Dear Alicia,
I just left you a voicemail on my walk into town saying that I'd write you an email since my phone was about to die. Forgot you didn't have myspace, so I'll make in into a post, so EVERYONE can know about what's been going on, two birds with one stone, hooray!
So, yeah, walk into town, >1' of snow, cowboy boots, three wool sweaters. Bout five blocks so i can't complain, but still. Brought my computer with me knowing I'd have to stop at Broadway's for a drink, school's canceled tomorrow so why not. The whole time I was wishing you could meet me here, though. I'm sitting at a two top by the window (where there's an outlet) and I'm staring at this sign at the door that says "If you don't belong, DON'T BE LONG. ABSOLUTELY NO OUT OF STATE IDENTIFICATION." Does that mean you couldn't meet me here for a drink if you really could? Does it only count for ID cards and not licenses? I dunno. I guess we'll find out whenever you get here.
But, WHY aren't I dressed properly? WHY am I wearing leather boots in the snow? with two pairs of LEGGINGS? WELL LET ME TELL YOU.
Last week I heard about this damn winter storm that was coming so i decided to bust out the seroius winter clothes. Layering it up had been getting me by, I'd been avoiding the laundromat but i figured it was time. OH, oh oh. Giiiirl..... FUCK i can't even describe it. Just, mold. MOLD MOLD MOLD. On everything, everything. Covered in so many different colors of mold. Who knew there was orange mold? My $160 an sweater did that i got three xmases ago, but it couldn't tell me, cause it's a sweater. Two pair of $80 shoes did, but yeah... can't talk. Three trash bags and two coffin-sized bins of winter clothes, soaking wet, the walls warped, the ceiling caving, everything alive and crawling, I know i'm ranting but it was a SHOCK. I hadn't been in that closet for a while. The Landlord WILLFULLY NEGLECTED to tell me about the woman upstair's water heater leaking, and now i am entitled to DAMAGES. Fuck the clothes, man, i want the money - but she says she will pay for it to be drycleaned. My winter shoes can't be drycleaned, black mold will stain any pastel-colored sweaters i have, and how about the two fucking days of school i missted waiting for the maintenance people. MONDAY they were coming, coming, coming in thirty minutes, call at seven to say they'll be here first thing tomorrow. Tuesday, show up at ten, one guy looks at it, sprays the walls with bleach. Leaves. Another guy comes in an hour later, sprays it with killz. Two hours later some other idiot comes, and paints over it. It looks great, but I'll give it a month before that paint gets bumpy from the mold growing from INSIDE THE FUCKING WALLS. I know I refuse to live in a fucking house less than ninety years old, but i mean, historical preservation, FIX THAT SHIT.
School, alright. Going great, things have been tight since I quit my job but I have so much fun there, man. Fun taking clients even they are kind of horriffic sometimes, fun with the girlfriends I've been wanting to make since I moved here, fun playing on mannekin heads and just doing whatever. Knowing I'm that much closer to never waiting another fucking table again. I've had 100% more time to pursue all of my artistic endeavors, which is super important to me, so I feel like I'm way more balanced now then when I was doing 70 hour weeks. I've even made 10 scarves already just in the month of december (guess what everyone's getting for christmas??) but it's nice to have the time to sit down and knit for three solid hours, read a bunch of fucking books, or play with the laser-keychain-thing i got for my kitten Sophie. Ugh, fucking Sophie.
There's been some horror stories, though. Some I can't share on the internet. One, though, is a good one. Putting velcro rollers in a 75+ year old black lady's hair whom barely had any hair as it was. WOW that was such a mistake, it took so long to get them out, it was AWFUL, but she was a total doll, and i will never forget, VELCRO AND TEXTURED HAIR DON'T MIX, I know it's common sense but if it's your first roller set you might forget, so if anyone's ever going to cosmetology school, REMEMBER. I've been doing well though, my haircuts always turn out great, pedicutres are just as horrible as you'd imagine, and learning to color i feel like is a process that i wll constantly learn from as long as I'm in the business. Because it's a school, we get a lot of like, retirement homes taking field trips, and I know when you have alzheimer's you don't realize what you're saying always but DAMN those ladies can be nasty. But really. Anything but waiting tables.
I'm moving our bed to the storage room we have that was supposed to be my 'office' so we can use the whole bedroom for drawing & painting, screenprinting sewing, musical equipment and WHATEVER else. I'm really excited for that, but I want to paint it first. While my 'rents were in town they bought me a ton of really great artwork at some art galleries, so I want to paint the room and get those framed before i move all of it in. And now that I have weekends totally free, it's possible.
Man, I've only been here for forty-five minutes. I wanna get on myspace and shit but dunno if I can. It's 5:46 and it's dark already, damn. I don't wanna walk home. I think that's it for now, that's all I can think of anyway, but W/B and I'm sure I'll remember some crap later.
Looooooove, Erin
So, yeah, walk into town, >1' of snow, cowboy boots, three wool sweaters. Bout five blocks so i can't complain, but still. Brought my computer with me knowing I'd have to stop at Broadway's for a drink, school's canceled tomorrow so why not. The whole time I was wishing you could meet me here, though. I'm sitting at a two top by the window (where there's an outlet) and I'm staring at this sign at the door that says "If you don't belong, DON'T BE LONG. ABSOLUTELY NO OUT OF STATE IDENTIFICATION." Does that mean you couldn't meet me here for a drink if you really could? Does it only count for ID cards and not licenses? I dunno. I guess we'll find out whenever you get here.
But, WHY aren't I dressed properly? WHY am I wearing leather boots in the snow? with two pairs of LEGGINGS? WELL LET ME TELL YOU.
Last week I heard about this damn winter storm that was coming so i decided to bust out the seroius winter clothes. Layering it up had been getting me by, I'd been avoiding the laundromat but i figured it was time. OH, oh oh. Giiiirl..... FUCK i can't even describe it. Just, mold. MOLD MOLD MOLD. On everything, everything. Covered in so many different colors of mold. Who knew there was orange mold? My $160 an sweater did that i got three xmases ago, but it couldn't tell me, cause it's a sweater. Two pair of $80 shoes did, but yeah... can't talk. Three trash bags and two coffin-sized bins of winter clothes, soaking wet, the walls warped, the ceiling caving, everything alive and crawling, I know i'm ranting but it was a SHOCK. I hadn't been in that closet for a while. The Landlord WILLFULLY NEGLECTED to tell me about the woman upstair's water heater leaking, and now i am entitled to DAMAGES. Fuck the clothes, man, i want the money - but she says she will pay for it to be drycleaned. My winter shoes can't be drycleaned, black mold will stain any pastel-colored sweaters i have, and how about the two fucking days of school i missted waiting for the maintenance people. MONDAY they were coming, coming, coming in thirty minutes, call at seven to say they'll be here first thing tomorrow. Tuesday, show up at ten, one guy looks at it, sprays the walls with bleach. Leaves. Another guy comes in an hour later, sprays it with killz. Two hours later some other idiot comes, and paints over it. It looks great, but I'll give it a month before that paint gets bumpy from the mold growing from INSIDE THE FUCKING WALLS. I know I refuse to live in a fucking house less than ninety years old, but i mean, historical preservation, FIX THAT SHIT.
School, alright. Going great, things have been tight since I quit my job but I have so much fun there, man. Fun taking clients even they are kind of horriffic sometimes, fun with the girlfriends I've been wanting to make since I moved here, fun playing on mannekin heads and just doing whatever. Knowing I'm that much closer to never waiting another fucking table again. I've had 100% more time to pursue all of my artistic endeavors, which is super important to me, so I feel like I'm way more balanced now then when I was doing 70 hour weeks. I've even made 10 scarves already just in the month of december (guess what everyone's getting for christmas??) but it's nice to have the time to sit down and knit for three solid hours, read a bunch of fucking books, or play with the laser-keychain-thing i got for my kitten Sophie. Ugh, fucking Sophie.
There's been some horror stories, though. Some I can't share on the internet. One, though, is a good one. Putting velcro rollers in a 75+ year old black lady's hair whom barely had any hair as it was. WOW that was such a mistake, it took so long to get them out, it was AWFUL, but she was a total doll, and i will never forget, VELCRO AND TEXTURED HAIR DON'T MIX, I know it's common sense but if it's your first roller set you might forget, so if anyone's ever going to cosmetology school, REMEMBER. I've been doing well though, my haircuts always turn out great, pedicutres are just as horrible as you'd imagine, and learning to color i feel like is a process that i wll constantly learn from as long as I'm in the business. Because it's a school, we get a lot of like, retirement homes taking field trips, and I know when you have alzheimer's you don't realize what you're saying always but DAMN those ladies can be nasty. But really. Anything but waiting tables.
I'm moving our bed to the storage room we have that was supposed to be my 'office' so we can use the whole bedroom for drawing & painting, screenprinting sewing, musical equipment and WHATEVER else. I'm really excited for that, but I want to paint it first. While my 'rents were in town they bought me a ton of really great artwork at some art galleries, so I want to paint the room and get those framed before i move all of it in. And now that I have weekends totally free, it's possible.
Man, I've only been here for forty-five minutes. I wanna get on myspace and shit but dunno if I can. It's 5:46 and it's dark already, damn. I don't wanna walk home. I think that's it for now, that's all I can think of anyway, but W/B and I'm sure I'll remember some crap later.
Looooooove, Erin