It was a dark and stormy night.

Actually no, it was a sunny and illuminous day here, with the weather dipping to the low 70s and the skies dancing with the billowing remnant clouds of Tropical Storm Danny. What a great way to end August and unofficially, the end of summer.

This was my week to leave the office for what we call THE RUN. Basically it involves stopping at a slew of government offices for pickups and dropoffs, and while I’m usually not crazy about this part of my job, I definitely welcomed the opportunity today. If you’re quick about it, The Run usually takes about an hour and 45 minutes to do, so naturally it takes me about 3 hours. It also gave me a chance to enjoy the weather and get away from the office’s resident hens, who cannot help but talk, and talk, and talk, and talk, and talk talk talky talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk…

So I’m driving around far and away from the mindless, white noises of the office, and I’m thinking about things. I had been so desperate to move out on my own that I hadn’t really thought about another possibility: What if I could move out of state for real?

I was ready to give up on the idea that I would ever get another job or move out of state, and in that frame of mind I was looking around for any kind of apartment I could find simply to get away from my parents, resigning myself to the reality that my job now was the only job I’d ever have, and while I was lucky to have it, in another sense it was a blackhole too. There’s no promotional path, no training seminars, no chance to expand my skill set at all. In 9 years, I have learned nothing new. And because of it I was pretty much unemployable as far as the private sector goes.

But the public sector… well now, they actually EXPECT you not to have any skills whatsoever.

It also occurred to me that I was in the most ideal place you could ask to be in if your objective was to make a life altering, dramatic move and career change. I have no wife and kids, no debt, no property that I owned, not even furniture. I could up and leave a moment’s notice, literally. And while I’ve been building up my nest egg in preparation to move out, I wonder now if I should stick around for the time being and invest in something even bigger, not simply just to move out and find my own place, but move out of my job and my state altogether.

I always thought the Feds would be my ultimate destiny, mostly because since I graduated it had been my dream to work as a special agent for a law enforcement agency, whether it was the FBI or somebody else, a dream I had to give up on partly because of my disability, and partly because I’m, well, pretty much an idiot.

But now there’s no better time than the present to shoot for the stars again, and maybe even if I couldn’t work as a sworn agent, I could still serve in a civilian capacity somewhere. I have the luxury now of being able to apply and go to any job in the country (except New Jersey, cuz, ewwww). I could also take a salary hit without feeling the squeeze now that all my debts have been taken care of as well.

I think I owe it to myself to at least give it a try before accepting the sentence of life imprisonment in New York. Maybe there is a faux log cabin and a bonnie lass waiting for me in Colorado after all.

Tags: apartment, career, debts, destiny, dream, government, job, law enforcement, life, new york, parents, public sector, weather, white noise
Categories: In The Coal Mine
 
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After checking out the studio once inhabited by gremlins from hell, I happened to stumble across another apartment listing while surfing online, this one in a co-op that was literally next to work. The grounds were gorgeous and I had been interested in living there for a while, but since the apartments had long been converted into co-ops there was no point in looking further… until I saw that listing. The owner was offering a unit to rent with an option to buy, so I emailed the realtor and surprisingly got a call only minutes later. They were having an open house that day, so I got to see the apartment only a few hours after I sent the email. Awesome.

It was weird that I would end up looking at two most ideal apartment buildings I had been considering for years, all on the same day. I met up with the realtor after a quick trip to the grounds and we took a look inside. The current occupants hadn’t moved out so I got to see how it would look completely furnished. Weirdly enough, for a one bedroom it actually felt cramped, as opposed to the airy studio I had just seen before. It was clean and carpeted though, but still, there were some areas that were rusting and painted over. No washer/dryer hookup either, and for this they were valuing the unit at over $262,000. Dude, please, it was next to a train station for crying out loud. It’s nice, but it ain’t THAT nice.

I knew what was going on though. The owner didn’t really want to rent it, he wanted to sell it, but was having trouble finding buyers. So I’d be the guy who’d fill the apartment for the time being until the owner finally found someone stupid enough to buy, then my righteous bon-bons would be tossed outta there faster than you can say pizza delivery. The only way to head that off was to take the option to buy, but for that price I’d never consider it. I wouldn’t even have my own parking space, much less a garage, which I’d have to put on a waiting list for. I also had to fill out an application and be interviewed and approved by the co-op board before I could officially move in.

I thanked the realtor for her time and said if I was interested I’d contact her.

The next day I got an email from her to let me know the apartment had been taken, for which she apologized but said that these apartments do tend to go very fast.

You get the feeling I’m being snowed by a lot of folks these days? Was not any potential renter subject to board approval before he could dive into his new digs? So… what… they found another renter, checked his credit and got him board approved five minutes after I left? Really?

Well you know, that’s it for me. Totally done with apartment hunting now. I actually didn’t have the money to move yet, but since these two happened to be apartments I’ve been looking at since forevers, it was nice to finally get some major questions about them all answered on the same day and move on. Now I can focus on saving my money instead, and when I have enough to pay down a deposit and a broker’s fee, then I can start looking hardcore until I find a castle worthy of my sound mind and well sculptured presence. 

Tags: apartment, apartments, credit, hunting, listing, open house, owner, studio
Categories: Lincoln's Personal Log
 
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A few days ago I got a call from a real estate agent letting me know a studio apartment at a complex near my job was available.   I had been looking at this complex since 2007, primarily because it was located in the most ideal area:  close to work, right by the water and next to a gorgeous park, the surroundings were so pretty you could almost forget the urban jungle that was next door.

I made an appointment for a viewing last Saturday and drove to the apartment grounds on what turned out to be a spectacular summer day.  There was a bagel cafe across the street and the aroma of coffee filled the air.  The trees whistled and the birds sang, while in the distance a blue ocean beckoned and fed the stream that led into the park next door.  Yep, I could definitely get used to living here.

I met up with the realtor and the moment we stepped inside, the magic ended.

As the door opened, a narrow stairwell immediately presented itself which I had to walk down. Wait, this apartment is lower level??

The descent into madness begins.

The apartment was right by the bottom of the stairs, pretty convenient I guess, but also a recipe for noise, noise, noise:

A basement studio at a garden apartment? Seriously?

Is that a doorbell??

The door swung opened and I took a look inside. The studio was big, very air and roomy, and I could tell even with furniture there would still be plenty of space to maneuver around:

This is an apartment they said was practically ready for me to move into...

Can you say, doity?

The windows were simply tragic.  Not only was it blocked by slabs of concrete, but they looked ancient:

Cobwebs filled the window in the bathroom.

The main window above the sleeping alcove.

They used tape to cover the screen holes???

After I almost gagged from daring to look outside the windows, I moved on to the kitchen:

If you wanna look inside you better ask yourself: Do I feel lucky?

I kept thinking a tentacle would reach out and strangle me if I got too close.

Gas stove. Boom.

Now on to the bathroom!

Ew.

Ewwwwwww...

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

Ok, that’s  quite enough now.  The realtor then showed me the laundry room, which was literally down the hall.  The apartment was next to a storage area too, so if you opened the door and looked to your right this is what you would see:

So this is where they keep all the stolen merchandise!

Right after the storage area was the coin operated laundry machines:

No hot babe washing her lingerie to be found here.

You want me to wash my stylish Old Navy shirts in THAT??

After we went back outside and I got a chance to suck in the fresh air again, the realtor informed me that the apartment was being offered for $100 less a month, that there would be no broker’s fee annnnnnnnd I would get first month’s rent free.  I get the impression that they were having a little trouble getting this unit filled.  Uh huh.

I’ve gone apartment hunting once or twice in the past, and I remember one time when I went to a place with two of my coworkers to check out a small one bedroom.  The place was filthy, but my coworkers kept walking around and going ooooooo and ahhhhhh, this is so awesome!  They thought I was being a snob because I refused to live in such a dump, especially one where the landlords were 80 something year old folks who would probably forget they were even renting it to me and call the police one night thinking I was a burglar.  That would have been awkward.

But anyway, checking out this place made me think of that time.  The studio was hands down a complete and unmitigated disaster area.  No amount of cleaning would ever make it sanitary, especially considering I had allergies too.

But was I being too snobbish?  Was I asking for too much to want to live in a nice, cozy apartment that was clean, roomy (and preferably above ground?)

It was really tragic to see such a horrific looking place in such a beautiful area.  Right now I live in a decent apartment with my folks that was clean, had carpeting, a washer/dryer, all those basic amenities that I tend to take for granted, even though it’s in a less than ideal area (as in, next to a train station and a water tower and an army of day laborers that infest our streets  like a plague.)  Regardless, an apartment like this was so hard to come by that we all breathed a collective sigh of relief in finally discovering an apartment that didn’t look like something out of Dante’s Inferno.

I don’t want a luxury apartment for crying out loud, I just want one that’s clean, but apparently just being clean enough is considered a luxury as well. 

Ah well.  I’m still glad I went to check it out at least.  I had been looking at that area for so long that it was nice to finally rule it out and focus my attention elsewhere, and maybe eventually find a place that will turn out to be even better.  And if that makes me a snob, so be it. 

Tags: apartment, appointment, bathroom, coworkers, filthy, kitchen, landlord, laundry room, living, luxury, sleeping alcove, storage, unsanitary
Categories: Lincoln's Personal Log
 
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When a guy lives with his parents for so… very… agonizingly… long… he tends to take certain things for granted.

While I contributed to paying for most of the rent and bills, Mommy would always pretty much take care of the rest. All those basic necessities of life (like toilet paper) would magically replenish itself so I never had to worry about them. I never had to deal with the scum sucking landlord, or the utility bills, or even with most of the cleaning, though I still cleaned my own room and did my own laundry. Other than that (and cooking), Mommy would always take care of everything else.

I didn’t even have to worry about the phone bills until recently either because I was under the family plan. Since I started making plans to move out once my debts were paid, one of the first things I did was to break off from my parents’ family plan so I could have my own account, but of course Verizon completely botched the process by charging me for two lines when I only wanted one.

After I saw my first Verizon bill and realized the error they made, the first thing that came to my mind was, “Ah well, Mommy will take care… … … … crap.”

Yep, for the first time I had to handle my own phone bill, and after numerous phone calls, emails, and talking to maybe 5 different representatives to get things straightened out, I started to realize very quickly just how BIG a buffer my mother had been for me from life’s everyday aggravations and hassles.

Independence does come with a price after all.

Not that I’m completely unprepared for it, but there are some things that I was still going to have to learn about, like say, paying the electric bill, which my Momsie tried to explain to me the other day:

“If your apartment has one you should always make sure to read the meter to pay the electric, that way you’re not overpaying.”

“Sigh.”

Ayup, it’s definitely going to be a weird experience to sit in my own apartment and wonder why the toilet paper was no longer magically replenishing itself, or why the rent wasn’t automatically being paid, or why the apartment just wouldn’t stay clean for some blasted reason, or why there was never any food in the fridge. Didn’t a group of magical elves always take care of all that? What happened to them all??!?

Tags: apartment, independence, living, mommy, parents, phone, verizon, verizon bill
Categories: Lincoln's Personal Log
 
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My town was throwing a Columbus Day festival this weekend, which included a fireworks show for tonight.  Since I either hated everybody in town or they hated me, I avoided it like the plague.  I still got a chance to see the fireworks though since I was on the second floor and I was able to get a good view of it from my window.

It also gave me a good view of the drug dealers on the street too.

So here I am, just trying to mind my own business and enjoy the fireworks in peace, and there’s a crime in progress happening right underneath me.  God in heaven do I hate this town.

I watched the two scumbag dealers as they got into their black ride and tossed a few bags of “white powder” around, the door and headlights on in the dark of night so all the world could see what a bunch of schmucks they were.  They were getting ready to stoke a few up after what I guess must have been a good night for them, festival and all.

Hmmmmmmmmmm… 

I dialed 911.

“Yeah there’s a couple of guys hashing it up on the apartment grounds here, and I was wondering if you could send somebody over to go ruin their night?”  I gave the operator the location.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Oh my name?  Sure my name is-”  I hung up.

I waited a few minutes, and eventually decided the cops weren’t going to do anything when a patrol car suddenly pulled up next to the dealers’ car.

What ensued afterwards turned out to be 10 times more fun to watch than the fireworks. 

Tags: apartment, Columbus Day, cop, cops, crime, drug dealer, festival, fireworks, God, patrol car, street, town
Categories: Lincoln's Personal Log
 
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Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies. – Andy Dufresne, The Shawshank Redemption

There are times when life really gets me down, and during those moments I’m often guilty of having a defeatist attitude about things. When I see a hurdle that seems insurmountable, I figure what’s the point in trying to leap it, I’m never gonna succeed anyway. The odds are always against me, so why bother?

Then I learned a little lesson recently. One of my most favorite Snapple flavors is Diet Iced Tea-Lemonade. I could drink gallons of this stuff in a day and still never get bored. But then suddenly I had a hard time finding it anywhere. The local supermarkets no longer seemed to stock them, so on a friend’s suggestion I decided to email Snapple. I figured it can’t hurt, even though I expected my email would be ignored. Nobody cares what I think anyway.

Well, I actually did get a response, but they said they were no longer distributing that flavor and would be discontinuing it due to low demand.

Figures. Why did I bother to send the email anyway? Really, when is a major corporation gonna care about anything I had to say? I’m just one guy after all. And I’m not even good looking.

Then a few months later, I hit one of the local supermarkets to get some grub and was shocked to find STACKS of Diet Iced Tea-Lemonade Snapples littered all over the place. Now every supermarket had ‘em on the shelves, so I started buying up cases like crazy as soon as there was a sale. You should see my apartment right now, it looks like a Snapple warehouse.

I guess Snapple had a change of heart, but whether I was part of the reason why or not, I got the point.

If you have something to say, then your voice should be heard, regardless of whether anyone is listening or not. If we lay down our arms, accepting defeat, we will never have victory. But if we stand up and fight and let our voice be heard, whether it’s for justice, (or to get back a favorite drink), then we have hope. We may not always have the victory, but we will always have hope of one.

So in all things, let us hope. Hope for a better future. Hope for justice to prevail. Hope for good to triumph over evil. Hope that Jessica Alba will someday give me a call.

Tags: andy dufresne, apartment, change of heart, defeat, defeatism, diet, email, evil, fight, flavor, flavors, good, grub, hard time, hope, hurdle, justice, lemonade, odds, shawshank redemption, shelves, snapple, stacks, supermarket, supermarkets, victory, voice
Categories: Lincoln's Personal Log
 
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