An "All America City" indeed. I still find it rather irksome that they chose not to include an "n" at the end of America. I suppose this illustrates my relationship with the area perfectly.
As it turns out we ARE moving. (I think) It's a lovely (cheap) apartment complex with parking spaces. Dear Lord I will rejoice every time I don't have to turn around on a busy street when I want to park near the front door. So back into boxes we go. I'll be sure to eat at Sue's Place one last time, feeling unbearably awkward as I am stared down because I am not one of the family. The Lansingburgh family, that is. Maybe I will take a trip to the disgusting Price Chopper on a day when I am both bloated and hungry. Instant appetite suppressor. Perhaps I will even grab a drink at the Troy Bar. Simple name for such a majestic place.
I don't want to curse myself, but I think we are finally out of the 'Burgh. What a cultural eye opener. I have learned so much about what NOT to do. And as a final hurrah, when we are pulling away for the last time...I really want to yell "GET A JOB!" at the porch sitting fixtures on the corner. I really hated them.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Out of Lansingburgh...
it has become more of a saga than "Out of Africa". I feel like I will never leave Troy. Sure the bathroom is bigger than most bedrooms; and the authenticity of its architecture is just so charming. But in reality the domestic disputes, unsavory porch dwellers & literal gifts of garbage left on our front stoop have left me yearning for a more civilized neighborhood. Hell, I miss the days of living in a dorm. Sure most of the people I was surrounded with had the same level of class, but that's youth at an art school for ya.
Early on in the search we were charmed by an over-zealous woman looking to rent her "in-law" apartment in the coveted Latham area. She seemed to love us. She clearly had empty nest syndrome as her own children had left the capital region for bigger and better things.(Don't they all?) Her warm demeanor and spotless apartment seemed too good to be true. I envisioned coming home to fresh baked brownies and simmering stew left on the counter just for us. We expressed our interest with utmost sincerity. The place was practically guaranteed. We called and left a voice mail after not hearing from her in a day or so. That should have been a clue, because we never heard from her again. This left me rather perplexed. It even put me in a funk for a few days. What had I missed about our interactions? Was she just a 50 year old flake? Did she not receive our messages? Or maybe she is just certifiably insane and its all the better because I didn't need a surrogate mother anyway. No, I am not bitter about the one that got away.
The second attempt was thwarted when the ceiling in our new dwelling literally caved in, or rather fell in. Not to mention the mice droppings, potential black mold and the crap left behind by the landlord. Just as we were about to meet with him and tactfully let him know the conditions were not sanitary upon further inspection, we walked into a kitchen of fallen ceiling tiles. One in particular had held on for dear life. We could see it swelling with water, about to burst over our heads. He tried to make the place look livable, but in the end a heavy rainstorm that seemed to last the entire month of July had its way with the roof. We had already relocated our belongings because of the aforementioned "issues". Thankfully nothing of ours was damaged, besides our sense of relief when we foolishly thought we were out of the 'Burgh. We ripped up the lease and got our money back. With our lives in boxes we were back at the starting point.
We have looked at several places since. None of which have wowed us, but at this rate...location location location. As captivating as the Budweiser drinking men on our front steps are, it's time to go. The way they naturally slur their words indicates they have been drinking since they woke up. They probably haven't even slept. They seem harmless and thankfully keep us informed of what's going on in the 'hood. They were particularly descriptive about the scooter accident on the corner. (That is, when I could understand them.)
I could also elaborate on the train wreck of a basement left by our former room mate who has the maturity of a six year old. Let's leave that tragedy for a different day. I can already feel the ulcer forming.
Early on in the search we were charmed by an over-zealous woman looking to rent her "in-law" apartment in the coveted Latham area. She seemed to love us. She clearly had empty nest syndrome as her own children had left the capital region for bigger and better things.(Don't they all?) Her warm demeanor and spotless apartment seemed too good to be true. I envisioned coming home to fresh baked brownies and simmering stew left on the counter just for us. We expressed our interest with utmost sincerity. The place was practically guaranteed. We called and left a voice mail after not hearing from her in a day or so. That should have been a clue, because we never heard from her again. This left me rather perplexed. It even put me in a funk for a few days. What had I missed about our interactions? Was she just a 50 year old flake? Did she not receive our messages? Or maybe she is just certifiably insane and its all the better because I didn't need a surrogate mother anyway. No, I am not bitter about the one that got away.
The second attempt was thwarted when the ceiling in our new dwelling literally caved in, or rather fell in. Not to mention the mice droppings, potential black mold and the crap left behind by the landlord. Just as we were about to meet with him and tactfully let him know the conditions were not sanitary upon further inspection, we walked into a kitchen of fallen ceiling tiles. One in particular had held on for dear life. We could see it swelling with water, about to burst over our heads. He tried to make the place look livable, but in the end a heavy rainstorm that seemed to last the entire month of July had its way with the roof. We had already relocated our belongings because of the aforementioned "issues". Thankfully nothing of ours was damaged, besides our sense of relief when we foolishly thought we were out of the 'Burgh. We ripped up the lease and got our money back. With our lives in boxes we were back at the starting point.
We have looked at several places since. None of which have wowed us, but at this rate...location location location. As captivating as the Budweiser drinking men on our front steps are, it's time to go. The way they naturally slur their words indicates they have been drinking since they woke up. They probably haven't even slept. They seem harmless and thankfully keep us informed of what's going on in the 'hood. They were particularly descriptive about the scooter accident on the corner. (That is, when I could understand them.)
I could also elaborate on the train wreck of a basement left by our former room mate who has the maturity of a six year old. Let's leave that tragedy for a different day. I can already feel the ulcer forming.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Hungry hunger
I think my problem lies within the fact that I am far from being inherently "Type A".
I need to get a fire under my a**.
I need to get a fire under my a**.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Here is a special hate-filled post
I do not like cars. Namely my own. Sure she's been a real sweetheart, but at 160,000 miles...it seems she may be on her last legs. And then what? The verdict is out on that one. Now off to mope about cars and their issues.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Most females are
FLAKES! I suppose I can be as well, but I'm making a concerted effort to stop from being such.
Combustion would be preferable to...
mindless data entry on a day that I planned on reading magazines. I don't enjoy Mondays, and I don't enjoy putting in a bunch of letters and numbers regarding other people's accomplishments. I get used to doing nothing, and though it drives me insane my rate of pay matches the amount of tasks I normally need to accomplish. I.e.next to none. But that's OK, it's nice to break up monotony with more monotony.
I recently went on an interview where my would-be supervisor disclosed that they had 200 applicants for the position. They were interviewing forty people in person. I remained upbeat after hearing such discouraging facts, but as soon as I walked out the door my caffeine-fueled positive outlook dissolved rather quickly. FORTY PEOPLE? Should I have attached a head shot with my resume? Done a small dance routine to seem a bit more memorable? What's worse was that she had already interviewed 30 bodies.
She politely asked if I planned on doing anything with my degree. Of course I said I would just love the opportunity to be an admin for an engineering firm. I earnestly stated that I would jump for joy if I was hired to type up documents for 70% of the work day. (While the other 30% would likely be spent on a self-suicide watch because I can't imagine this job would be anymore fulfilling than staring at white walls for 9 hours.) Ah, the joys of interviewing. These people are basically looking for the person who can bullshit convincingly. I am working on it, while learning from those who seemingly lie all day and take great pleasure in it.
I am left to wonder if I will hear back from this cattle call. Give it another day, and another shot of espresso and I will be back at it, among millions of others who are searching during our great "recession". Keep spending Obama, who needs a pension or social security anyway?
I recently went on an interview where my would-be supervisor disclosed that they had 200 applicants for the position. They were interviewing forty people in person. I remained upbeat after hearing such discouraging facts, but as soon as I walked out the door my caffeine-fueled positive outlook dissolved rather quickly. FORTY PEOPLE? Should I have attached a head shot with my resume? Done a small dance routine to seem a bit more memorable? What's worse was that she had already interviewed 30 bodies.
She politely asked if I planned on doing anything with my degree. Of course I said I would just love the opportunity to be an admin for an engineering firm. I earnestly stated that I would jump for joy if I was hired to type up documents for 70% of the work day. (While the other 30% would likely be spent on a self-suicide watch because I can't imagine this job would be anymore fulfilling than staring at white walls for 9 hours.) Ah, the joys of interviewing. These people are basically looking for the person who can bullshit convincingly. I am working on it, while learning from those who seemingly lie all day and take great pleasure in it.
I am left to wonder if I will hear back from this cattle call. Give it another day, and another shot of espresso and I will be back at it, among millions of others who are searching during our great "recession". Keep spending Obama, who needs a pension or social security anyway?
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