two minute talk with my brother and Crazy Girl while they were in their car on the driveway. CG said something about how Wooffer's reaction did not bode well for the future. I agreed with her. When they drove away, I was very sad.

Wooffers is my eighth roommate, peoples. Not including the two I had in college. Maybe the way I've done things is very different from everyone else, I don't know. But generally, if you're having someone over and you see your roommate before your guest arrives, you tell them. You don't ask, you tell. If you're having a party, it's more of an ask, but it's really like when I was little and my mother would say, "I'm just phrasing it as a question to be polite, but saying no is not an option." If you're having overnight guests, you ask.

I have never had this problem before, except once when Trixie was having a party and wanted to store furniture in my bedroom so there'd be more space in the living room. Sometimes when a roommate has guests over you don't see them at all, sometimes you say hi and chat for a few minutes, and sometimes you wind up all hanging out together for hours. This entire range of options seems normal to me.

You may know I'm an introvert. In general, I am fine with roommates having people over. I know it's their right, as ... like, humans, to entertain their friends or family. I may bitch about wanting company to go home or whatever, but I know my roommates really do have this right. If I don't want to meet their friends, I just go into my bedroom and close the door, or I leave the house for a while. Wooffers seemed to want me to ask her permission to have people over.

A few days after the whole debacle, when I thought Wooffers had calmed down, I went back and asked her what the "real reason" was that she hadn't wanted me to have anyone over. She again cycled through all the things she'd told me previously. I learned nothing, except that instead of saying "I only want people to come over Sunday through Thursday" or some concrete guideline I could work with, what she wanted was to be asked every single time I wanted to have someone over.

That doesn't work for my lifestyle. Sometimes I meet up with friends out and about, and then they offer to drive me home. Sometimes when they drive me home, I invite them to come in for a while. Or they ask to come in to use the bathroom, or see my place. Or a thousand other things. As a child I had friends over so rarely that I could count every single time it happened, because my mother required me to jump through so many hoops that it was exhausting to get permission. I refuse to live that way as an adult.

I do not personally know any crack whores. My friends are all very nice people, some slightly more quirky than others. They are all capable of politely saying hello to my new roommate. Many of them have done just that in the past.

Last night when I got home from work, Wooffers knocked on my bedroom door and asked to speak with me in the living room. She told me that after not-quite two weeks, she could see this wasn't working out and I would have to leave. She then pointed out that our lease agreement says she has to give me 30 days notice, but she's generously going to give me 60 days. Wooffers reiterated this multiple times, clearly wanting me to comment favorably on her generosity.

Wooffers also encouraged me multiple times to share my feelings about what she'd said. Ding! Somebody's been to therapy. I shook my head. "My feelings don't really matter," I told her. Wooffers insisted they matter to her. I didn't really give a shit what mattered to her after what she'd told me. How I felt wouldn't change her wanting me to leave, and even if it did, who wants to live where they know they're not wanted? That's why my feelings didn't matter. Wooffers kept trying to get me to engage in a conversation with her about how I felt about the bomb she'd just dropped. I refused.

Years ago, I stumbled across a book about business dealings with the Japanese, and one of the things I learned is that Americans are outrageously uncomfortable with silence, and the Japanese know and use this to their advantage in negotiations. Well shit, I can be Japanese - so when I am in a conversation that either I don't want to be in, or that is with a person I am angry at, I will often become silent. It works every time - people talk to fill the silence. (No, I have never tried this with a Japenese person.)

Wooffers babbled on and on about how I had done things that were red flags to her. Like what? Like the bullshit with the side table. Like that I "just told" her and didn't ask about having my brother over. Like that I hadn't adhered to our roommate agreement. At this, I responded. I pointed out that I'd re-read our roommate agreement and the only thing it said about guests was not to have any under the age of 15 (because one of the woofs does not do well with kids).

Then she changed directions and said that when we talked about moving in, I'd said I didn't want her guests using my bathroom. This is true - my bathroom is two feet from the front door, while her bathroom is in her bedroom which is at the back of the apartment. She'd initially asked if it mattered which bathroom guests used and I said it did - that my guests would be directed to my bathroom and she should direct her guests to her bathroom. Wooffers then said that one of my friends (on moving day) had used her bathroom.

I asked her who, because I had not been aware of either of my two friends even going into her bedroom. She named a name, and I told her I hadn't known that, and was sorry if it had happened but had either of my friends asked, I would have of course directed them to my bathroom. Wooffers then changed course and said my friend went into her office (which is the dining room) and left her a note. This is true. My friend knows Wooffers - it was through her that I saw Wooffers Craigslist ad. My friend did poke her head into the office, and saw something she liked, and jotted a quick note to Wooffers about it so she'd see it when she got home.

There is a door between the kitchen and dining room that slides into the wall. Wooffers can close the door if she wants - that would be a clear indication nobody should take one step into the space she uses as an office. The door was open. I can see how this would unsettle a tightly wound person - to know someone went into their space when they weren't home. So I apologized on behalf of my friend.

Wooffers said multiple times that I wasn't adhering to our agreement, but she never articulated how exactly that was. She ultimately said that she just couldn't deal with living with a roommate after all. I told her I wish she'd known that about herself before I spent all that time, money and stress moving in.

I think she knows I'm pissed off. Wooffers said hello to me quite tentatively earlier today.

Part One: Out Ya Go!

You guyses, I totally thought that this weekend I'd be writing about all the fun people I'm working with while temping, but then last night when I got home my world exploded, so now I feel like writing about that instead. So here we go.

Have I mentioned that I moved? Yes, I did. I told you all about how lovely the neighborhood is. It still is. Today I volunteered in the community and despite working outside in a heatwave, I had a lovely time and look forward to going back next weekend.

Let's talk about my roommate, Wooffers.* She's got two woofs, which I was totally psyched about. She is a woof trainer and a woof walker. She is all about woofs. She has a tattoo of one of her woof's names on her arm. I met with Wooffers three times before moving in. I was not thrilled that any time we talked she found a way to bring the conversation back around to woofs, but figured I could deal.

Maybe two months ago or so, when I thought admitting defeat and moving in with my parents in Florida was my only option, I asked Crazy Girl for her opinion when we were in the car alone. Sometimes when I talk with her and my brother, my brother will make suggestions but she will stay quiet, and I wanted to hear how she saw the situation. What CG said kind of upset me, simply because it wasn't what I wanted to hear, you know? She told me if she were in my position she would not think twice about selling all her furniture and moving elsewhere in the city. Regardless of how many roommates she had to have, or what kind of place it was, basically Crazy Girl was saying she'd do whatever had to be done to stay in SF and not go to Florida. I had been hoping there was a way I could have everything I wanted and just hadn't come up with the way to do that, and CG was saying basically that I had to give. It was good advice, and I went over it in my head a lot.

So when a friend forwarded me a link to an ad on Craigslist from this woman she knew, saying she was looking for a roommate to pay $1000, I thought of what Crazy Girl had said, and went to meet the person and check out the place. When I looked at how little closet space there was, I thought of what Crazy Girl had said, and told myself I could get rid of a lot of stuff. When I looked at how tiny the bathroom was, I did the same thing. When I talked with the woman and realized I'd have to get rid of most of my living room furniture and store things, I resolved to find a way, because staying in San Francisco was (and still is) the ultimate goal.

So two weeks ago today, with the help of two friends, I moved in. There was friction from the very start, but I thought it was the type of friction that most new roommates have, where everyone is sorting out where everything goes, and how to balance making yourself at home without stepping on anyone else's toes. I was completely wrong.

I hadn't been able to sell all the furniture I wanted to sell before moving, so I had to bring some of it with me. I donated a ton of stuff, and CG, Golden Boy and a friend were all nice enough to let me store various things at their homes, but I still had more than just one bedroom's worth of things, you know? My bedroom is packed right now, and it is seriously a miracle that I have not yet stubbed a toe walking around it yet.

The very day when I moved in, Wooffers was upset. One of the friends who'd helped me move had placed a side table next to the couch in the living room. Wooffers and I had agreed that I could move my coffee table into the living room, but that was all. My side table was simply in the living room while I rearranged furniture, trying to make everything in the bedroom accessible. I knew it wasn't staying there. But Wooffers was freaked out about it, and I had to reassure her multiple times I'd have it out of the living room before 24 hours had gone by since I'd moved in. This kind of rubbed me the wrong way, but I reminded myself of how much rent I was saving, and pushed the feeling away.

The day after I'd moved in, I had some things to exchange with my brother. I told him that since it was my fault I'd forgotten to leave something of his and take some things of mine when I'd left their house, I'd be happy to go back there, but he was welcome to come over and see the new place. I kind of wanted him to come by, check out the view, and also, he'd been very busy the last couple of months, and while I saw him at Passover and in Mexico, it was always in the midst of tons of things going on with tons of people around. Not environments conducive to talking, you know? We agreed Golden Boy would come over in a little over an hour.

I went to tell Wooffers my brother was coming, and as I thought to myself, "I hope CG is coming too, and should I tell Woofers she may come, or ..." Wooffers Freaked the Fuck Out. Complete with crying. Twice.

*We will call the canines woofs because I don't want her googling and finding this, at least until I've moved out.

When Work Worlds Collide

Oh my god you guys! I am temping this week (I have the most awesome shit to tell you about this firm and this particular desk - look for a weekend post), and SO GLAD I got to work early this morning so I have time to tell you what I discovered this morning. Wait, let''s be honest here. I am so glad I got to work early this morning because now I can blog and am not worried someone will see this window open on my computer screen. Whatever.

Okay. So! Remember Apple? You must go click those links to refresh your memory, I'll wait. Great, you're back. So I stroll into work early this morning, figuring I'll take the time to call the dude at the temp agency who placed me here, just to check in, and I come upon Apple sitting at the reception desk! I was barely able to resist the urge to say the first two things that came to mind which were, "EWW!" and "What the fuck are YOU doing here?" and instead squeaked out a hello. That filtering concept really works, right?

Apple must have forgotten how much she hated me when we previously worked together, because she was all happy and smiley. We chatted for a minute or two, and she told me the office where we first met closed down at the end of March. Speedy moved to LA to work out of that office. Everyone else was laid off. It's hard to imagine, to be honest with you. I mean, Speedy was SO BUSY. He had TONS of cases. Of course, one attorney can't keep a seven attorney office opened through a slump, I know that. But this is a clear indicator to me that the economy is still falling, not picking up yet.

I hope Apple is not at that reception desk all day long. I walk back and forth in front of it multiple times a day, both to get to one of the partners I'm temping for and to get to the copy room, and I don't want to have to make phony small talk with her.

Okay I must go pretend to work now that it's 8:30 and I start getting paid to be sitting here now.

UPDATE: The Apple will be at the desk all day today and all week tomorrow. I gotta find another way to get to the copy room, stat.

A Post About the New Digs

Peoples, I just want to apologize for my lack of writing lately. First I was all stressed and busy getting ready to go to Mexico, then I was all stressed getting ready to move, and now since moving, I do not yet have my furniture set up in a way conducive to writing. I'm working on it.

So yeah, I moved within San Francisco. Now I'm not in the neighborhood closest to the Bay Bridge anymore. Now I'm only paying $1,000 a month and splitting utilities. I'm no longer in a touristy neighborhood. Peoples, I am finally in a neighborhood that feels like it's really in San Francisco, complete with hills and fog!

I'm in a neighborhood that has its own farmer's market. Last weekend I ran down there and signed up to volunteer. Of course, don't think I did that because of what a good person I am, who wants to give back to the community. No, I did it because I'm hoping it'll lead to free farmer's market food.

This area is great. I mean, aside from not having any supermarkets, that is. Other than that, it's fantastic. When I went to the bank to let them know to change my address I wound up talking to a very nice bank dude who'd also just moved to the area. When he told me his apartment was full of empty boxes, I told him to throw an ad on Craigslist to sell them - he was shocked to hear they'd sell, but mine did. Hell, I practically had a bidding war going at one point. Later while waiting for the bus to get back up my hill, I made friends with a lovely old lady who moved to the area in 1956 when her son was two weeks old, and we chatted for over 15 minutes about how things are so different now from how they used to be. The lady told me that once a week she gets together with her old high school girlfriends for lunch. I wandered into a chocolate shop to look around, and the owner offered me some free chocolate. Who wouldn't want to live here?!

The apartment itself is a big change for me - this is the first time I'm not living in a place with a leasing office. My landlord is actually a human being. There are only about 10 people in total who live here. One of my neighbors introduced himself to me and shook my hand and everything! Remember when you were a little kid and your mommy made all your friends for you? Well, my mommy always dealt with the relationships with neighbors too, and now I don't know how to do it. I've never lived in a place where I've known my neighbors before. Am I supposed to run out and buy some sugar in case a neighbor needs to borrow some? Am I supposed to listen to hear if any neighbors sneeze so I can rush to make them some chicken soup? How does this work?

What essentially happened was that I had to move a full apartment's worth of stuff into one bedroom (and one bathroom). Clearly I gave away a lot. Golden Boy and Crazy Girl are storing my dining room table and chairs, and a good friend is storing some of my other things in her tiny apartment.

How It Ended With 9am

So I went to Mexico for the wedding of Golden Boy to Crazy Girl. 9am asked if while I was gone he could have people over to see the apartment, including my bedroom, and he would try to get two people to take over our lease. As in sub-lease. Which we're not allowed to do. Which I said yes to anyway.

When I got home from Mexico, I didn't have any e-mails or voicemails from 9am. I had no idea what the results were of 9am's quest to replace us. Which, by the way, he'd been confident he could do. Before I even left he'd found a guy to take over his portion of the lease, and that guy said he had a friend who would almost definitely take over my portion (which I doubted).

Last Monday I was able to talk to 9am. Apparently he'd had a long talk with the manager of the leasing office, and had found out all the things I'd told him the week prior, which he'd ignored and refused to believe. He asked me if I was definitely moving out. I told him that like I'd informed him back on April 14th, yes, I was still moving out. He told me he was moving out on Wednesday. Two days from when we were talking. This was a change from what he'd previously said, but I'd gotten so used to him changing things on me related to our living situation that I didn't even blink at it.

So last Wednesday 9am's uncle came over and helped him to move out. Weeks earlier I'd given him a checklist of things that needed to be done before we moved out related to cleaning the apartment. 9am ignored it, and simply cleaned the sink, two counters, and emptied out the (my) toaster. He left all his food in the fridge and freezer. 9am tried to tell me to take his frying pan that he bought months earlier (to replace my frying pan that he'd ruined).

I hated his frying pan. It was heavy, which I don't like, too big in diameter, took a long time to heat, and I could never get my scrambled eggs to come out correctly using it. I graciously told 9am he bought it, and he should take it. He told me no, he bought it to replace mine, so I should keep it. I said no, that was okay, he should take it. 9am urged me to reconsider, telling me it was very expensive. Thing is, I'm not that kind of girl - I won't simply like something just because it costs a lot.

I told 9am that I was planning to buy a new frying pan because his didn't work for me, but thank you, so he should really take it. 9am was completely shocked. Ultimately he took his frying pan and left.

On Friday when my friend was at my house packing, I showed her all the food 9am left. The meat and pasta in the freezer. Guess what she ate for dinner?

Saturday was my moving day. While the movers were over, while my friends were over, 9am walked through the front door. He proceeded to stand around watching what was going on. This pissed me off, so I ignored him after saying hello. My friend was more direct, and said to 9am, "I thought you moved out?" He was flustered and did some more standing around watching. This practice of his drives me nuts. Once while I was telling a friend all about an experience I'd had, 9am stood in the hallway watching and listening. Wait, let me make that more clear - 9am, wearing his jacket and holding his keys, on his way OUT when my friend came IN, stood there, listening to us talking. I even passively-aggressively turned to him and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, did you need me for something?" to which he replied "no," and continued standing guard against the wall in the front hallway.

So now, on moving day in response to my friend, 9am mumbled something about having left a few things and got told we thought he'd moved out a couple of days earlier, so my friend had taken his half roll of toilet paper home with her.

I believe it was the same day I moved out that 9am gave his keys to the front office, and that's the last I saw of him. 9am emailed me his work address, asking me to mail his security deposit back to him there. I do not think he realizes that since he didn't clean most of the apartment, he won't get the majority of it back, since I will split the cost of the cleaning with 9am's security deposit.

It's All Just Too Much

A. The trip to Mexico
B. The move
C. How it ended with 9am
D. The new roommate
E. The new 'hood
F. The future of well, my future

You decide.