I've started a short story entitled, "The Day I Killed Myself In Santa Barbara."
The roommates are gone for a few weeks, leaving in their wake a filthy house. The refrigerator was full of condiments. When I say full, I mean literally, we could not fit another thing in there. FULL. OF CONDIMENTS. The dryer is completely broken, the washer half so, so our piles of dirty clothing are waiting patiently until the 7th when our new w/d will arrive. Today we spent the $100 gift card for Bed, Bath and Beyond that my dad and Karen got us for Christmas last year on kitchen supplies. My goal to unpack four boxes a day is going well, though I'm cheating and only unpacking the small boxes. We're eating suspiciously well, the rent check is coming out of my account though I have neither the money for my rent nor one of the roommate's for she is in Marin, and we're going to LA on Sunday so Aaron's mom can see the Getty and so I can hang out with the dog and read a book in a parking lot because I am anti- everything museum related (blame Paris).
I just fixed the garbage disposal! I am the queen of all!
I'm terrified to balance my checkbook as we have literally no income (job hunting day is Monday! Hire me, Santa Barbara!) until our deposit comes, if there's anything left in it (former apartment manager is notoriously bitchy when it comes to returning deposits and we put down $2200 for the place, most of which is my mommy's which is how we justified her not giving me any money to move here).
Anyway. That's what up with me.