Spam, Scam, & Punctuation

I hate you, Craigslist.

No, not because of the Craigslist killer, I don’t watch Lifetime.  I don’t do sappy movies.  I realize the keyword here folks is killer, I still don’t do Lifetime.

Remember when I was homeless? It is still happening.

I know hate is a strong word, at the moment I have strong feelings.

My present apartment hunt is my only experience with Craigslist.  I am tremendously judgmental, nonetheless first impressions are important.  Craigslist you need to up your game.

I simply cannot grasp…

Why do people post a listing and then never respond to the inquiry?

How hard is it to post a picture?  We all know you Instagrammed your lunch. So why don’t you show me that newly renovated townhouse with the washer and dryer that iron and folds my clothes?

Then there is the posting that isn’t real.  We will call it spam.  Spam now stands for Scamming People, Aggravating Me Many.

Location matters people.  Don’t post your available apartment located in another state.  Sweet Brown.

The ultimate scam.  The response to an inquiry indicating that you need a tenant because you and your husband are living in a hut, helping fight and find a cure for diseases in a third world country.  Scam – Screwing common-folk, absolutely malicious.

What about the name?  Does Craig not own the list?  Should it not be Craig’s List? Where is the apostrophe?  I know, I know, I should never comment on any sort of punctuation.  I just think I might be right on this one.

 

 

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Down to Two

Two working light bulbs above my bathroom sink.

lights

I am not concerned; after all I am only living here two more months. Wow, 4 years down, two months left.  (Typing that might be worse than saying it – deep breaths.)

Life changes, I’ll embrace it eventually.  Until then I will ponder life’s insignificant challenges, allowing me to refrain from overanalyzing what the future holds.

Maybe I should unscrew one of the working bulbs, and then when that burns out I can use the other.  That would require preparation; I’d rather take my chances.

Minimal light above the bathroom sink is actually pretty nice.  Looking too closely at myself is often rather frightening.  After all my bathroom has another light and I have plenty of candles.  I just can’t see to appropriately pluck my eyebrows or pick my countless zits.

I do realize Lowe’s or Home Depot sells these light bulbs, but why bother? I doubt after four years I am getting my security deposit back, so my apartment complex can put those funds towards light bulbs. Purchasing some drywall putty for the holes might also be a security deposit well spent. The holes aren’t from my anger issues, the results of that can be found on my muffin-top – thank you binge eating.

The holes are from my one consistent relationship in the last four years.  Enter my tool kit and my ability to channel my inner-Bob Villa. My tool kit and I have established a mutual appreciation.  I wish I could tell you I usually get it right on the first try, but in my true fashion I am make irrational decisions and typically end up with my level indicating success after four or five attempts with the hammer and nail(s). Technically I most likely channel my inner-Tim the ToolMan Taylor more often. I prefer it that anyway.  JTT anyone?

Anyway…

I don’t believe in signs or lame quotes expressing how everything happens for a reason.  Consequently I will soon be living in the dark, and then I will be homeless. I am not, however taking these blown light bulbs as a sign.  I am continuing to follow one of my blog sharing appropriate life mottos:

Dessert

Fifty, the New Twenty-Five

You ever think 50 could be the new 25?  Some days I wonder.

No, I am not wishing my life away.  Just hear me out.

Apartment hunt – No longer necessary. I seriously better have my life together, or at least a secure place to live by 50.

Exercise – Running a 5k at 50 means you are hardcore.  Running a 5k at 25 means you haven’t even come close to burning off the after work binge.

Girls – At 50 you watch in a state of utter shock and disbelief.  At 25, you wonder just how they have captured your life story so accurately.

Glasses – You no longer have to pretend to need them to make yourself look smarter.  Or hotter… whatever you so choose.

Facebook – you can like anything you desire on the book and make completely asinine comments. Everyone will just laugh at you; instead of thinking you are a complete moron.

Spring Break – A trip to Mexico, with no parent asking for a detailed itinerary before you leave. Oh and when you return… you ask your child to apply aloe on your sun burnt back.  #lecturefreeliving

DD – Sunday afternoons require a designated driver because you are retired.  Therefore you no longer need to worry about which day you decide to take full advantage of happy hour.  Then again, you probably don’t even need to worry when about happy hour is, because you have a solid income.

Shaving your legs – They say your leg hairs quit growing.  I am not sure if that is a legit trade, considering 50 year olds probably spend that extra time bleaching their upper lip and plucking chin hairs.

Date auction – You are now the organizer, not the attendee.  Prime people watching and eavesdropping experience.

No, I don’t want to be 50 anytime soon.  Life is legit as it is, but 50 deals too.  Yes, the birthday cake might be a fire hazard, but at least at 50 you can eat a piece of cake and not have to worry if people will wonder whether or not you are pregnant.

Share with the fifty-somethings in your life.  I am certain they will say this twenty-something, “doesn’t know a thing.”  I am also sure they will ask, “Why is she posting this for all the world to read?”

Happy Sunday with a no work Monday.