Day 2. Friday, June 24th.
All was well until the hungries hit.
I should've just gone to bed.
It was 11:00 pm. I could have slept.
I could have done anything.
I was hungry.
For fast food.
I get on Facebook - Kaitlin comes online - I immediately attack her on chat.
Me: KAITLIN, OMG. HELLLLPPPP MEEEE.
Kaitlin: Hey. Help? What?
Me: I'M SOOO HUNGRYYYY.
Kaitlin: Oh, I just had cheesecake.
Me: NOT HELPING. I'm going to get fast food. BRB.
12:30 pm, Monday, June 27th.
Me: So, I'm finally back from that Taco Bell run Friday night.
Kaitlin: WHAT!? WHAT HAPPENED??!
Yes, dear readers. What could have happened between midnight Friday night and Monday afternoon?
The boyfriend and I come home from getting Taco Bell.
I want to eat it on the back porch.
We finally finish eating our heart attacks in taco shells and I go to open the back door.
Ask the boyfriend for the keys.
I thought you had them.
I check my purse for the keys.
They're not there.
It's Friday night.
My apartment checkout time is 1:00 pm Tuesday.
I have people coming over the weekend to move the furniture out.
I'm supposed to pack everything I own and clean my entire apartment from top to bottom this weekend.
WHERE IN THE FUCK ARE MY HOUSE KEYS?!
At this point I start freaking out.
My cigarettes are also locked inside the apartment.
The boyfriend goes to open the bedroom window.
So... I kind of broke the window. I was pushing on it and it just sort of cracked.
ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!
I thought he was kidding.
I follow him to see the window.
He wasn't kidding.
At least it wasn't the actual window, but was a thin sheet of glass that was part of the screen.
We then tear off the screen, break the rest of the glass, and hide the evidence - hoping that the landlords won't notice when they do the move out inspection.
In the process, the boyfriend's hand gets mangled by glass and I have to take off my t-shirt so that he has something to wrap it in to stop the bleeding.
Oh, and a cop drives by. As we're further breaking the window. Apparently breaking and entering is no longer a crime as the cop just continued driving...
We then go to my grandma's house to explain the situation and get proper first aid for the boyfriend's hand.
|It was frightful. I hate blood.|
Thus, they have business hours.
I am left with the choice of calling the emergency lock-out number and shelling out $60 or waiting until Monday morning, the day before I need to be completely moved out, and calling the office once it opens and borrowing their copy of the key.
The choice would have been so much easier if I had actually had the emergency lock-out number.
Of course, it was inside with the rest of my important papers. Not entered in my phone.
So the choice became - Asking the new neighbors if they had the emergency lock-out number on Saturday or waiting until Monday morning until the office opened.
My grandma suggested we try opening the lock using a stack of used gift cards she had.
We go back to the scene of the crime at 2:00 am and split up - me on the back door, the boyfriend on the front door.
|Broken window, jimmying locks with credit cards, 2:00 am - we didn't look suspicious at all.|
We try over and over again, steadily going through the stack of gift cards, to jimmy the lock open. We were not met with success.
Heads hung low, we return to my grandma's house.
Then my phone died.
Now, without phone and internet, the boyfriend and I sleep.
And sleep some more.
Stuck in the cycle of laziness that occurs at my grandma's house, we decide it's better to just watch television and eat her cooking than go back to the apartment and ask the neighbors for the emergency lock out number.
I won't even discuss what my eating habits were like over the weekend.
Let's just put it this way, I was with my grandma and I didn't have any Vyvanse. I ate a lot.
Come Monday, I find the office number, call the office on the boyfriend's phone, am told to stop by the office and pick up the key, do as told, get in apartment and find lost house keys.
All is well, except that it's 12:30 pm and I have an entire apartment to pack up, clean up, and move out in 24 hours.
Thus begins the mad dash to clean out my apartment.
It did not go well.
I contact the people that were supposed to get the furniture over the weekend and let them know the situation. I explain that if they still want the furniture, they can get it Monday or Tuesday morning.
They decide on Tuesday morning.
I clear out as much of my stuff as possible on Monday, leaving behind the furniture and a couple of small things.
I plan on finishing the cleaning on Tuesday before the check out time.
Arrive at the apartment at 8:30 am on Tuesday only to find that all of the utilities have already been turned off.
Yes, I did schedule them to be turned off on Tuesday, but seriously - since when do the utility companies actually do something on time? I didn't expect them to get anything done before 10 am at least.
So now I'm left with cleaning an entire apartment without electricity, water, air conditioning, anything.
Thus, no vacuuming.
I try to sweep the carpets, it did fucking nothing.
I 409 the crap out of every surface and desperately use the flashlight on my phone in order to see while cleaning the bathroom.
It was basically hell.
At 9:30 am, I start calling the people who were going to get the furniture.
Call 3 more times.
By 10:30 am, the boyfriend and I decide that we will just have to move the furniture ourselves.
Easier said than done.
I have limp little baby arms and half of the furniture wouldn't fit.
Commence taking apart all the furniture, except for the couch.
We finally agreed to just put the couch on the curb and hope to god the landlords wouldn't bitch.
At 12:50 pm, we finally have everything moved out of the apartment and have it sort of clean.
Enough time for one cigarette before the landlords arrive.
Thankfully, they sent their cleaning lady.
The office ladies both look like the Jabba the Hut and are some of the bitchiest women I have ever met.
|Pay your rent or FEEL MY WRATH.|
The cleaning lady, however, was pretty relaxed and didn't seem to care that the apartment was in shambles.
She simply wrote down that the oven and fridge needed to be cleaned - they did, the drip pans on the stove needed to be replaced - they really did, and the apartment needed a fresh coat of paint which, apparently, I won't get charged for.
Finally, some good news after a weekend of hell.
I blame it all on that damned Taco Bell run.
The "Late-Night Fast-Food Run" Gods have spoken and they are not pleased.
I guess that's my lesson learned.
Break your diet after less than 2 days and bad things will happen. ;)
At least I'm done moving out of that damned apartment.
Now I just have to sort through everything and decide what we're taking with us to Miami and survive two weeks at my grandma's without gaining 40 lbs.
It will definitely be a challenge.
A bientôt, lovelies.