Homeless

The last two weeks have been a rather long string of what most would consider to be terrible events: fired, on fertility meds, pyrex explosion, canceled Netflix, can't pay bills, can't collect unemployment, must move out of apartment, had to pack up in a week (all the while dealing with icky meds), parents show up a day later than expected, and now, to top it all off, we're homeless. I suppose you can't be entirely homeless when you have a place to sleep that's indoors, but still, I think not having a residence and staying for a day or two at a time at a long list of family members' houses counts.

When Ma and Pa arrived on Friday to help us load up a moving van and scrub our very existence from the first apartment I ever enjoyed living in, I realized that I hadn't mentioned to my mom that we weren't just moving the furniture—I'd neglected the part where our landlords had found replacements that wanted to move in ASAP. So after Sunday, I told her, we were homeless.

Mom, laughing it off, kindly reminded me that I've been homeless before. Like the time my apartment contract ended before I'd finished my finals for the semester (so I couldn't go home), and I had to move all my stuff onto the sidewalk and wait for my folks to show up and move it.

I had to spend the next few nights at my then-fiancé's friend's apartment. It had about fifteen creepy windows visible from the couch I slept on, a very creepy door to a communal basement, and a bunch of people I didn't know (also creepy). Well, they weren't really creepy until everyone who actually lived there had to go out of town, leaving me completely alone in a strange apartment for the next night. That's a little creepy, but not all bad.

The really terrible part is that they left no toilet paper anywhere in the apartment. Not a square. Of course, I'd idiotically assumed the presence of toilet paper (or ANY paper product) when I'd sat down to have a little poo. But upon finding the immediate vicinity toiletpaperless, and subsequently the entire area I could reasonably explore pantsless also toiletpaperless, I decided that my best option would be to call the fiancé. Guys like to be heroes, right? And I definitely had the (somewhat soiled) damsel in distress thing going on. SO I call him up, tell him my awful predicament, and he does what any horrible, terrible, completely dump-worthy fiancé would do and says that he doesn't really want to bring me toilet paper. Really, how could I ever have been engaged to a guy who won't put down the NES controller and drive .2 miles to save his (very good looking) girl from such an immense personal emergency?

I don't want to even tell you how I solved my problem, but it didn't involve any kind of reasonable man rushing in with a roll of Cottonelle to save the day.

And I have to say, that whole homeless thing is way worse than having about five families offering to put us up until we get the okay from doc to go to California. And I love these people. And they would never leave me without toilet paper. And even if they did, now I have the kind of man who would, even if he were across the world in the middle of a hotdog eating contest, rush to me with arms full of Quilted Northern. Ah, my Prince Charmin.

Anyway, if anyone ever calls you to ask for toilet paper, and you say, "no," I want you to know that there is a special place set aside for you in Hell. Yes, you.