The summer after my freshman year of college, I moved back to Austin, Minnesota to work as a waitress at a truck stop like I had the summer before. It was a good job, believe it or not. It was fairly easy, and I could talk to the customers very casually. The tips ranged from bad to poor, but I still managed to fill a plastic lunchbox full of $1s every week, which I brought to the bank with the same joke every week: "No, this is not stripper money."
My parents had moved out of Austin a few weeks after I'd graduated from high school, so I had to find a place to live on my own for the summer. Apartments were out of the question because no one is going to let a 19-year-old with no furniture move in for only 3 months. I can't remember who first suggested this crazy idea, but someone native to Austin suggested I check out the Historic Hormel Home because they sometimes rented out rooms to young women who needed a place to stay for a short time.
Let me interject some history here. Austin is the home of Hormel meat packing, which is where they process bacon, ham, and, most ubiquitously, Spam. The entire town smells like bacon several days a week and there is a 'Spam Jam' every summer, which is just another small-town festival with a funny name. The Hormel family lived in Austin, and one of the Hormel brothers had a big house in the middle of town. That house is still there, and now has a website, should you be so inclined: http://www.hormelhistorichome.org/
So, I checked it out. For $180 a month, I could live in this crazy, furnished house. I signed up and moved in immediately. The rental agreement had its quirks. First of all, the home was subject to tours throughout the day, meaning I had to time my trips to the historic bathroom and leave it spotless after brushing my teeth or showering or whatever. I had to use the servants' staircase at the back of the house. I could only eat at the servants' table in the kitchen, which actually suited me just fine because it was in a little alcove, and I'd always wanted a little breakfast nook-type area to eat my breakfast in.
I could also not have male guests anywhere in the house besides the first floor. I had to refrain from walking through the main part of the house during tours, wedding receptions, and bridge tournaments, which proved to be frequent. I could only use one shelf of the fridge, and one shelf in the pantry. Meals had to be prepared and eaten only when functions were not occurring. As I suggested two sentences ago, this severely limited the amount of time I was able to spend in the kitchen. I wasn't allowed to answer the house phone during business hours, which were 8-5 every day. There was no air conditioning.
The rules weren't the weirdest part of living at the HHH. No, it was the fact that no one else lived there. I was alone in the home after 5PM. Now, you might be thinking, "What's wrong with that? It would be fun to be alone in a big, dark, old house by yourself at night!" Oh, you're not thinking that? Well, neither was I. That house was scary in the dark. There were mannequins and dress forms with historical clothing scattered throughout the house, and a weird, old piano that I was pretty sure was going to start playing itself at any moment. One night after I'd turned out the lights, a bat started flapping around in my room. I debated trying to ignore it or sleeping with the lights on, but eventually I broke the 'no boys on the second floor' rule and called my friend, Mike Porter, who used a tennis racket to scoop it into a Tide box.
The final straw for me was that one morning, after working an overnight shift at the truck stop, I ducked into the bathroom wearing sleep shorts and a tank top to brush my teeth. I was only moments into the process when I heard the clomp-clomping of a tour coming up the stairs towards the bathroom. I froze as the tour guide attempted to open the door, then pounded on it. I sheepishly announced my presence, heard her clumsily explain that people lived in the home, and then waited in silence as they proceeded to the next room. When the chance arose, I dashed into my bedroom and locked the door behind me. As I drifted off to sleep, the tour stopped outside my room. Several of the tour group members attempted to open my bedroom door, which woke me up in a panic. I decided then and there to look at other living arrangements for the rest of the summer.
After about 10 weeks in the HHH, I moved out and ended up moving in with Mary's family. Mary and I had a great time. Apparently, she had thought I was really crazy for living there in the first place. I had just considered myself thrifty and independent.
xo
Friday, October 28, 2011
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
The Time I Used A Glue Stick Like Chapstick
So, when I was in 6th grade, my family learned that my dad's job at IBM was transferred out to their site in San Jose, California. We moved out there and I started a new school for 7th grade (which was sort of traumatic in a "that which doesn't kill you..." kind of way). I was not immediately popular, mostly because I was pasty, freckled, had a crazy Minnesotan accent, and wasn't allowed to wear makeup yet. Meanwhile, the other girls were sort of cool and mature. They'd been wearing makeup for years. Some of them had even been in "serious" relationships. I was way out of my league, to say the least.
Anyway, there were some particularly mean girls I won't name, just in case some day they read this blog and feel guilty...or justified, I guess. I had a few friends, and things definitely got better when I realized that it makes sense to pay a little attention to how I look. Things definitely improved when I started paying attention to trends. One of the most important trends at this school was the accumulation of Sanrio school supplies. Sanrio is the company that makes Hello Kitty things. Hello Kitty and all her chubby little animal friends were extremely popular at my new school in California. The good thing was that I genuinely liked these characters and thought they were cool, so it wasn't exactly selling out. The bad thing is that I was 13, had no money, and had very little idea where to obtain said Sanrio items.
So, fast forward a little bit, and I've got a semi-regular baby-sitting job down the street from my house, and therefore, more money to spend on Sanrio school supplies. My family lived in a really great place in California, just about halfway between the Bay Area and the Monterrey/Carmel/Santa Cruz area. One of the best parts of the whole thing is that people wanted to come visit us, which meant that we basically were forced to explore a lot in order to come up with fun things to do with our guests. One of my favorite things to do was to go to Chinatown in San Francisco. It was this busy, exciting part of a beautiful city, full of little shops and lots of restaurants. There were grocery stores selling whole, sometimes live animals. One time, an eel meant to be sold for food flopped out of a Styrofoam box onto the sidewalk in front of me, which I thought was the coolest thing in the world.
Anyway, one of these shops was a massive, brightly-colored Sanrio store. It was full of school supplies, clothing, makeup, and stuffed animals all bearing the likeness of Hello Kitty and all her anthropomorphic animal friends. I was in adolescent girl heaven. I stocked up on this stuff like I was preparing for some kind of tween girl survival camping trip--I got a pencil case with Keropi the frog, some notebooks, some folders, and some pens. When I lugged this up to the register, I noticed a little display selling some chunky chapsticks, all decorated with the cute characters and Chinese writing. Well, I needed an authentic, straight-from-China Hello Kitty chapstick. There was no question in my teen-girl mind. I bought one.
The first time I used it, I thought it was a little strange. It was vaguely mint-flavored and didn't feel moisturizing, like other chapsticks. I thought to my self, 'Well, this is just the way chapstick is in China.' I literally thought those words. The other girls in my class loved my new Sanrio supplies and oohed and aahhhed appropriately. Finally, I felt like I fit in just a little.
I was using my Hello Kitty chapstick one day, and one of the girls asked to see it. She smelled it, frowned, and said, "This smells weird. Can I use it?" This was at a time that I was more interested in keeping friends than cleanliness, so I agreed. She put some on. "This is weird!" she said. Another girl also tried it. "This isn't chapstick!" she said, laughing hysterically. "It's GLUE!" My cheeks almost burned off from the embarrassment. Within moments, the entire class I'd been working so hard to win over knew that this pale, Norwegian-sounding Minnesotan had been routinely slicking on glue stick instead of chapstick. Eventually, everyone got over it. And by eventually, I mean by the time we all moved on to different high schools.
I wish I could say that I'd learned something profound by going through this experience. Maybe I have. Maybe it turned me into someone who is more friendly to people in tough circumstances, or makes me go out of my way to be welcoming to newcomers in any situation. But the most important lessons I can identify all these years later are A.) Don't buy a beauty product unless you can read the language on its packaging and B.) Don't share your chapstick. If it does happen to actually be a glue stick, you'll be really, really embarrassed.
xo
Anyway, there were some particularly mean girls I won't name, just in case some day they read this blog and feel guilty...or justified, I guess. I had a few friends, and things definitely got better when I realized that it makes sense to pay a little attention to how I look. Things definitely improved when I started paying attention to trends. One of the most important trends at this school was the accumulation of Sanrio school supplies. Sanrio is the company that makes Hello Kitty things. Hello Kitty and all her chubby little animal friends were extremely popular at my new school in California. The good thing was that I genuinely liked these characters and thought they were cool, so it wasn't exactly selling out. The bad thing is that I was 13, had no money, and had very little idea where to obtain said Sanrio items.
So, fast forward a little bit, and I've got a semi-regular baby-sitting job down the street from my house, and therefore, more money to spend on Sanrio school supplies. My family lived in a really great place in California, just about halfway between the Bay Area and the Monterrey/Carmel/Santa Cruz area. One of the best parts of the whole thing is that people wanted to come visit us, which meant that we basically were forced to explore a lot in order to come up with fun things to do with our guests. One of my favorite things to do was to go to Chinatown in San Francisco. It was this busy, exciting part of a beautiful city, full of little shops and lots of restaurants. There were grocery stores selling whole, sometimes live animals. One time, an eel meant to be sold for food flopped out of a Styrofoam box onto the sidewalk in front of me, which I thought was the coolest thing in the world.
Anyway, one of these shops was a massive, brightly-colored Sanrio store. It was full of school supplies, clothing, makeup, and stuffed animals all bearing the likeness of Hello Kitty and all her anthropomorphic animal friends. I was in adolescent girl heaven. I stocked up on this stuff like I was preparing for some kind of tween girl survival camping trip--I got a pencil case with Keropi the frog, some notebooks, some folders, and some pens. When I lugged this up to the register, I noticed a little display selling some chunky chapsticks, all decorated with the cute characters and Chinese writing. Well, I needed an authentic, straight-from-China Hello Kitty chapstick. There was no question in my teen-girl mind. I bought one.
The first time I used it, I thought it was a little strange. It was vaguely mint-flavored and didn't feel moisturizing, like other chapsticks. I thought to my self, 'Well, this is just the way chapstick is in China.' I literally thought those words. The other girls in my class loved my new Sanrio supplies and oohed and aahhhed appropriately. Finally, I felt like I fit in just a little.
I was using my Hello Kitty chapstick one day, and one of the girls asked to see it. She smelled it, frowned, and said, "This smells weird. Can I use it?" This was at a time that I was more interested in keeping friends than cleanliness, so I agreed. She put some on. "This is weird!" she said. Another girl also tried it. "This isn't chapstick!" she said, laughing hysterically. "It's GLUE!" My cheeks almost burned off from the embarrassment. Within moments, the entire class I'd been working so hard to win over knew that this pale, Norwegian-sounding Minnesotan had been routinely slicking on glue stick instead of chapstick. Eventually, everyone got over it. And by eventually, I mean by the time we all moved on to different high schools.
I wish I could say that I'd learned something profound by going through this experience. Maybe I have. Maybe it turned me into someone who is more friendly to people in tough circumstances, or makes me go out of my way to be welcoming to newcomers in any situation. But the most important lessons I can identify all these years later are A.) Don't buy a beauty product unless you can read the language on its packaging and B.) Don't share your chapstick. If it does happen to actually be a glue stick, you'll be really, really embarrassed.
xo
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
The Time I Almost Moved In With Those Hippies
One part of this whole pregnancy experience that has been kind of interesting is the time between 3:45AM and 5AM. I inevitably wake up around this time every morning and have a tough time getting back to sleep. My mind leads me around, sometimes into the future, but mostly, it takes me back to seemingly-random points in my life and really lets me take a good look at them. The thoughts are rarely unpleasant, so they're not stressful or anything like that. They're just thoughts about things I've done in my life, free and clear of any judgment.
This morning, my mind settled in with thoughts of the year before I moved out to Glasgow. It was a weird time--I was in this new-ish relationship with someone I rarely had a chance to spend time with, and was mentally preparing to leave the country, but not for a year. I was working a job at a hospital with weird hours, and had a part-time job as a mental health worker that was quickly becoming like a full-time job. I was living in a little apartment in uptown next to a chronic alcoholic who was both sweet and concerning. It was a kind of stressful time, but I remember also feeling like it was sort of fun to be young and poor and living on my own.
Anyway, I had decided to move out of the apartment and into some kind of other living situation that would allow me to get rid of the majority of my personal possessions so that when the time came for me to make my way across the ocean, I'd be unencumbered. I found an ad on Craigslist for a couple who was looking to rent out one of the bedrooms in their apartment. They lived only blocks away from my old place. The ad said the room would be furnished. It sounded fine. And yes, I understand finding a living arrangement on Craigslist is sketchy. I wouldn't do it now, obviously.
I alerted one of my friends that I was going to look at this place, and told her to call the police if I didn't call back in an hour. When I arrived, I was greeted by what I would now call a 'late 30s hipster couple', but who at the time, I referred to as 'the old hippies'. The woman was wearing some kind of caftan and had disheveled, maroon hair that hadn't seen Pantene or a brush in a long time, and wore manic, red lipstick. The man was equally disheveled with long hair and a longer beard. There was a sweet dog with matted hair who jumped immediately into my lap. The apartment was crammed full of dusty piles of books, mason jars with plants and dirt, and smelled strongly of incense. The part of me raised by my parents felt immediately dubious, but another part of me really liked it. We, the hippies and I, talked for over an hour about politics, community gardens, and people from the suburbs getting mugged in their neighborhood. I ended up going to their neighborhood block party, drinking wine and biking the few blocks home a little tipsy.
The short story is that I was thisclose to moving in with them until my school in Glasgow told me I might be able to enroll a year earlier than I had anticipated (this ultimately fell through). Mary and I ended up moving in together, and it was the best possible way to spend my "last year in America", which turned out not to be my last at all. The hippies ended up keeping my deposit because I bailed on them at the last minute, which sort of irked me at the time, but really, nothing came of it and I never saw them again.
So, this morning, my mind brought me there. I don't know why. Maybe it was saying, "Hey, look again at this odd decision you almost made." Or maybe it was a warning not to lose that open-minded part of myself. Or maybe it was just a random thought my mind was trying to get rid of in order to make space for all the parenting advice I'm about to be given. Who knows?
xo
This morning, my mind settled in with thoughts of the year before I moved out to Glasgow. It was a weird time--I was in this new-ish relationship with someone I rarely had a chance to spend time with, and was mentally preparing to leave the country, but not for a year. I was working a job at a hospital with weird hours, and had a part-time job as a mental health worker that was quickly becoming like a full-time job. I was living in a little apartment in uptown next to a chronic alcoholic who was both sweet and concerning. It was a kind of stressful time, but I remember also feeling like it was sort of fun to be young and poor and living on my own.
Anyway, I had decided to move out of the apartment and into some kind of other living situation that would allow me to get rid of the majority of my personal possessions so that when the time came for me to make my way across the ocean, I'd be unencumbered. I found an ad on Craigslist for a couple who was looking to rent out one of the bedrooms in their apartment. They lived only blocks away from my old place. The ad said the room would be furnished. It sounded fine. And yes, I understand finding a living arrangement on Craigslist is sketchy. I wouldn't do it now, obviously.
I alerted one of my friends that I was going to look at this place, and told her to call the police if I didn't call back in an hour. When I arrived, I was greeted by what I would now call a 'late 30s hipster couple', but who at the time, I referred to as 'the old hippies'. The woman was wearing some kind of caftan and had disheveled, maroon hair that hadn't seen Pantene or a brush in a long time, and wore manic, red lipstick. The man was equally disheveled with long hair and a longer beard. There was a sweet dog with matted hair who jumped immediately into my lap. The apartment was crammed full of dusty piles of books, mason jars with plants and dirt, and smelled strongly of incense. The part of me raised by my parents felt immediately dubious, but another part of me really liked it. We, the hippies and I, talked for over an hour about politics, community gardens, and people from the suburbs getting mugged in their neighborhood. I ended up going to their neighborhood block party, drinking wine and biking the few blocks home a little tipsy.
The short story is that I was thisclose to moving in with them until my school in Glasgow told me I might be able to enroll a year earlier than I had anticipated (this ultimately fell through). Mary and I ended up moving in together, and it was the best possible way to spend my "last year in America", which turned out not to be my last at all. The hippies ended up keeping my deposit because I bailed on them at the last minute, which sort of irked me at the time, but really, nothing came of it and I never saw them again.
So, this morning, my mind brought me there. I don't know why. Maybe it was saying, "Hey, look again at this odd decision you almost made." Or maybe it was a warning not to lose that open-minded part of myself. Or maybe it was just a random thought my mind was trying to get rid of in order to make space for all the parenting advice I'm about to be given. Who knows?
xo
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Is This It?
Something has changed in the last week or so, and I'm not really sure where to start. To begin with, my awesome in-laws were here for a week and just left on Tuesday (it's Thursday now). While they were here, we did a lot of things, ate out a lot, went to the orchestra, went to Duluth, and generally spent a lot of time together. It was really nice to have them come stay with us and it felt very good to have them so close, even if just for a little bit of time. There was also a lot of tea and biscuits--so, so many biscuits!
During that time, my best friend Mary threw me an amazing baby shower. It was perfect. It was so fun and perfectly low-key and I got to invite all the women in my life I like the most. It was incredible to have my mom, Chris's mom, Mary's mom, and a bunch of friends in the same room, and all to celebrate this little baby who we've decided to bring into the world. People wrote little pieces of advice for me, and my own mom wrote, "It takes a village to raise a baby, and you've got one." And I believe it now. Maybe that's what baby showers are really all about--a reminder that people are happy for you, happy about the baby, and just there for you if you need them. And it's a reminder that comes at the perfect time--when you are beginning to get anxious about your ability to do this.
So, after the shower, I had more things for the baby--really important things, like a place for her to sleep, a health and safety kit (complete with one of those little nose suction things and a thermometer)--and more love (and leftover pasta salad) than I could have imagined having. I also had time with both sets of Sophie's grandparents, and the realization that holy crap, this kid is lucky. Our parents are all incredible, loving, generous, supportive people. They are ready to love this baby.
So, we have the baby stuff, and the support. Our daycare is in place. The baby will have insurance. We have money squirreled away. Chris has thoughts and plans of starting a college fund in his head. We've researched all the applicable tax credits and childcare savings plans through our employers. We know where to go to have the baby. I'm wondering now, is this it? Are these the exact moments in which we've become ready to have this baby arrive?
A week or so ago, I felt completely unprepared. But lately, life has quickly pushed me towards readiness, and I can feel my body preparing for what's to come. It's so crazy, and so awesome.
So, that's what's been going on over here. How have you all been?
xo
During that time, my best friend Mary threw me an amazing baby shower. It was perfect. It was so fun and perfectly low-key and I got to invite all the women in my life I like the most. It was incredible to have my mom, Chris's mom, Mary's mom, and a bunch of friends in the same room, and all to celebrate this little baby who we've decided to bring into the world. People wrote little pieces of advice for me, and my own mom wrote, "It takes a village to raise a baby, and you've got one." And I believe it now. Maybe that's what baby showers are really all about--a reminder that people are happy for you, happy about the baby, and just there for you if you need them. And it's a reminder that comes at the perfect time--when you are beginning to get anxious about your ability to do this.
So, after the shower, I had more things for the baby--really important things, like a place for her to sleep, a health and safety kit (complete with one of those little nose suction things and a thermometer)--and more love (and leftover pasta salad) than I could have imagined having. I also had time with both sets of Sophie's grandparents, and the realization that holy crap, this kid is lucky. Our parents are all incredible, loving, generous, supportive people. They are ready to love this baby.
So, we have the baby stuff, and the support. Our daycare is in place. The baby will have insurance. We have money squirreled away. Chris has thoughts and plans of starting a college fund in his head. We've researched all the applicable tax credits and childcare savings plans through our employers. We know where to go to have the baby. I'm wondering now, is this it? Are these the exact moments in which we've become ready to have this baby arrive?
A week or so ago, I felt completely unprepared. But lately, life has quickly pushed me towards readiness, and I can feel my body preparing for what's to come. It's so crazy, and so awesome.
So, that's what's been going on over here. How have you all been?
xo
Monday, October 3, 2011
Christina vs Christopherson
So, Chris and I moved to a new apartment back in February. We had gone to look at our new place with a delightful half-wit I will not name here. Actually, what the hell--her name is Heidi.
Heidi showed us around the apartment, which was several steps above our dingy basement apartment in Uptown. This evaluation is based on the fact that the new apartment was not in the basement, did not have non-ornamental exposed piping, and was larger than a refrigerator box. We really liked the apartment, except for one tiny thing: It did not have a dishwasher. We brought this up to Heidi, who immediately said that she could get us a dishwasher, and that management would never let something like a dishwasher get in the way of having us sign a new lease. So, we were optimistic. Who wouldn't have been?
How foolish we were.
We went in to sign the lease a few days later after again being reassured that they'd be able to put in a dishwasher, "no problem". Before we put pen to paper, I asked about the dishwasher. Heidi rolled her eyes and said, "Oh! I forgot to ask! But seriously, it won't be a problem."
I hesitated. "This is a pretty big deal. We are thinking this is the apartment we'll be in for a few years and we really, really need a dishwasher. It's really important to us."
Heidi reassured us again, this time even going as far as to say, "Here, let me call my manager so you'll be hearing it from someone else, too." She got on the phone, put it on speaker, and called her manager, who said it shouldn't be a problem. At this point, what would you have assumed about this? We assumed we were getting a dishwasher. We signed the lease.
On the way back to our old place, I commented that I thought maybe we should have had them put something about the dishwasher in writing. Chris, being British and less jaded than I, said he thought it would all work out. I felt comforted. We were getting our dishwasher!
A few days later, after we'd planned for the movers to come, changed out address, and told everyone about the move, Heidi called me at work. She asked if we were excited to get moved in. I said, "Yes, very!" There was a pause on the other end. "...even if you don't have a dishwasher?" she asked, verbally cowering in the corner.
It turns out that, actually, management decided that, actually, they 'couldn't sacrifice cabinet space for a dishwasher'. So, no dishwasher. No dishwasher at all. No chance.
Fast forward through a not-so-polite conversation between Heidi and I, and then one between Chris and Heidi, and then a few months. Mary, my best friend of 23 years, and her boyfriend, Nate, ended up moving into the apartment across the hall. As they were moving in, Chris and I came over to marvel in the fact that their apartment is an exact replica of ours...except for one thing. THEY HAD A DISHWASHER! Their kitchen was exactly the same, except that they had half the cabinet space and 100% MORE DISHWASHER!
Chris and I made an attempt to talk to Christopherson management about this, but were again denied. We lived with it and considered a lack of dishwasher a kind of bourgeoisie problem. But now, we're having a kid. A sticky, messy, lovely kid who will enter this world as a baby, and will sometimes need bottles. And yes, I'm aware that people washed bottles by hand before dishwashers were invented. People also got small pox and washed their petticoats on rocks in the river before we figured out we didn't have to do that stuff.
In any case, I decided to wait until I was really pregnant to go in and talk to them about getting a dishwasher. And now is that time. I went in to drop of my rent and asked to speak with a manager about getting a dishwasher. Then I was told that I had to set up an appointment to do that. So...I will be meeting toe to toe with Bonnie from Christopherson properties tomorrow. Wish me luck. Actually, wish her luck. I'm a hormonal pregnant person. She's going to need it!
xo
Heidi showed us around the apartment, which was several steps above our dingy basement apartment in Uptown. This evaluation is based on the fact that the new apartment was not in the basement, did not have non-ornamental exposed piping, and was larger than a refrigerator box. We really liked the apartment, except for one tiny thing: It did not have a dishwasher. We brought this up to Heidi, who immediately said that she could get us a dishwasher, and that management would never let something like a dishwasher get in the way of having us sign a new lease. So, we were optimistic. Who wouldn't have been?
How foolish we were.
We went in to sign the lease a few days later after again being reassured that they'd be able to put in a dishwasher, "no problem". Before we put pen to paper, I asked about the dishwasher. Heidi rolled her eyes and said, "Oh! I forgot to ask! But seriously, it won't be a problem."
I hesitated. "This is a pretty big deal. We are thinking this is the apartment we'll be in for a few years and we really, really need a dishwasher. It's really important to us."
Heidi reassured us again, this time even going as far as to say, "Here, let me call my manager so you'll be hearing it from someone else, too." She got on the phone, put it on speaker, and called her manager, who said it shouldn't be a problem. At this point, what would you have assumed about this? We assumed we were getting a dishwasher. We signed the lease.
On the way back to our old place, I commented that I thought maybe we should have had them put something about the dishwasher in writing. Chris, being British and less jaded than I, said he thought it would all work out. I felt comforted. We were getting our dishwasher!
A few days later, after we'd planned for the movers to come, changed out address, and told everyone about the move, Heidi called me at work. She asked if we were excited to get moved in. I said, "Yes, very!" There was a pause on the other end. "...even if you don't have a dishwasher?" she asked, verbally cowering in the corner.
It turns out that, actually, management decided that, actually, they 'couldn't sacrifice cabinet space for a dishwasher'. So, no dishwasher. No dishwasher at all. No chance.
Fast forward through a not-so-polite conversation between Heidi and I, and then one between Chris and Heidi, and then a few months. Mary, my best friend of 23 years, and her boyfriend, Nate, ended up moving into the apartment across the hall. As they were moving in, Chris and I came over to marvel in the fact that their apartment is an exact replica of ours...except for one thing. THEY HAD A DISHWASHER! Their kitchen was exactly the same, except that they had half the cabinet space and 100% MORE DISHWASHER!
Chris and I made an attempt to talk to Christopherson management about this, but were again denied. We lived with it and considered a lack of dishwasher a kind of bourgeoisie problem. But now, we're having a kid. A sticky, messy, lovely kid who will enter this world as a baby, and will sometimes need bottles. And yes, I'm aware that people washed bottles by hand before dishwashers were invented. People also got small pox and washed their petticoats on rocks in the river before we figured out we didn't have to do that stuff.
In any case, I decided to wait until I was really pregnant to go in and talk to them about getting a dishwasher. And now is that time. I went in to drop of my rent and asked to speak with a manager about getting a dishwasher. Then I was told that I had to set up an appointment to do that. So...I will be meeting toe to toe with Bonnie from Christopherson properties tomorrow. Wish me luck. Actually, wish her luck. I'm a hormonal pregnant person. She's going to need it!
xo
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