So I've been crying in a corner and licking my wounds for the last week. Haircuts can be very traumatic, and I think this one may have given me a touch of the PTSD. Just a touch.
Actually, it's not a bad haircut. I'm just feeling a little like an amputee. I keep reaching for my phantom ponytail/security hair-blanket and it's just not there. The upside is that I don't need a neck brace to hold my head up when my hair is wet, and I don't need industrial size barrels of shampoo and conditioner just to get through the week.
Without further adieu, here are the before and after shots:
Before - cult member or just too cheap to get a haircut?
After - surprisingly not that short after losing 12+ inches
The amputated ponytail was donated to Locks of Love. You're welcome, little bald kid. That is some healthy hair you're getting. Also, the before shot is not the finest glimpse of my hair. I had washed it the night before and threw it up in a bun, wet. I didn't want to wash and style it the day of the haircut, because a surefire way to dread and subsequently regret your haircut is to have your 'before' hair look suspiciously awesome. Been there, done that. So this time, I made sure it looked like crap so I could just say 'good riddance'.
In that movie where he gets trapped in the airport. I have been sitting in the Spokane airport since 9 this morning. My flight leaves at 5:30.
Let's leave Idaho at the same time, I suggested. It'll be great, I said. You'll get through those Rocky Mountain passes on I-90 before it snows, I can chill in the airport all day, no big deal.
So here I am, tapping out my boredom on my iPhone. So very, very bored. Apparently you can't check your luggage more than 4 hours prior to your flight, so I've been lurking around the baggage claim trying not to look like a terrorist. I can't even roam around because I have this stupid giant suitcase. In half an hour I can check my bag, relinquish my dignity, and proceed into the terminal, where I will spend another four hours. All this so I can fly to San Francisco to wait another 2 hours for a red-eye to Philly. Yaaay.
Then you're probably in for a disturbing turn of events.
In the previous post, I bemoan the trials of apartment searching from afar. We have some promising leads on apartment complexes that may or may not accept our cat or have vacancies in units we can afford, but the searching has been tedious. I have kind of a particular list of must-haves and must-not-haves because I feel like I've reached a point in my life where living in squalor is no longer charming. I require a washer and dryer in-unit, a dishwasher and garbage disposal (I could be flexible here but only as a last resort), central air (so Andy doesn't turn into a crying, sweaty toddler from May through September), and two bedrooms because we both need large amounts of personal space and alone time. I am adamantly opposed to drop ceilings, radiators, fake wood paneling, long commutes, and anything without parking space for two cars. Throw in a cat with claws and you're looking at a mighty tall order, I know.
So we've been trolling good old craigslist. There are plenty of apartments in South Jersey, but most are too far away from where we will be working, so they're out. Then of course there are the really dumpy apartments or the really expensive ones, or the ones that are both dumpy and expensive because of the size or location.
After spending the last week scouring the internet and obsessively checking craigslist for rentals, I happened upon a real gem. An entire house with all the criteria on my list, in the perfect location. A nice, tidy little house in a safe neighborhood. But let's be real here, guys. The best part about it was the price. For the low, low price of $900 a month, and entire freaking house. Naturally, I emailed the poster right away. And this is the response I got:
Fear of God? I have a fear of something, that's for sure. But right now all I'm doing is thanking GOD I didn't give you my phone number or any information beyond my name and email address. All I wanted to do was set up a meeting to see the house. I didn't need to read a massive paragraph full of ellipses, run-on sentences, and severe grammatical errors detailing the woes of 'primitive death' from casual sex (wtf) in third-world countries.
To be fair, I'm going to assume this person's first language is not English, because, really. I had to read this email about three times before I kind of understood what they were saying, and then I got even more confused. Can Donna be a man's name, or did the dude write this email and sign it with his wife's name? Because the author refers to 'my wife', and it's not every day that you meet a couple of lesbian evangelical christians. Just sayin'.
My list of must-not-haves has just expanded. Must not have borderline-illiterate religious zealot landlord.
I haven't had my hair cut (by a professional/anyone who isn't me) since April. I have been too afraid of walking out with a mullet to get my hair cut in Idaho. I joke about that but truly, it has been a serious concern. After months of delay, I'm so ready to get rid of all this hair. The day after I get back to New Jersey, I'm lopping it all off and giving it to Locks of Love. Any little bald kid would be so lucky to get these tresses. I've invested the last three years of my life in growing this hair - not dying it, not using a flat iron...not having gray hair. This hair represents the last hurrah of my youth...the last strands of pure, brown hair untainted by the ravages of age.
Lest you get all misty about how nice it is for me to donate my hair, let me just say that I'm cutting it for purely selfish reasons. I find a new gray hair pretty much every day. This will not stand. Sooner or later, I'm going to break down and dye it, and I'm not trying to buy three or four boxes of dye to cover all this hair. I'm not generous. Quite the contrary. I'm a vain cheapskate.
Hopefully I have enough left over to get a sweet haircut. 'Sweet' is a hint as to how I'm trying to get it cut!
It's over! Sort of. The end is nigh. We're almost done here. We're getting there.
The movers came this morning. It went pretty smoothly, and I have high hopes that this move will turn out better than the last. Customer service wise, our last move sucked in ways that I could adequately describe only by using incredibly vulgar language. So just let your imagination run wild and try to think of the most disgusting thing I could possibly say (just remember we're dealing with me here, so it's probably pretty bad).
But I digress. Coming out here, the movers were 4 or 5 days late, which was inconvenient for a lot of reasons. Foremost of which, I had to go buy new clothes for a job interview. That turned out to be a huge waste of money, because the clothes were ugly and I obviously didn't get the job. Also, the inventory was done so sloppily and carelessly that we appeared to be missing a box, contents unknown. We never could figure out what was missing, so we chalked it up to inaccurate numbering, but the claims people were total dicks about helping me sort out the problem.
The guy that took my stuff today was really thorough, and he seemed to know what he was doing. I followed him around like a hemorrhoid and made my own incredibly detailed inventory to make sure I will know exactly what I'm missing if any boxes go AWOL. To put a cherry on top of this relocation sundae, the dude expects to deliver our stuff on Wednesday, which means I'll roll off the plane and probably be reunited with my stuff in a matter of hours. Sah-weet.
Now all we need to do is find a reasonably priced apartment that has a washer and dryer in-unit (I'm going cold turkey on laundromats, guys) that allows cats that aren't declawed. Is that a new thing? I've never seen rental restrictions on cats with claws before. I just don't understand. Ajax is such a good cat - he's too dopey to do anything bad. Why don't we also pull out his teeth, cut his vocal cords, amputate his legs, and give him a catheter so he just lays silent in one spot, looking pitiful and yearning for his death? Seriously, dudes, how about if I rip out your toenails and see how you like it?
Oh, by the way, as I'm typing this I'm in my bathrobe sitting in front of a window and I just noticed a creepy child playing in the snow and looking at me. I'm going to close the curtains now, thanks, weird little girl. And don't judge me for being in my bathrobe at 4:30 in the afternoon. I do what I want. After the movers left, I did pilates for a little bit, read a book, and then fell asleep on the floor. I finally forced myself to get a shower, but only because the prospect of dinner at Casa Lopez, our favorite restaurant in town, is shimmering and sparkling in the near future. One perk of having almost nothing in your house is that you either eat cereal for dinner or go out. I'm all about eating breakfast for every meal, but Andy demands real food so out we go.
The movers just took my car. Thursday morning they will whisk away all our earthly possessions. Next Tuesday I will get on a plane and leave Idaho, probably forever.
I'm pretty stoked about my flight situation. I'm flying from Spokane to San Francisco, and then from San Francisco to Philadelphia. I chose this flight configuration partly because it was the cheapest, and partly because, well, why not? So what if it's an overnight flight - I've never been to California before so I'm hoping my window seat will at least afford me a view of the Golden Gate Bridge as we swoop into San Francisco for my two-hour layover.
Just SEVEN more days. SEVEN DAYS until my triumphant return to the East Coast. Oddly enough, now that my days here are numbered, I'm starting to realize that I will miss a few things about this place. There are certain times of year when it's really beautiful. The past couple days have been sunny but bitterly cold, and everything is blanketed in snow. With the view of Moscow Mountain off in the distance, the town kind of feels like a ski resort.
I will also miss being able to walk almost anywhere I need to go. My car battery died in November and I couldn't get it fixed for a few weeks because of the snow. In New Jersey, that would have been a big problem, but here, it just meant I didn't have to go to the laundromat and Andy had to take me to the grocery store. I honestly never had any reason to drive anywhere else, which was totally cool with me because I love walking.
[Side note - I went to the laundromat yesterday, one last time, for old time's sake. I have written several posts in the past about the weird things that always seem to happen when I go there, and this trip was no exception. Certainly not the strangest of events, but still. It was mid-afternoon and I had had the joint all to myself for a good 45 minutes. I was talking to my mom on speakerphone and folding laundry like a champ. Life was good. Then my revelry was shattered by a chubby teenage boy who walked in, took off his coat, plopped into a chair, and proceeded to read a book. He was carrying to no laundry, and I knew none of the other machines were in use, so he had no laundry-related business there. He continued to just sit there and read for about half an hour, until he abruptly put on his coat and left.]
I will also miss the eccentric people of Moscow. The sheer proportion of characters to unremarkable people is staggering. I don't know if it's the isolation that molds average people into eccentric ones, of if there is some sort of beacon or homing device that just draws them in from afar. It's great. People watching is thoroughly entertaining. Actually, not gonna lie, people judging is what I do, and it rules.
Another perk of Idaho that cannot be overlooked is the cost of living. If I had to be unemployed somewhere, this was the place to do it. I'm still in awe over how cheap things are here. Car insurance - about a quarter of what I paid in New Jersey. Electricity? Probably half as much because of all the hydroelectric power from dams and the subsidies that go along with that. Rent - again, a little more than half the price of the average 2-bedroom rental in Jersey. Food - way cheaper if you shop at the poor people store with the bulk bins; about the same as a standard New Jersey grocery store if you shop at the high-and-mighty natural and organic food store.
And finally, I will miss the relatively easy access to some fun places to hike when the weather is nice. Southern New Jersey isn't exactly renowned for its changes in elevation, so the nearby mountains and buttes (tee hee) have been pretty sweet.
Things I won't miss? Lack of infrastructure and the power outages and road impassibility that go along with it. Lack of work ethic and the way it makes my blood pressure skyrocket to see lazy people (not) doing jobs that I would like to be doing and could do much more efficiently. Lack of punctuality. Plethora of winding mountain roads with sheer drop-offs mere inches beyond the narrow shoulder accompanied by likelihood of falling boulders and terrifying lack of guardrails. Lack of multi-lane highways. Lack of pre-1890 history. Dearth of attractive architecture and overabundance of sea foam green houses, outbuildings, and vehicles (sometimes all on the same property). Isolation from any places of significance. Severe aridity and painfully low temperatures that would turn my body into a frozen, dry-rotted suitcase without the intervention of copious amounts of lotion.
To the East Side. To a deluxe Mom's Basement in New Jersey.
It's been a few weeks since we (the royal we) have graced you with our internet presence. And for good reason! Big changes are afoot, and I was too busy being busy to do much internetting. Really, though, I was too busy eating, drinking, being merry, gaining weight, and abusing my liver (while pretending that Christmas was Hanukkah, of course).
Remember that reason-for-leaving Idaho/potential-job to which I alluded in early December? You probably don't, but it's so exciting. I went crawling back to my old workplace. But it didn't feel like crawling. It really was more like marching triumphantly, because I'll be doing something much more interesting and resume-worthy than I did before. Which is good, because the job is temporary. I expect to work from February through December, which gives me a nice chunk of time to search for permanent employment. Oh, and did I mention this job is in a school, and I have the summer off? Because that's clearly the most important and awesome part.
So here I am, basking in the glow of Real Job, and packing up everything we own so we can move back to New Jersey 6 months after I got here. Should the switching of pronouns in the previous sentence confuse you, let me clarify. I am packing things (though Andy would like it to be known that he has helped) because WE are moving. I have been here only 6 months, but Andy came here last January. Let me reiterate: WE are moving! Not just me, but we. This is a big deal and a recent development, because, up until a few days ago, we thought Andy was going to stay here for another semester while I schlepped it back to my mom's house to hang out with her and Linus for a few months. Which, not gonna lie, I was kind of looking forward to doing. They're pretty cool, and Linus licks your nose if you put your face near his. Linus is a dog.
Instead, we are schlepping back to my mom's house, but only for the time it takes us to find an apartment. I really love how disorganized this is going to be. My OCD is in overdrive right now and I'm kind of going a little nuts. What are we sending with the movers? What are we giving away? What do I need to leave unpacked until the last minute? What do I need to take with me in case the movers are late delivering our stuff (again)? I've been making lists to the excessive extent that I caught myself pondering a list of lists that I needed to make. I find myself in the oxymoronic position of creating so many lists that I am listless. Surrounded by written reminders of everything I need to do, and so overwhelmed that I am unable to form coherent verbal sentences.
That is, unless I am yelling. I can actually articulate my thoughts if I use a loud, shrewish tone and punctuate each sentence with an epithet such as, "JESUS CHRIST!" or, "FOR F*CK'S SAKE!" I wish I had more people/animate objects to yell at. Andy and Ajax are really taking a verbal beating this week. Andy, I'm sorry. Ajax, I would apologize to you, too, but you can't read or use the internet, and you don't understand words or feelings except 'hungry' and 'gotta poop' and 'warm'.
