The literal worst April Fools Day prank.

So my first job when I was 16ish or 17  was at an Atlanta Bread Company.  If you don’t know what that is, think Panera Bread-type-situations, with a different color scheme.

I started working there close to the 1st of April, and on my first night there, the manager let me take home whatever I wanted from the bakery, since we tossed it every night anyhow unless a group came through for donations.

A few days after I started, I got a call from my sisters on my flip phone…

Cell phone flipAnd Kimmy, the younger of the two started talking.

“Hey! Someone from your job called.  They said you were fired.  Something about you taking something???”

At this point I started freaking out, because I was under the serious impression that at the tender age of 16 or so, that I had be unceremoniously fired, and not only that, they had called my house and relayed the message to my sisters to let me know.

“Oh my god.  OH MY GOD!”

My mother heard all of this going on, and was starting to freak out herself, thinking that someone at the home had been murdered, according to my reaction, when my sister said it.

“April Fools!”

Not. Funny.

Reasons why your parents wouldn’t let you have a dog as a kid.

This absolutely adorable ball of light came into our lives a few weeks ago.

photo 2

Between her, my husband-to-be, and my orange cat, I’m not really quite sure where more joy could come into my life.  But with that absolute bliss, comes all the work of having a dog.  And now, it kind of makes sense why, when we all were kids, our parents bitched and moaned and complained whenever we asked for a dog.  And here it is.

I’m in love with Coco, but she is like having a little being to care for.  Here’s why your parents wouldn’t let you get a dog as a kid.  They didn’t want to do all this stuff.

  1. You have to have that dog on a regular food/bathroom schedule or they will poop on your floor.  I love this dog.  But if I don’t wake up early and walk her, feed her then walk her, leave on my lunch break and walk her, and promptly walk her after I work, I will have a poopy surprise on the floor.
  2. Your dog is expensive!  Luckily, when my precious fur baby came to us, she was fixed and was already microchipped, which can cost you close to $300.  But between her food, her clothes (yes, little girl wears a jacket), and her snacks, I spend extra money on her each week to make sure that she knows she is loved, and is allowed to have treats.
  3. You have to vacuum multiple times a week to keep fur from getting everywhere.  Coco sleeps on the edge of the bed, and rolls around on the carpet all day.  In order to prevent the situation from becoming a hoarders stinky house situation, I’m vacuuming constantly, and making sure that fur isn’t collecting in every crevice of the house.  I’m also really really excited to buy a house with my husband-to-be that doesn’t involve carpets because at least I can roomba fur, right?
  4. You have to pick up poop with only a bag between the poop and your hand.  I live in a beautiful apartment complex, and in order to be courteous to my neighbors, I take little baggies out with me when I walk her, and pick up her poop when she goes.  There’s really almost nothing more disgusting than watching your dog squat, then scooping up her hot, steaming poo with your plastic hand.

But despite all this hard work, I cannot stress enough how much joy this dog has brought to my life.  But Mom and Dad, I totally get it.

What surprised you about having a pet?  

I am so sick of renting.

I have horrible luck when it comes to renting.

2011, the home I lived in with my roommate and her baby was torn up by the tornadoes that ripped through Raleigh in April of 2011.



That was a nightmare.  I had to find an apartment quickly at the same time that I was graduating from my Masters program.

Then there was the condo that flooded when the guy on the third floor’s washing machine exploded.

BishopsAnd all of this was after the manager of the property made me change all my gorgeous colors back.  Didn’t matter because they had to rip all the walls out!

And then there was last night.

FireSo last night, I was laying on the couch and eating some tortillas.  I started to drift off, and my last thought before I started drifting off, was “what is that smell?  I thought that the last time I lit incense was on Friday.  The next thing I knew, there was a bang at the door, and a firefighter informed me that the girls downstairs, who in enjoy smoking (not cigarettes) had caught fire to the building.  So I shoved the cat into the carrier, grabbed the dog and a phone charger, and left.

About an hour later, I was allowed back into my apartment, but suffice it to say, I am sick of renting, and the next time I see those girls, they’re getting a huge side-eye from me. 

But shoutout to the firefighter who held/snuggled my dog while I scrambled about, trying to find the cat!



That time I tried to go apartment-hunting.

I drove past this place today while running an errand for work, and the horrors just came back again and again.

A few years ago, I was super new to Raleigh.  So I set about the task of finding a place here, using the only platform I was familiar with to do so. Craigslist. (Seriously, if you’re moving to a new place, don’t only make sure that you visit the place, but also go off of word of mouth. I cannot stress to you how important this is. Luckily, I always ended up with super cool roommates, and my only rando Craigslist roomie I had turned out awesome, and our time together was only cut short by a tornado.) But I digress, that is another story for another day. Anyhoo, so this place called Westgrove Towers had been advertising a butt-ton on CL, so I’m like “Okay, anything with the world ‘Towers’ in it is fancy, and that’s where I need to live.”


So, this is the picture they kept advertising with. Idk, the sky is blue in it. It kind of looks like a hotel. How bad could it be right?

I literally walked in to the biggest murder scene of my life, minus the murder.

    • The advert, and the man at the front desk was bragging about how close you were to “shopping”.  By shopping, he meant a run-down K-Mart with a parking lot big enough for you to park your Winnebago in, and the $1.50 movie-theater. Other than that, I’d be forced to cross a 4-lane highway on foot to reach civilization. Listen now, before you get all up in arms, I’m perfectly aware that there are nice K-Marts, and dollar-theaters but this, this was not one of them.
    • The lobby was really dim.  Not in a fun, romantic way.  In a creepy murder way.
    • The room they showed me….

So, for some reason at this point in my life, I’d become enamored of this idea of living in a studio. I felt like it was very hip and cool, and that I would stylishly roll out of bed, my hair perfectly imperfect, a sort of Shakira-Lauryn Hill hybrid, and I’d step into my fringed moccasins, wrap my pashmina around my neck, and glide across the room to pour myself a latte, which I’d obviously brewed in my single-girl espresso machine. Plus I think the studio was all I could afford.

So I remember taking this Alfred Hitchcock elevator upstairs in this “high rise” and we step into the studio apartment. It literally looked like a motel room that you could rent by the hour, if you know what I’m sayin’. The apartment was their showroom, and the bed was saggy, it might have been a pull-out, and the furniture was all made out of that particleboard stuff, all furniture that had probably fallen off the back of a Big Lots truck. I tried to mask my horror as Miguel motioned around the room – it smelled of stale cigarette smoke, and the back lighting made the room look even worse. I forced a smile, as Miguel took me down to the front office, a room lit only with fluorescents, and pitched the “high rise” to me. He complimented my figure, told me I looked like a Zumba teacher (well duh bud), and shook my hand before we parted ways. He even emailed me like a month later to follow up!

I ran, not walked, out of this place, and called my father immediately, almost in tears about what I’d seen. And today, as I drove past Westgrove Tower, I giggled at poor little 21-year-old me, looking for her single-girl studio.