sparkerly.com

Trying to Rent Out Our Condo:

It's like dating, but without the possibility of sex at the end of the night.  Unless you're like I was, and then it's pretty much exactly like dating.

Here's the thing.  We've been trying to rent out our (empty, mortgage laden) condo for about a month and have yet to have anyone even return an application for it.  Plenty of people come and look but, for whatever reason, we haven't had any luck.  There was one promising guy: good job, married, responsible, looking to move fairly soon.  His job was even moving their office about a block away from our building.  Could be more perfect for him?  Apparently, it could because he has completely blown us off.  Won't respond to e-mails asking if he's still interested and telling him that we're decreasing the rent.  We even offered to give him a discount on the first month's rent!  And yet, nothing!

It's the same for other people we've shown it to.  They come to see it and they are all enthusiastic and think it's great and... then weeks go by and they never call.  They never write.  They want to see other apartments.  They're just not looking to commit to something right now.  They're just interested in renting a condo that has bigger boobs.  You know the drill: It's not us, it's them.  And, while something like this is not as confusing and infuriating as it is when it happens romantically, it is pretty damn close.

I mean, we are all adults here.  If you aren't interested, just let me know!  I won't come and key your car or send an e-mail to your coworkers telling them you gave my condo the clap!  I won't show up at your new place and cry about how you never really gave our condo a chance!  Seriously, just tell me you don't want what I'm selling and I will leave you alone. 

But don't come crying to me in 2 months saying that you're sorry and you do want to rent the condo after all and you should have realized what a kick-ass deal it is.  You had your chance, and now you will just have to live with the fact that your new place doesn't have central air, high ceilings, granite counter tops, new appliances and an amazing view of downtown.  You'll just have to put up with the shitty freeway and public transportation access that you have in your new place.  You made your bed in a different apartment, and you will just have to sleep in it!  Unless our condo is still vacant, and then I will totally take you back.  Because, when times are tough, I'll take it where I can get it.  Again, just like when I was dating.

"There was alcohol involved..."

I said this at lunch today whilst recounting the story of when I met my friend Melanie's husband (who was her boyfriend at the time), Corey.  You see, Melanie introduced Corey to the group and I immediately piped up, "Hey Forrest!  Nice to meet you!"  After hearing this story, my co-workers looked at me and one asked, "How did you mistake 'Corey' for 'Forrest''?"  My answer?  "Well, there was alcohol involved."

And that got me thinking.  Do all of my interesting and/or funny stories have something to do with alcohol?  I know that anything happening prior to the age of 23 didn't, as I didn't take my first sip of alcohol until I was 23.  For instance, there was that one time I got lice from the beds at summer camp.  Or when I said the F-word and my mom found out and almost killed me.  Or... yeah, I don't have too many entertaining stories to tell from that period of my life.

Post-alcohol Carrie, though, seems to have a bevy of stories that delight and entertain audiences around the world!  That is, if my parents aren't in the audience; I don't think they'd be too delighted to hear some of these particular stories.

Like the time that I had come back to Utah after spending my last semester of law school in Las Vegas and I had gone to a party and I was cold, so I was (creepily) asking people to lay on top of me to keep me warm.  Hilarious!  Everybody loves that one!

Or when I went to visit a friend in Boise and conned my way into getting a free hot dog with the works from Sam the hot dog vendor!  Then, a couple of years later, seeing Sam on the streets of Boise again and getting ANOTHER free hot dog.  That is how charming I am when I'm a little lubricated, my friends.  (Also, big boobs don't hurt, as far as hot dog vendors go.)

Then, that one time in law school when I went to a party and ___________ and then I ___________ and then my friend fell off the porch and we all lost it.  (I left those blanks in there because you could pretty much fill them in with any number of crazy scenarios and you would have a pretty accurate account of any law school party I attended.)

Oooo!  Or when a couple of co-workers and I took the "fun" bus to Wendover (Nevada, about 1.5 hours from Salt Lake) and I won $450 playing craps.  Some guy, who was trying to pick me up, was putting down money for me and letting me keep all the chips.  This little excursion paid for a big chunk of my rent that month, in addition to allowing me to buy a very soft dark blue fake-fur coat, which still hangs in my closet to this day.  Good times, you guys. 

I could go on, but I don't want you to get the idea that I can only have fun if I have a couple of drinks.  Not true!  I was completely sober for my wedding, and that was the best day of my life!  I have fun every day at work and I'm never drunk there (for the most part)!  Kidding!  See?  I'm just as funny without a buzz on! 

However, I think that if you do ever get a chance to make some memories with Tipsy-Carrie, you should totally do it.  Drunk-Carrie is fun, too, but she can get a little messy... and handsy.  Yeah, just stick with Tipsy-Carrie and you should be on your way to some awesome stories of your very own.  YOU'RE WELCOME.

Not at this address

A few years ago, when g-mail was the New! Big! Thing! I started an account.  For my address, I used my first and middle names: carriejoyce.  Ok, now you know my g-mail address-- but don't send me anything because I never check that account!  Well, almost never.  I got curious as to whether or not I had any e-mails waiting for me in g-mail a couple of months ago and I went over to check it out.

I had about 90 e-mails, most of which were spam.  Once I got rid of that stuff, I looked at what was left.  After opening a few of them, I realized that they were all addressed to a woman in California named Carrie Joyce.  One was from her brother or father (or some male relative with the same last name) who happens to be some big-wig on the Chicago Board Options Exchange where, apparently, they trade options...?  He was forwarding them an article about some list he made or something. 

Just need to prime the pump a little.

Yeah, it seems like a million years since I posted anything.  What of it?  I've been busy, y'all.  Busy packing and hiring people to move my crap and hiring people to clean the place I've neglected cleaning for 3 months, and wishing we had not moved in the first place because it is totally cutting into my sitting around and drinking wine time.  L to the a-m-e, you guys.

So, I'm really going to try to post more.  I know what you're thinking, "But Carrie, as Yoda says, 'Do... or do not.  There is no try.'"  But Yoda also said, "Mudhole? Slimy? My home this is!"  Bitch lived in a slimy mudhole, and I'm supposed to listen to him?  Maybe if Yoda tried to clean his house it would be a little less of a slimy mudhole and then maybe some friends would come over to visit him and he'd stop talking all weird.

Speaking of slimy mudholes: Our new house is great!  I am planning on writing a post on the whole moving ordeal, but it will take some time for me to get it all out there.  Needless to say, I had no idea how much CRAP Joel and I have and, if I had known, we'd probably never have left that tiny condo!  Why do I have no less than 5 boxes of shoes?  Why have I moved these pictures from my trip to Niagra Falls in 1998 no less than 6 times throughout the years?  Is this entire box full of empty picture frames?  Did I actually pack and pay to store boxes and boxes of books given to me by my father for Christmas over the years?  Books that I have no interest in reading, but I've kept because they're from my dad and he thought enough to buy me a book about living with a neurotic dog because I... live with a neurotic dog.

Anyhoodle, I love you, readers (all 5 of you)!  I'll be back!