The best and worst 2 months, ever. (Part 3)

((This is the last bit of this saga. After this my blog will be filled with delicious cookies for a few months.))

A few days in to August (I'm not sure, exactly, the date) I got a phone call from my old boss at St Bonaventure. I worked there as a theatre tech helper while I was laid off and had loads of fun. I was sad to leave. He asked if I'd like to help out on some shows this season. I said yes, of course, and asked when I should go in to see the schedules in the like. He said the next day would be fine. I was super excited, I had a job again! I got up early the next morning and biked the mile to the college only to find out that he really didn't need me until October, he was just making sure I'd be available.

On my birthday, the 20th, I got a text from my landlord. He asked if it was acceptable to not pay rent or if I had moved out. I responded asking if it was acceptable to let me live in the shit hole that I live in. He didn't have much to say to that other than it's hard to pay for plumbers if I don't pay him rent. I didn't respond. It was my birthday and I was in no way going to let him get me in to a pissy mood before my party.

I had stayed at my boyfriend's apartment the night before, like I sometimes do, and had to make a stop at my house for one thing or another before going out that night. Luckily, he waited in the driveway for me to get whatever it was that I needed (my belt, I think, or something equally needed, but trivial). When I got to the top of my stairs, I found a note stuck in the window of the door from the power company. Oh joy of joys, my power had been disconnected on my birthday. Would the day ever get any better? I went in, got what I needed, apologized to the cats for not having the fan running, and left. I didn't take the note with me, but I did tell the boyfriend what happened. I allowed five minutes to talk about it and feel pity for myself before I demanded not to hear about it again on my birthday.

My birthday was almost awesome, by the way. With the exception of my best friend turning in to an angry drunk and the boyfriend being just a bit too possessive for my taste. (While I appreciate the sentiment, I can take care of myself, and I know when to say no.)

My old boss from the SAC now works at St. Bonaventure and he's looking for someone part time. I got his cell number last Monday and asked if he was still hiring. He told me it was only ten to fifteen hours a week, but if I still wanted the job, he'd contact me later.

I've yet to hear from him, but I have my hopes up. What's the worst if I don't get it? It'll just turn in to the best and worst three months. And that, I just might be able to live with. After all, I do have work lined up for three days in October.

((Also, as I mentioned in the comments of part 1, but neglected to state in any entries. I did finally suck it up and apply to everywhere within biking/walking distance. No one seems to want me, I guess.))

The best and worst 2 months, ever. (Part 2)

((As promised yesterday, here's a bit more of my tale of sadness. I'm not trying to be all "poor pity me" by blogging this it's just..I need to tell SOMEONE.))

Fast forward to my Gram's birthday, June 22nd. Still no job. I had, probably, fifty dollars left from the money that would last me "months". I also still hadn't touched the money from unemployment. But, rent was due soon and the old ladies always went to dinner and the casino for birthdays. I was hoping to hit it big as the casino. I took 400 out of the unemployment money. One hundred was for that day and the other 300 was supposed to go to rent.

After dinner and the casino, I ended up spending 150, so I was short on my already short rent. And, probably needless to say, I didn't win a dime at the casino.

On July 6th I managed to pay my rent by taking even more money out of the unemployment fund. Luckily, I was no longer paying for my alcohol addiction. My best friend, who was now speaking to me, and my guy friend-turned boyfriend were taking care of that for me. All I had left to pay for were my food and movie addictions. Easy enough, I stopped eating every day of the week and I also stopped renting new releases. Dollar movies and big lunches were all I had left.

After I paid rent I had, quite literally 187.39 to my name. No bills were paid in July, except my rent and half of my already overdue electric bill. The gas bill was so little, I figured I could hold it off for a bit. They also hadn't started to send me notices yet. The water bill, luckily, kind of, only has to be paid once every three months here and I figured I wasn't going to get it for another month. Well, as I was slowly figuring out, things I "figured" were almost always wrong. And I hoped what I was figuring out was wrong, too. The water bill didn't get paid that month either.

I swear, if the electric company took all the money that they put into envelopes and paper and printer ink and postage to send me overdue/shutoff notices, they'd have paid most of my bill for me.

Not four days later, July 1oth, my toilet decided it didn't want to work anymore. It was going to just leak water all over and not flush properly. So, not only did (do) I not have a kitchen sink (that broke in the winter) and a permanently plugged bathroom sink (someone, most likely me, dropped a plastic lid down the drain), but now I no longer had a working toilet. My problems never seemed to slow down.

But, as I try to do, even now, I looked on the bright side of things. My landlord had a plumber come out a few days before, and he would surely fix this problem when he came out to finish repairing my kitchen sink. Remember what I said about my figuring always being wrong?

By the end of July I had torn apart the apartment and gathered every last nickel, dime, penny, and quarter I had. Rolled and spent that on my ever-loving movie and food addictions. I was now down to eating every other day and renting kids movies (always free!) and fifty cent rentals. When August came, I didn't have any money to pay rent. Everyone I talked to about the issues in my apartment told me that I shouldn't be paying rent anyway, at least until I get my toilet and sinks fixed.

So, I listened to them for once.

My rent is due by the fifth of the month. I expected angry texts and emails and calls from my landlord on the sixth. That passed, nothing. The seventh passed, nothing. The eighth and so on. Nothing. By the tenth I figured that he knew why I wasn't paying rent and that he might do something about it.

There's me figuring again. I should learn to stop doing that.

I'll finish the story tomorrow. There's good news in that one, kind of.

The best and worst 2 months, ever.

((As a side note, if you know me in person and you read this, please don't mention it. To anyone. PLEASE. It's embarrassing enough to have to admit it to myself, but I need to tell someone and the internet is safe enough for anonymity, but I know a few people I know personally read this. I had to tell someone. Thanks.)

It all started on June 1st of this year. Well, for me it was May 31st, but the official paperwork calls it June 1st, so that's what we'll call it. That day, or night, rather, it was 4 in the morning, I quit my very good (read: well paying) job at Seneca Allegany Casino and Hotel to pursue what I told my family were "better opportunities somewhere I didn't have to work 3rd shift." Two months later, here I am, writing this on a dying laptop by the light of a 9 watt bulb powered by D batteries, none of which I bought for myself. It's 11.30 at night, normally at that time of night my apartment would be ablaze with lights, sounds, and movement from my television set. Not so tonight. You see, 4 days ago, my electric got turned off.

When I quit my job I was only mildly in debt. I had a few unpaid bills, but not enough to seriously worry about. Plus, I figured, I had enough saved up to live on for at least a month, two, if I were strict with my spending. That gave me two to three weeks to find a job, I figured. I wasn't at all worried. Actually, I was happy with my self for finally doing the thing I've been saying I was going to do for a while now.

What can I say? I was twenty one and stupid as hell.

All went well for a bit. I was as happy and relaxed as I could have been. For a whole week, I didn't pay for a single meal that I ate. I spent loads more time with my then flirt-crush (now boyfriend) and I got to sleep at night for once, instead of trying to do it during the day. In that week I managed to spend time with my father (something I slacked on when I was working) and I went to the movies at nine o'clock at night, instead of six, or midnight. The flirt-crush and I went from hugs to kisses. All was good in my life. Well, except my best friend wouldn't talk to me for a few days. But we both knew that she'd get over it. The only reason she was really mad was because we spent most of our time at work talking to each other. As soon as she found someone else to talk to or managed to finally switch shifts, she'd be fine.

I didn't bother to look for a job that first week. As I said, I figured I could go on living unemployed for a month before I had to begin to worry. I also managed to track down my unemployment money that hadn't been processed from when I was laid off in December (I started back to work in the beginning of February). The unemployment money was over seven hundred dollars and a nice safety net for me to fall back on if I happened to be unemployed still after a month. And that, I assured myself, would never happen.

Okay, I need the laptop power to get me through the night, so I'm going to leave the story there for now. I'll post more tomorrow. Promise.