Yes, Jenn is moving out, packing up, vacating the premises, stepping away from the vehicle. Most of her stuff is now in her new place or in her car (and some in mine) to be transported to the new place tomorrow. She is moving in with her girlfriend, into a place in Guerneville, two minutes from where she works. It's good. I hope it last forever, as I have said before.
But as happy as I am for her, I am a little sad for me. Who would have predicted this predicament? As anyone who knows me would attest, my relationship with my daughter has always been contentious. (Her relationships with EVERYONE have always been contentious, let's be clear there. I just started the above mentioned relationship earlier than everyone else, along with her father.) The past two years have been...... good and bad. The bad came first, lots of yelling, judgement calls, recriminations. The good came later, after about 6 months when we both let out a deep sigh, stopped being in each other's face and way and just got on with our own respective lives. The last year has been good. Jenn has a job she loves (and pretends to sometimes hate) and is thus finally doing what she always wanted to do: cook for other people. (Channeling Gramma Close, who also always loved to cook for others and who did so flawlessly.) I have a job that I am good at and our schedules synched well: we were not home at the same time much so when we were, it was nice.
And now, once again, she is moving on. Jenn has left home several times. Some times it was great, almost like "Just get the f*** out of here, go, just go!" and sometimes it was more like "Oh, be careful out there. Be safe and call me when you arrive." This time it is more like "It's the right time, with the right person, and I hope it lasts for a long time." But it's still difficult. She is still my daughter, I still worry about her life and her loves and her heart, and she still breaks my heart, but much more gently now.
Ah, the vagaries of life. The things we cannot predict, the things we cannot plan. We are constantly thrown off our game by these things, these wild pitched balls, these tumbles over loose sand where we land on our asses and swear we are not hurt, we are fine. We might shed a few tears but no one sees them. And it's all because of love.
At the funeral I went to last week the priest talked about love, that love is the only thing that matters, love will eventually save the world, save us, save everyone. It was a good sermon (better than the one where they tell us how great the person was that died, a person they never even met) and food for thought. Love is, in the end, one thing that does matter most. That and kindness.
Ah, that's all for now. Just finished a pizza and beer dinner with Jenn and Dar and some friends, Jenn's last night sleeping here. It's a hot night, we sat outside and it was lovely. She is a lovely woman. I will miss her. Yes, she is just a short drive down River Road, but still......
xo
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Monday, April 27, 2015
More on the roommate quest
Several people have now come to see the house and some of them actually want to live here! A couple of them seem fine, and I will probably sign one up in the next few days. I am thinking of doing it on a 3 month trial basis, see if we get along, if I can stand it, if neither of us stabs the other in the eye with a fork.
It is obvious to me that I really don't want a roommate, of course. I want to live alone. I want my own space, my own peace and quiet, my own solitude. We all know I am somewhat of a hermit and that's the way I like it. But financially it makes more sense to stay here and pay half the rent on the house instead of moving and paying an extra $350 per month for a tiny little apartment.
But still....... having to reconfigure my lifestyle for the sake of money bugs me. Yes, it's what we all have to do during our lives, but I don't have to want it. I want what I want. The fact that I can't have what I want is really not even a topic of conversation, except in my own head.
Right now the house is very clean and Jenn has been gone for the weekend so it is very quiet. I like it very much.
More to follow, I'm sure.
It is obvious to me that I really don't want a roommate, of course. I want to live alone. I want my own space, my own peace and quiet, my own solitude. We all know I am somewhat of a hermit and that's the way I like it. But financially it makes more sense to stay here and pay half the rent on the house instead of moving and paying an extra $350 per month for a tiny little apartment.
But still....... having to reconfigure my lifestyle for the sake of money bugs me. Yes, it's what we all have to do during our lives, but I don't have to want it. I want what I want. The fact that I can't have what I want is really not even a topic of conversation, except in my own head.
Right now the house is very clean and Jenn has been gone for the weekend so it is very quiet. I like it very much.
More to follow, I'm sure.
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Oh Joy! A roommate parade!
Yes, the quest for a place to live continues. I have driven past so many substandard houses/apartments that it makes me want to puke. I have seen the inside of at least a dozen places and there are only a few I would want to live in, although I have applied to many. $1350 for a small one bedroom, crappy kitchen with a 1970's electric stove ("And will that be upgraded?" No. "What about the cabinets, will they be repainted?" No. "Oh, and the countertop, they will replace that, right, it's so stained." No.) But hey! There's new carpet!
So this Sunday I am emailing all the peeps who responded to my craigslist posting about sharing this house and telling them they have an hour to check out the premises. From 4 - 5, that's it. Bring your list of credentials and if you like it, get back to me. I have no idea how to do this otherwise. I don't want to set up 8 different appointments and deal with 8 different sets of questions and have the dog park at 8 different faces. So I will tell them to bring the basics: references, job details, name, address, SSN, blah, blah. We'll see if anyone shows up. I am thinking of asking Steve to be here then, just in case there's a confrontation or some pushy person who wants to be first and starts mouthing off. I doubt that will happen but still, it might be good to have more than me here.
But seriously, what the fuck do I know about all this? Nothing. I am still reeling from the fact that I have to even consider a roommate, some stranger in my house, touching my stuff, using my kitchen, some guy jerking off in my shower (well, hey, lets be real here) and over-using the water and whining because the house is cold.....
Sigh, it might not be like that. It might be fine. It will be fine. It will be good. I will like it and all will be well.
Yes.
So this Sunday I am emailing all the peeps who responded to my craigslist posting about sharing this house and telling them they have an hour to check out the premises. From 4 - 5, that's it. Bring your list of credentials and if you like it, get back to me. I have no idea how to do this otherwise. I don't want to set up 8 different appointments and deal with 8 different sets of questions and have the dog park at 8 different faces. So I will tell them to bring the basics: references, job details, name, address, SSN, blah, blah. We'll see if anyone shows up. I am thinking of asking Steve to be here then, just in case there's a confrontation or some pushy person who wants to be first and starts mouthing off. I doubt that will happen but still, it might be good to have more than me here.
But seriously, what the fuck do I know about all this? Nothing. I am still reeling from the fact that I have to even consider a roommate, some stranger in my house, touching my stuff, using my kitchen, some guy jerking off in my shower (well, hey, lets be real here) and over-using the water and whining because the house is cold.....
Sigh, it might not be like that. It might be fine. It will be fine. It will be good. I will like it and all will be well.
Yes.
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
Why do families give us such a headache?
Wedding and funerals. Funerals and weddings. The two times families gather together and they are always laden with emotion, with angst, with joy and sorrow. Sometimes all at the same time! Some weddings are angst-ridden, especially if the bride or groom is on someone's shitlist. Some funerals are almost joyful, especially if 1) the dead person was someone no one liked or 2) the dead person died well and was ready to go or 3) the dead person left a note to have really good booze available. So weddings and funerals, they can go either way.
But weddings are easier to ignore, especially if you can invent a good excuse, of course. (Emergency root canals can work, as can sick children, although that is tempting fate.) Weddings come and go: the bride is a flake and will divorce and get remarried in 5 years, the groom is a filanderer and will have 3 wives within 12 years, you know how that goes. Often there will be another wedding with the same cast of characters. Wait for the second one.
Funerals, on the other hand, are obviously more finite. No one gets funeralized more than once. No one gets cremated or buried more than once unless that person is living in a TV crime show. So missing the funeral is a bit more serious. It's a one-shot thing.
We go to funerals out of respect for the family or out of guilt or because of grief, of because of all of the above.
Funerals carry their own emotional baggage, of course. In the case of the funeral we attended this past week, it was my Aunt's time to go, she was ready, so there was sadness but not a lot of grief. She was our favorite Aunt, always happy, always made us laugh. We went out of respect for her kids (our cousins) and out of respect for my Dad. Aunt Anne was the last of the Turmes kids, the youngest of 8 children.
But attending these rituals always brings us into contact with people we haven't seen in a long time. Sometimes we remember their faces but need to be reminded of their names. Sometimes we know the names but can't find the face to put with that name because the person looks so different than they looked 20 years ago, and we experience a different kind of disconnect. And seeing all those faces and remembering all those names dredges up so many memories. Some good, some bad, some creepy, some puzzling. All families have history and history is never all positive or negative. There are so many cloudy memory impressions: making ice cream on a hot day, running through the sprinklers on the front lawn, someone crying in the other room, watching fireworks on a warm night, angry voices behind a bedroom door, the sound of glass breaking on concrete, the whisper of uncertainty, of fear, the jump of joy in a voice, cigarette smoke curling around a lamp.
We were at the funeral and reception for my Aunt in Los Angeles for a shade over three hours. But it was a long, quiet ride home. The three of us, me, Steve, Kate each had our own thoughts, and in the Turmes tradition, we didn't share them with each other. We might do so in the weeks to come but probably not. Some families talk a lot about their feelings. My siblings and I mostly don't. We try. Sometimes we succeed but it isn't typical. My Mom and Dad didn't teach us to communicate because they didn't know how. You can't teach what you don't know.
Ah, well, it certainly isn't their fault that their six kids are silent sharers. It's simply how we are.
I could go on but it's enough revelation for one night. I am sipping a bit of Scotch Whiskey in honor of my Dad. In moments like this, I think I miss him.
.
But weddings are easier to ignore, especially if you can invent a good excuse, of course. (Emergency root canals can work, as can sick children, although that is tempting fate.) Weddings come and go: the bride is a flake and will divorce and get remarried in 5 years, the groom is a filanderer and will have 3 wives within 12 years, you know how that goes. Often there will be another wedding with the same cast of characters. Wait for the second one.
Funerals, on the other hand, are obviously more finite. No one gets funeralized more than once. No one gets cremated or buried more than once unless that person is living in a TV crime show. So missing the funeral is a bit more serious. It's a one-shot thing.
We go to funerals out of respect for the family or out of guilt or because of grief, of because of all of the above.
Funerals carry their own emotional baggage, of course. In the case of the funeral we attended this past week, it was my Aunt's time to go, she was ready, so there was sadness but not a lot of grief. She was our favorite Aunt, always happy, always made us laugh. We went out of respect for her kids (our cousins) and out of respect for my Dad. Aunt Anne was the last of the Turmes kids, the youngest of 8 children.
But attending these rituals always brings us into contact with people we haven't seen in a long time. Sometimes we remember their faces but need to be reminded of their names. Sometimes we know the names but can't find the face to put with that name because the person looks so different than they looked 20 years ago, and we experience a different kind of disconnect. And seeing all those faces and remembering all those names dredges up so many memories. Some good, some bad, some creepy, some puzzling. All families have history and history is never all positive or negative. There are so many cloudy memory impressions: making ice cream on a hot day, running through the sprinklers on the front lawn, someone crying in the other room, watching fireworks on a warm night, angry voices behind a bedroom door, the sound of glass breaking on concrete, the whisper of uncertainty, of fear, the jump of joy in a voice, cigarette smoke curling around a lamp.
We were at the funeral and reception for my Aunt in Los Angeles for a shade over three hours. But it was a long, quiet ride home. The three of us, me, Steve, Kate each had our own thoughts, and in the Turmes tradition, we didn't share them with each other. We might do so in the weeks to come but probably not. Some families talk a lot about their feelings. My siblings and I mostly don't. We try. Sometimes we succeed but it isn't typical. My Mom and Dad didn't teach us to communicate because they didn't know how. You can't teach what you don't know.
Ah, well, it certainly isn't their fault that their six kids are silent sharers. It's simply how we are.
I could go on but it's enough revelation for one night. I am sipping a bit of Scotch Whiskey in honor of my Dad. In moments like this, I think I miss him.
.
Saturday, April 18, 2015
Tune in tomorrow for the update on find a new place to live!
Seriously, if you haven't been out there recently looking for a place to live, you haven't experienced the joy of it all! It's so fun, I cannot begin to tell you about all the lovely people, apartments and scams you are missing.
Tune in.
Tune in.
Oh, so much goes on and so little time to write!
Honestly, folks, since we last spoke, so much has happened! I quit my job! Then I asked for it back! My last remaining Aunt died and some of us siblings spent 19 out of 36 hours driving to Lost Angeles, sleeping a little, going to the funeral (and why is "fun" the first part of that word?) and hopping back in the car and driving home. I slept overnight in a hotel, something I usually love! I applied for an apartment in a huge apartment complex and was told I didn't make enough money to qualify for the rent! I read some books and watched some TV and just tonight made an exceptional dinner! Oh, so many things.
And yet it seems there is little to tell. Why is that? With all this crazy stuff whirling around me like snow in a perverse snow globe, why does none of it seem worth reporting? Probably because none of it is worth reporting. It's just life stuff moving on, the course of the river of crap winding its way down the long canyon of life. (Oh, that is so poetic. NOT.)
I must say that I, like most transplants, forgot what Los Angeles commute traffic is like from 3:00 to about 6:00 in the evening. It is like sludge. It is like a backed up bowel. It is that unpleasant. It took us 3 hours to drive what the next day, at non-commute time, took 45 minutes. We tried not to curse too often because then the cursing holds no power, no release, no relevance. We sighed a lot. We wished we had cold beer in the car and we almost pulled off and bought some because in L.A. there is a liquor store at every freeway exit, just waiting for the commuters who have HAD ENOUGH and want some medication for the rest of the slog home. But we were afraid of wasting the ten minutes it would take to get that alcohol for fear that we would be even farther behind in that long, long line of really, really slow cars inching their way to..... somewhere. We weren't sure about where that where was because we, thankfully, didn't live there and thus did not have to drive that ass-clenching commute every day. We did wonder out loud, many times, why there weren't more suicides in cars on those freeways every single day.
Oh, but really, that's nothing to report because it happens every day. Just, thankfully, not to us.
The non-fun funeral was OK, it was what my Aunt wanted, I suppose. A whole lot of Catholic stuff, the Rosary (53 Hail Marys, that's a lot, and many other prayers, too) and a Mass and a thing where you now are supposed to raise up your right hand to send the prayers to the God person. What's with that? He/She is all powerful and omnipotent and yet needs our hands raised to get those prayers to wherever he/she is? Needless to say, I did not raise my hand. Neither did my brother Steve. Since we were near the front of the church, I don't know if everyone else in the church helped those prayers fly upward or not but I hope they didn't. Why should we mortals, we little ants on earth, have to help in one more way to let God off the hook? Don't we already do enough, trying to save the world he/she supposedly created, trying to end things like starvation and gross poverty and obscene war, the threat of weapons of mass destruction, rampant viruses that have no cure, genocide over and over, all the things that he/she can't bother to intercede in? We now need to wave our right hands to get those prayers up there? Is he/she even watching or helping at all? I think not. If someone was trying to help, I am sure they would give us a sign. No signs have we seen.
But I digress. The point of funerals (like weddings) is to reconnect with long-lost family. Sometimes we have "lost" those family members intentionally but we forget that until we see them again at the aforementioned funeral or wedding and that realization hits us like a slap from a wet towel: "oh, yes, that's why I have avoided these people and ceremonies for 15 years." So it was an uneven day. Good in some ways and odd in others (and I will get back to you on that tomorrow) and then we jumped back in the car and hit Interstate 5 and headed home.
In the car with me were my brother Steve and my sister Kate. I realized quite quickly that our habits in the car are quite different, especially our eating on the road. Not to be too judgemental here, but to me, stopping to get food should require no more than a ten minute delay in one's journey unless one sits down at Denny's and gets waited on. It is never appropriate to wait more than 30 minutes for "fast food", no matter how great it is. But we did! Steve has a minor addiction to In-n-Out burgers so we waited 30 minutes for the food, then another ten to eat it. Now, I like I-O burgers better than any other burger joints but when you are driving, you NEVER spend that much time waiting for food. Seriously, Denny's sucks but Denny's gives you whatever you want in less than ten minutes. And their eggs and bacon are fine. Hey, breakfast 24 hours a day, just saying.
OK, I have reported enough for one night. I am tired just reliving it, you must be bored by now. I will continue tomorrow. There is so much more to say. So little time.
.
And yet it seems there is little to tell. Why is that? With all this crazy stuff whirling around me like snow in a perverse snow globe, why does none of it seem worth reporting? Probably because none of it is worth reporting. It's just life stuff moving on, the course of the river of crap winding its way down the long canyon of life. (Oh, that is so poetic. NOT.)
I must say that I, like most transplants, forgot what Los Angeles commute traffic is like from 3:00 to about 6:00 in the evening. It is like sludge. It is like a backed up bowel. It is that unpleasant. It took us 3 hours to drive what the next day, at non-commute time, took 45 minutes. We tried not to curse too often because then the cursing holds no power, no release, no relevance. We sighed a lot. We wished we had cold beer in the car and we almost pulled off and bought some because in L.A. there is a liquor store at every freeway exit, just waiting for the commuters who have HAD ENOUGH and want some medication for the rest of the slog home. But we were afraid of wasting the ten minutes it would take to get that alcohol for fear that we would be even farther behind in that long, long line of really, really slow cars inching their way to..... somewhere. We weren't sure about where that where was because we, thankfully, didn't live there and thus did not have to drive that ass-clenching commute every day. We did wonder out loud, many times, why there weren't more suicides in cars on those freeways every single day.
Oh, but really, that's nothing to report because it happens every day. Just, thankfully, not to us.
The non-fun funeral was OK, it was what my Aunt wanted, I suppose. A whole lot of Catholic stuff, the Rosary (53 Hail Marys, that's a lot, and many other prayers, too) and a Mass and a thing where you now are supposed to raise up your right hand to send the prayers to the God person. What's with that? He/She is all powerful and omnipotent and yet needs our hands raised to get those prayers to wherever he/she is? Needless to say, I did not raise my hand. Neither did my brother Steve. Since we were near the front of the church, I don't know if everyone else in the church helped those prayers fly upward or not but I hope they didn't. Why should we mortals, we little ants on earth, have to help in one more way to let God off the hook? Don't we already do enough, trying to save the world he/she supposedly created, trying to end things like starvation and gross poverty and obscene war, the threat of weapons of mass destruction, rampant viruses that have no cure, genocide over and over, all the things that he/she can't bother to intercede in? We now need to wave our right hands to get those prayers up there? Is he/she even watching or helping at all? I think not. If someone was trying to help, I am sure they would give us a sign. No signs have we seen.
But I digress. The point of funerals (like weddings) is to reconnect with long-lost family. Sometimes we have "lost" those family members intentionally but we forget that until we see them again at the aforementioned funeral or wedding and that realization hits us like a slap from a wet towel: "oh, yes, that's why I have avoided these people and ceremonies for 15 years." So it was an uneven day. Good in some ways and odd in others (and I will get back to you on that tomorrow) and then we jumped back in the car and hit Interstate 5 and headed home.
In the car with me were my brother Steve and my sister Kate. I realized quite quickly that our habits in the car are quite different, especially our eating on the road. Not to be too judgemental here, but to me, stopping to get food should require no more than a ten minute delay in one's journey unless one sits down at Denny's and gets waited on. It is never appropriate to wait more than 30 minutes for "fast food", no matter how great it is. But we did! Steve has a minor addiction to In-n-Out burgers so we waited 30 minutes for the food, then another ten to eat it. Now, I like I-O burgers better than any other burger joints but when you are driving, you NEVER spend that much time waiting for food. Seriously, Denny's sucks but Denny's gives you whatever you want in less than ten minutes. And their eggs and bacon are fine. Hey, breakfast 24 hours a day, just saying.
OK, I have reported enough for one night. I am tired just reliving it, you must be bored by now. I will continue tomorrow. There is so much more to say. So little time.
.
Saturday, April 4, 2015
Life, death, sunny days and more!
Everything around me lately seems to deal with death: my estranged sister-in-law died about three weeks ago, a friend from Point Reyes died last week and a day ago my last living Aunt died. Most of the books I read have as their subject death or someone dying or the effects of death on everyone else around the dead person. It seems everything I pick up is now talking about death. Either death itself or books about death or such mundane things like the death of the bacon fad. (Who knew bacon was a fad? I knew it was, months ago, the hot new food thing, but a fad? Hasn't bacon been around long enough to NOT be a fad?) Or the sad death of vodka drinks (oh, who cares about that?) or the death of hope in the age of anxiety or live oak death or the death of the sitcom (oh, we can only hope) or so many other deaths, on and on and on.
But death isn't something to mock. (Well, except the death of stupid cocktails like the Cosmo. I think it's fine to mock that sort of death.) Death is probably the best/worst subject ever. It can prompt hours of conversation or it can stop a conversation in its tracks in a heartbeat. (Or stop a heartbeat in its tracks, but that's another facet of death that we will discuss later.) Everyone dies, so everyone is interested in Death with a capital D. But since everyone dies, no one really wants to talk about it. What a conundrum. "I love you to death." Endearing. "I love you. You die." Frightening. See what I mean. Best/worst, it can go either way.
And it does go many ways. There is so much more to say about death and yet, in some ways, so little. You die. End of life sentence.
more to follow......
.
But death isn't something to mock. (Well, except the death of stupid cocktails like the Cosmo. I think it's fine to mock that sort of death.) Death is probably the best/worst subject ever. It can prompt hours of conversation or it can stop a conversation in its tracks in a heartbeat. (Or stop a heartbeat in its tracks, but that's another facet of death that we will discuss later.) Everyone dies, so everyone is interested in Death with a capital D. But since everyone dies, no one really wants to talk about it. What a conundrum. "I love you to death." Endearing. "I love you. You die." Frightening. See what I mean. Best/worst, it can go either way.
And it does go many ways. There is so much more to say about death and yet, in some ways, so little. You die. End of life sentence.
more to follow......
.
Beautiful apartment, reasonable rent, SCAM
Thank you for answering my ad. The apartment is beautiful and comes fully furnished with everything you need, beautiful sheets, microwave, high tech kitchen, sandwich press, freezer, everything you would like. Here is the address, drive by and see if you like the neighborhood.
I am in the Philippines, Kenya, Buenos Aires, Jakarta right now, doing the Lord's work (if someone named Lord actually hired this joker, that Lord is a loser) and that is why I am renting my home. I had to leave quickly (no shit) and didn't have time to leave the keys with anyone. If you like the neighborhood, let me know and I will email you a form to fill out. I am working with the Lord's trust here (again, can we say loser) and I am doing all of this in his name and so I must trust you to do the right thing. (And that "right thing" would be slam your head into the brick wall, correct?). Once you fill out the rental form, I will ask you to send me two months rent and then I will send you the keys to the apartment. In the meantime I will send you photos of the inside so you can see that it is beautiful and I am telling the truth about how beautiful it is. (And those photos will come from the latest issue of Architectural Digest, it appears.) Once you have the keys, the place is yours.
Again, do not try and trick me and I won't trick you. I am trusting you with my personal furniture and housewares, I expect you to treat them with respect and care. I hope to hear from you with your rental agreement very soon, as I need to have this apartment rented in three days.
And I have read pretty much that exact script at least 8 times in the past ten days. Are there people out there who would fall for this? My response now is something like: Yes, I love the area, I want to rent this apartment but only in cash. Please don't ask for any identification, but I can bring you a year's worth of rent in cash, in a small briefcase, all small unmarked bills. I will use the apartment only two or three days a month. How soon can we meet, I need the place within the next 48 hours. Keep this to yourself.
Needless to say, I never hear back from them. Too bad, I would love to string them along. Mention that the FBI is looking for me and that's why the secrecy is important, set up a meet (which would never happen because they are in the Philippines! for gods sake) but how cool to toy with them.
So the search for either a roommate (grrr) or new digs continues.
I am in the Philippines, Kenya, Buenos Aires, Jakarta right now, doing the Lord's work (if someone named Lord actually hired this joker, that Lord is a loser) and that is why I am renting my home. I had to leave quickly (no shit) and didn't have time to leave the keys with anyone. If you like the neighborhood, let me know and I will email you a form to fill out. I am working with the Lord's trust here (again, can we say loser) and I am doing all of this in his name and so I must trust you to do the right thing. (And that "right thing" would be slam your head into the brick wall, correct?). Once you fill out the rental form, I will ask you to send me two months rent and then I will send you the keys to the apartment. In the meantime I will send you photos of the inside so you can see that it is beautiful and I am telling the truth about how beautiful it is. (And those photos will come from the latest issue of Architectural Digest, it appears.) Once you have the keys, the place is yours.
Again, do not try and trick me and I won't trick you. I am trusting you with my personal furniture and housewares, I expect you to treat them with respect and care. I hope to hear from you with your rental agreement very soon, as I need to have this apartment rented in three days.
And I have read pretty much that exact script at least 8 times in the past ten days. Are there people out there who would fall for this? My response now is something like: Yes, I love the area, I want to rent this apartment but only in cash. Please don't ask for any identification, but I can bring you a year's worth of rent in cash, in a small briefcase, all small unmarked bills. I will use the apartment only two or three days a month. How soon can we meet, I need the place within the next 48 hours. Keep this to yourself.
Needless to say, I never hear back from them. Too bad, I would love to string them along. Mention that the FBI is looking for me and that's why the secrecy is important, set up a meet (which would never happen because they are in the Philippines! for gods sake) but how cool to toy with them.
So the search for either a roommate (grrr) or new digs continues.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)