(It's all) Relative.

At the risk of having everyone think terrible things about me (go ahead, you know you want to! and you'll think whatever you want anyway), i feel there are some things i need to get off my chest.

So.

Just to get everybody up to speed:

i am 28 years old, living in san diego with my boyfriend of 8 years, who is 32 and a philosophy grad student at UCSD (which is why we live in this horrendous city). We moved down here in September of 2006 from Berkeley, which i miss almost every minute of every day. My aunt graciously offered to let us stay in her condo, rent-free, until i found a job.
Well- that's the kicker.

You see, i haven't found one yet.

Yes, i've had a couple of interviews, but one was at a place where the lady asked me to "tone down" my eye make-up, after basically already hiring me, so i thought i was in, which made me really ticked off! Especially since we had got along really really well, and i thought i had already toned it down, for the job interviews, ya know? i guess i just wasn't ready to do that for someone.
Next was a flower shop in La Jolla (tres chi-chi area of San Diego, ugh) where they also basically hired me, except it became clear that instead of actually helping customers, (helping them to choose flowers, arranging/wrapping said flowers, and sending them on their way), i was to be one of many in-store positions, such as a "greeter" or a "cashier" or a blah blah blah- you get the point. i don't even think i would have been handling any of the flowers directly; instead i'd be parading customers around the store and trying to upsell $200 candles and dried orchids to them. No thanks. Don't want to be a cog in that particular uptight, perfumed machine.
Lastly, there was the small and crappy flower shop here in Pacific Beach. i was training there, and everything was going swimmingly, until i was informed that my shifts would all be me working by myself, "is that all right?" ummmm, no, actually! It's not! Having been held up once at the flower shop i worked at in Oakland (which was also primarily an out-door shop), i'm not trying to count money at the end of the day right on the sidewalk, in plain view of people, at night, by myself.
And would you believe what the woman said to me? "aww, that's a shame, heather.. we really wanted you to work here. but that's all right, i mean now, at least, you know what your limitations are."

"limitations"?! Oh, i'm sorry- looking out for my own fucking safety has become a failing of mine, somehow?

So would you believe i ended up working for her anyway? Yep. Mother's Day of last year, and Valentine's Day of this year. She's asked me to come back and help for Mother's Day again, and i'll probably say yes. This is mostly due to the conversation i had on the phone earlier today with my aunt, which i'll try and condense for you.
(Things you should know about my aunt: she is extremely passive-aggressive, projects things on to me that she wants to believe are true, and in general simply does not understand how things work in the real world.)

A few cases in point: when we moved down here, after a twelve-hour U-Haul drive (which she was kind enough to accompany us on, in her corvette- because there were "still a few of Grandma's things left in the condo" to deal with), we opened the door to find...
.....A SHITLOAD OF STUFF. Basically, everything- everything my grandma had ever owned. Was still. Here. My aunt had dealt with none of it. (The story goes like this: my grandmother [my aunt's mother], who my siblings and i didn't know hardly at all, had passed away here about 7 or 8 years ago. Then, a few years later, the unit upstairs from here flooded horribly, and the entire floor [our ceiling] caved in, ruining this space completely. It had to be totally rebuilt; recarpeted, repainted, furniture/fixtures had been ruined and thrown away, etc. etc. Now supposedly all the work was "done" by the insurance company, but that became the biggest joke i've ever heard.)
Now, i don't want to seem insensitive. If you knew me, you would know that my biggest fault is probably being way TOO sensitive (inherent sarcasm aside)... and i haven't lost a parent, so i honestly don't know how hard that can be. i can only imagine. But frankly, please don't tell someone that they can move into a space, if that space is simply NOT LIVABLE.
She had mentioned to me that there were a few things left in the condo to take care of, "little things", so of course i was like, "no problem!"; just so happy to have somewhere to live. But nothing could have prepared me for what was behind that front door.

An apartment that hadn't been aired out in years. A whole lifetime of one woman's memories, that her daughter had to sit and go through, box by fucking box. At the precise time when no one had any time for it. Were we allowed to just skim through a box, see that it is filled with dishes, close the box, and simply write "dishes" on the side? NO. We had to unwrap almost every item of dishware, which my aunt would then ask me if i wanted, even after i practically screamed at her that no, i did not want anything. She also believed, incredibly, that the insurance men would fly right over at her whim, and take everything she couldn't (or didn't want to) deal with, and ferry it to the appropriate building- storage or Goodwill. And she believed that they would do all of this at no charge.
...Do you see what i meant about "the real world"? She lives in a total fantasy land.

And i haven't even got to the best parts yet.
There were no light fixtures. No phone jacks. The bathroom door didn't close. The bathroom sink was in the bedoom. The oven was pulled out of its place in the kitchen, and also residing in the kitchen was a huge fucking grandfather clock. Apparently they workers had moved it in there (and broken it along the way, much to our sadness). But even more sad was the fact that we had to move it back out.
Now i don't know if any of you has ever had to move a grandfather clock, but those fuckers are a lot more unwieldy and heavy than you think. It took us more than half an hour to move it ten feet away, a feat not easily helped by the fact that it stood only about one inch from the ceiling, which made it nearly impossible to tilt (even though we shouldn't have tilted it, in the end, but my sister fairly demanded that we do [everything is right when done her way- i'm sure you have a family member like this]).
Whew! is this getting fun yet?
Right. Also, everything was wrapped in plastic and stuck in the middle of the rooms, leaving zero floor space for us to even think of beginning to move OUR ENTIRE U-HAUL OF STUFF in... the screen door to the "patio" was broken, and all of the paint cans, tarps, dust, broken pieces of wood, and generally anything broken or trash from the job supposedly "finished" months and months before was out there for us to clean up.
Somewhere along the way i finally lost my shit, and asked my aunt why she thought it was okay to tell us that we could move in here when obviously it wasn't ready for people to live in yet, and my sister and my aunt teamed up on me and called me "spoiled" and a "princess", which i still maintain is total bullshit. Anyone else in my place would have behaved even worse, let me fucking assure you. Although to be honest, yeah- i wasn't a total angel. There! i said it.

As you can imagine, i just wanted all the stuff out. All of it. There is a time and a place to go through those things, but now was clearly not it... throw it in storage, go through it later. But no. Had to be done right now. My aunt plastered a forced, tight smile on her face throughout the whole thing and continued to wave things like muu-muus (i'm 5'2" and 105 lbs) and wine glasses (i hate wine) in my face and chirping, "heather? any interest?". i nearly slapped her in the face, i'm not kidding. i didn't care "how hard this [was] for her" (my sister hissed this at me through her teeth, in the other room). It was also pretty goddamned hard for me! And you know what? i've spent my whole life as a fucking doormat, always doing what everyone else wants and anticipating everyone else's needs before my own. But this was the last straw for me. i couldn't take it anymore. i was traumatized from leaving the pace where i grew up and had lived, and loved, my whole life (and, quite possibly, become unhealthily attached to), and moving to a city which i hated, to further my boyfriend's career (as good a reason as any, and no one forced me to move, but a little sympathy would have been nice?). Also, i think it was 93 degrees out the next day, when we had to actually move all of our things upstairs. A "freak heat-wave", they called it.

Sweeeeeet.

So hm. Not anyone's fault, really, i guess you could say? Just bad timing and two different people converging on the same spaces with two entirely different purposes? i was there to move in, and my aunt was there to finally come to terms with her mother's death and go through every single item she had ever owned and wax nostalgic. Talk about your family drama. Every neighbor in the place probably heard us screaming at each other, a fact which embarrasses me to this very day. My sister later sort of agreed that my aunt had probably used us moving down to San Diego to further her own agenda; that is, go through the condo and sort stuff out- breathe new life into the place, as it were. But i still think that was inappropriate. Sue me.
Please don't get me wrong- i was (and still am) extremely grateful for all of the help i received; my aunt letting us stay here, my sister for driving the U-Haul, etc... i just really wish it hadn't gone down that way. Things have never been the same between me and my aunt since, which i am actually really unhappy about.

Long story short, a lot of that stuff was driven away for charity, by a friend of my aunt's who lives down here and had a truck (bless that man- he helped us out soooooo much that day), a few heavier items (the grandfather clock, a couple of dressers, the bed) stayed here since nat and i didn't have a lot of actual furniture, some memorable items (jewelry, photos, papers, clothing/linens) went back up to the Bay Area with my sister and my aunt the next night, and the few remaining miscellany (paintings, some small chairs) went into a corner, which i had to then have put into storage. We don't have a car or drive, though, so we had to call Big Box, load it up ourselves (carefully, carefully, lest anything get ruined even a tad, and my aunt hold that against me for the rest of our lives too), and have Big Box come back and take it away the next day. Pretty dang convenient, actually! So i called my aunt with the rental info; how much it was going to cost ($75 a month- cheap, if you're in the know), when payments are due, (the first of the month) and where to mail the checks to, etc. etc.
So on and off over the past year and a half or so, the stuff in storage will come up. Sometimes she would mention in passing, "oh, i got a late notice from Big Box, do you know why that is?" and i will say, "well, it's the fifth- did you pay them yet this month?", while biting the inside of my cheek to keep the sarcasm from gushing out and choking her over the phone. She will bring up the fact that it is hard for her to pay $75 a month for things that are in storage, especially when half of the stuff in there belongs to me and nat, and can we please just take everything out?

OH. MY. GOD.

Nothing of mine is in there. not one single thing. She honestly thinks that i would let her pay money to keep my stuff in storage? That's fucking insane! i don't want her paying for my shit! i already owe her so much for rent, as it is! What he hell is the matter with that woman?? Why does she think i would do that- i wouldn't DO THAT!! She brought it up again on the phone today, and i finally got a little hard on her about it. "You know, i've told you at least five times, D____, none of that stuff is mine. It is all Grandma Charlie's. i have no idea what you want to do with it, but it was your idea to put it in storage, because you didn't want to take it home or give it to Goodwill." and she was simply amazed. "Oh, dear! where did i get that idea from, then?" and i could just picture the fake little look of spaciness on her face; head cocked, hand on hip.

Incorrigible, i tell you! incorrigible!!
And i do honestly believe that she knows what she is doing.
She knows.

Then she brought up rent. As she has been so lax on me about paying rent (by which i mean never once mentioning to me that she needed the money), i haven't exactly been- how shall we say- motivated? to find work. Granted, this is a failing of mine.i suppose i was taking advantage of the situation, because ever since we moved down here, i have become an anxious sociophobe, almost never leaving the house. i think some of this is because i kept thinking that living here would get better, but it just hasn't. We need to move to a different area, because there are no places here where i can stand to work. And you know what? i don't care that i have pride about where i will and will not work. For instance, i will not work at Cold Stone Creamery. i will also not work at Subway, Starbuck's, or pretty much any store in a goddamn strip mall. If it really came down to it, of course i would, but if i still have the choice, it's gotta be somewhere i can handle.
So anyway, we really need to move. Somewhere where there is more than ONE BOOKSTORE (no, i'm not kidding). Away from the beach, which we only ever visit once a month for sunsets anyway, and away from the damn drunk college kids who have taken over P.B. with their bikinis, fake tans, high heels, sideways baseball hats, and giant clouds of cologne.

Gotta find a job soon. It will get me out of the damn house, for one, and i will finally be able to send my aunt some money for all the grief i have caused her. She owns (and rents) lots of other real estate, so i had no idea she needed to rent so badly. i do not feel good about not paying rent all this time :/ ugh.

..Heeeyyy, remember when i said "long story short" all that time ago? Yeah, sorry about that. This time i'll shut up for real. Please excuse the outrageously long blog post- it's something i'm having a really difficult time changing about myself. Just can't seem to shut the brain off. i started this blog because i was not in a good place, and i needed something- anything- to act as an outlet for all the swirling mumbo-jumbo detritus building up inside of me. However, it's turned into a new way to hate something about myself- namely, my lack of literary skills, my tendency to run at the mouth, and not having anything remotely interesting to say most of the time. It's turned into more of a diary, really, and who the hell wants to read that? i guess i'm not egotistical enough to write a blog and feel like people actually want to read it. But nobody likes a self-loather, so it's time to nip that little annoying habit in the bud! And i promise, i will work on the long posts. i know they are no bueno. It will be hard, but i will try. For you ;)

next time: songs that need to be un-recorded.