No Room For Rent

You know what's fun about having nowhere to live? NOTHING.

My landlord officially gave me my one and a half days' notice via a voice mail while I was at work the other day - the jerk went and gave away my room to a tenant who'll actually stay in the house for more than a month. Okay, so maybe I wasn't the most financially rewarding choice, fine, but COME ON - I've got heart, dammit. And since I'm no longer speaking with my Emergency Shelter Person aka the dishonest bastard, I've got nowhere to go right now.

Maybe that isn't true. No, it's not true at all. Bless the hearts of all those who immediately jumped in and offered their places, or offered their friends' even. There are special places in the skies for you. I'm not going to bless so much the people who cocked their head to one side and went, "Aww..." when they heard the news that I was being booted out of my house instead of offering any help. You're still nice people, but your special places will only have double beds as opposed to king sized ones. And your bathrooms will not be able to host dance parties.

I think my problem is that I was so sure that the room wasn't going to be rented out to someone else that I settled right in without acknowledging the fact that I could be wrong. Now that I *am* wrong and it *is* rented out, I can't handle it and am instead choosing to wallow in denial. This is definitely NOT a proper response. I need to find a place not only to sleep, but also to store all of my junk - I brought waaay too much stuff for just a five-week stay. There's clothing and bathroom stuff, sure, but then there's my freakish jewelry collection and my food and the martini glasses I bought for just 10 cents each my first week here and the laundry rack I brought back with me this past weekend because I was *that* sure that I was staying in the house. I'm trying to take it well, but this is just the shitty cherry on top of the sundae of crap (my five week term here has not exactly been the splenderful experience I had hoped for).

The other night, I stood up in the middle of my room with determination to be positive: I balled my fists, narrowed my eyes and said through gritted teeth, "Come on, find the silver lining. This could be worse. It's not so bad! It'll be like travelling! YES! LIKE TRAVELLING! EXCEPT WITH BUSINESS CLOTHES! THAT'LL ALL BE WRINKLY BECAUSE YOU'RE LIVING OUT OF A SUITCAAAASE!!"

Then I took a breath and went and ate ice cream.

Last night I took a break from EVERYTHING; I got a chai-soy latte at the cafe and went to see a movie about a poor rickshaw driver in India by myself and loved it, both the movie and the experience. Note to all: Amal is more than lovely. Give it a see. I expended all of my pent up energy and went out for drinks and dancing since it was Funk Friday. I've decided that the hipster lounge is the best place for me to meet guys. They're all geeky in some way and seriously, I can't remember the last time I've seen so many guys actually dancing with no shame.

The world needs more chai lattes with soy milk, more films like Amal, and definitely more places like the Starlight.
4:45 pm