Oh the joyous woes of growing up and learning lessons and trying to keep thinking that becoming an adult isn't one of the shittier things to happen to a person.
Let's see...while stuck in the transition of not making, as my father would say, "squat" as far as american currency is concerned, only so many things can make that time feel more freaky. One of those things is more bills. Huge bills. Bills that won't go away. Bills that appear almost out of nowhere but also not considering they piled up due to a silly misunderstanding between you and your landlord. But really just you. Because only you are held accountable. Oh, silly kids.
The silly missunderstanding in question has resulted in a back log of gas and electricity bills. For the last six months. "Now mama," you might be saying, "Surely this has to come as no surprise, surely you knew you would have to pay for these things when you moved in." and friends, I couldn't agree with you more. But let me say that this was the Giraffe and I's first time renting a house; rules for such dwellings are different from, say, apartments. and when our landlord quoted us a figure to pay him each month for "utilities", making no mention of needing to register for gas/electricity separately, and in fact making mention of things to the opposite effect.
So, rightfully so, we thought all was well.
UNtil our gas was shut off on a Friday afternoon in January, leaving us with no choice but to go without heat for 3 days.
Now friends, we will never make this mistake of assuming again, but the delightful little penalty for such an error is a costly neglect charge and reactivation fee, and a sumptuous bill (correction: TWO bills) for both gas and electricity for all the months we already thought we were paying for them.
We got the first of those two bills this afternoon. The Giraffe called the "people" and they put us on a payment plan. Kind of makes it more bearable, but the bills are still higher than I could have even afforded before I got my pants let out at my job. Now? Fugghet about it. as my dad would say, "ain't happnin'". Not just a pain in the ass, but now just plain not possible. Yum.
So there are these bills. I'm sure I'll get another job eventually, hopefully sooner than later, but friends, I don't have one today. Today there's a cute little melange of things wrapping up the crap ball wrapped in bacon stuffed in the Going To Fucking Come Out ahead Of It in The End Oven of my life.
Billsbillsbills. added bills.
freetimefreetimefreetime. free time with a kick of insult.
pantsthatdon'tfit. ones that haven't fit for months, but even the big-person pants I bought don't fit anymore and I am nothing if not muffin topped, and gushing over.
dogcoveredinpuke. walter barfed, and poor man did it all over his beautiful colored coat. and our couch.
beerbeerbeer. Back to beer. For a good number of months I cut way back on beer in hopes of taming the gut. But that didn't work, and I'm too poor and fed up to drink anything else now. Yum, Olympia.
burstingbustingveins. Veins are popping left and right in my legs. either busted or trying to float right out of my body, my stems look like aunt Dottie's on a cruise to Bocca Raton. I might as well wear a plastic visor and learn bridge.
But you know, friends, it's dinner time now. The Giraffe and Uncle Cousin Brother were great enough to go to the food bank up the street and cook an awesome looking dinner. So I'm going to eat it. and stop complaining.
we got each other. and food. so it's only almost February. We got eachother. IT's still anybody's game.
--mama
p.s. anybodyknowadoctorwhocanlasertheseshitsawayIwouldlovetoreturntolookinglikea20somethingagain
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