How to be Homeless for 42 Days
Day One
With enough space bags to build a small castle, my best friend piled into her Jetta with our Bulldog baby in the back and I piled into my Honda. She headed to one part of town, and I another. Survival of the cheapest.
So, since putting in my notice was such an ordeal — what I mean by ordeal, is I became physically ill the original day I was supposed to reveal my gypsy plan while concurrently turning my notice to my boss. It actually forced me to take my first sick day in 2 years at this company, and I believe at least 3 years for work in general.
I'm the type that pounds vitamin C, tries all of Grandma's remedies, and Lysol wipes after myself like I'm clearing my prints from my latest crime. Follow the trail of Lysol and mystery solved!
Well, the next week I had no choice but to actually turn in my notice or else two months would slowly dwindle away and the chances of her finding someone that I could train before January would be so minuscule it wouldn't even fit on a mini Lego… not to mention, it would hurt just as much as stepping on one.
Once I finally got up the nerve to do it, like I mentioned in part one, it did not go well. So because of this, obviously I rehashed the entire scenario to my best friend, whom in turn became so anxious to turn in her notice that she procrastinated until the last week of our lease. Now, instead of her heading straight to our unfinished house two states over, she had to find a way to couch surf with a bulldog for two weeks. There's only so much bribery with 24 packs, cooking, treating to restaurants, mani-pedis, and gift cards you can do when you have a dog. I was able to slide by just fine because it was just me; oh, but when you have a three-year-old hyperactive bulldog, difficulty in this task is amped up to 20.
Luckily, our neighbor, the first guy to ever get her on a green Colorado level, was feeling empty-nested.
I’m not sure if it’s kosher to have an empty nest at 31 when you've never had kids but, have had dogs…. Maybe the correct term would be empty-created?
Well, he was more than willing to house this beautiful baby for a week at the price of a crispy Benjamin. Squealing with delight, she accepted this puppy extended stay and then was able to find a place for her to stay for the week with, we’ll call him Bob the Builder. Next week? That's another story, but for this week she was good.
That's how you have to live is just week-by-week, sometimes day-by-day. You can never plan too far in advance and have to be strategical with absolutely everything.
Strategize your food, routes home from work, meals, who you hang out with, how early you wake up, to the degree of stealth mode you're in when you're getting ready. On a deeper level, you have to be weary of arrivals and departures in the home, how much space you take up (gaining weight is not ideal here…), the time and length of your shower, and the counter space you occupy in the bathroom. These last few require mental rewiring for a young, curly-haired, female. I have 3 different hair products/serums, hairspray (because I’m secretly a 65-year-old grandma), a mini curling iron (for my bangs), a hair dryer, heat protectant for these devices, a wet brush, a round brush, salon shampoo, clearance shampoo, turquoise shampoo (exactly what it sounds like), conditioner, toothbrush, 3 different travel toothpastes (I like variety of minty-freshness), floss, deodorant, and my make-up bag of a creative combination of hide-my-flaws products.
I aspire for the perfect balance between pleasant and nonexistent; the key is for them to forget you are there unless you have them laughing or are feeding them (food or liqour is acceptable here).
After work the first day, I crossed the Ashley River and threaded through the bottleneck traffic known as West Ashley. The best way to describe this to a non-Charleston-folk is a town that grew very quickly with families and schools but, no highway infrastructure to really support it. It's affordable, and overall safe, but a nightmare to get in and out of with only a few ways to access it. This city has earned names like “West Assley” or “West Trashly,” but on a map or in a geography book, you would never see such a name, it's simply called Charleston. As many cities do, they've adopted their neighborhoods and this is certainly a big one; west of the Ashley River. Unique, I know.
The first Friday night of my homelessness journey, I knocked on the door of the bottom floor apartment and was greeted by my best guy friend. I call him “bro,” which many people find peculiar, but if you ever saw us interact or met him, your questions would be dissolved or solved (with no remainder).
I lugged in one space saver bag, my overnight bag, and my tie-dye plastic trash can from my bathroom containing all my hygiene, shower, girl stuff. My say all of it, I mean like 1/16 of it.
“Making my way downtown” — I mean, into the bedroom. Making my way into the bedroom of bro’s roommate, I found a black shower curtain. I don't mean it was originally black, I mean the plastic lining was black, like some people souls. Astonished and quite repulsed, I gently removed it from the hooks (as not to have the disease-stricken plastic touch any part of me) and went on a frantic scavenger scavenger hunt for bleach. After a 5 minute search, the thought that I would have to resort to hosing off in the yard crept into my mind. Then again, it's an apartment so there's not really a yard. *whistle whistle*
After practically scrubbing my fake nails off, into the shower lining with a rag of mine I later burned, I retired it to the washer with as much soap to start a bubble bath in a whirlpool of hungry alligators. Returning to the rest of the bathroom, I felt like I was in the shower scene of Psycho.
Opening the washer's lid was less than satisfying, yet again, it's not like that's an unfamiliar feeling I've had it a guy's house before. ZING!
The liner was stained, but now more of a charcoal gray then a grimy black. It would have to do. I'm sure you're thinking, why didn't you just buy a new liner? Every penny is Europe money, which is the gold at the end of this homeless rainbow. So I was being more than resourceful with my funds, or lack thereof.
Thankful I had a bed to sleep in, since Bro’s roommate travels for a living and would be out of the Eastern Time Zone until the 12th, I set up my sheets.
Exhausted from scrubbing all 18 baseboards in our apartment (and you know, the rest of the space) the day prior for move-out and now this bathroom fumigation, I slept like a baby.
I wonder what’s in store for the 41 remaining days…
