looking for the bright side in a basement

First off, living in a basement sucks. I actually requested the basement bedroom before I got up here, having the choice. Being the naive Floridian I am, I thought it would be an adventure! I've always had fun in basements! You know, the three other times I've actually been in one. Grown up lesson #86, basements are fun to play in. Watching scary movies, shooting pool, mario kart racing tournaments, far too elaborate lego structures. These are all things basements are good for. Basements are not fun to live in. They are dark. They are cold. They are damp. They are, depressing. Concrete floors and one window big enough only for a small child to fit through, is not how I pictured my life a couple months ago. I feel like a stowaway, a disfigured step child, an Anne Frank... Okay, too far. It does get to you, though, if you let it. And admittedly, I did. I realize that now and am doing what I can to fight it. But it's easy to let the small things bring you down when you're living under a house.

Hollerin' atcha from Nirvana Lane

Welcome to North Key Largo. Land of white people (save for the Hatians that clean up after them), golf carts, rock lawns, and foie gras. Where the price tag for a night's stay ranges from $380 to $2,910. Where residents pay $250,000 a year just for their address in this yuppie dream land. Of course that does not include the mortgage on the mansion, the lawn maintenance, the $63 glass of whiskey with the $38 prime rib, the 19% gratuity (ahem), the $12 movie tickets... oh and let's not forget the yacht parking space. But of course it's all worth it. After all, "Everyone enjoys the community's atmosphere of ease, and the sense of being among friends in the place where they truly belong." 


But to get to the point I was trying to make, I've been doing some thinking. Of course upon first getting here I had my typical Christina, cynical, judgmental reaction.  I can't believe these people waste their money and lives in this imaginary society where everything is taken care of for them and they never even have to think about "the other side", the real world and real issues, or even people who don't truly belong. There are people starving, and dying, and struggling every day. And these people are throwing parties in their mansions where they literally throw $100 bills around (reliable source). 


So on my bike ride through the concrete jungle today, I'm thinking, "Okay, be impartial here for a minute, what do you have an abundance of that you are wasting, Christina?" Well, swagger, for one. Talent. Beauty. Undying wit. Mad grammar skillz. Obvs. But really, it's hard to compare any non-monetary proficiency to, well, money. Honestly, the closest thing I've got is time. I've got a lot of time on my hands. Mostly always, but especially at this point in my life. Some might say I waste a lot of that. They might be right. My days down here are mostly spent lolling about in the sun and complaining about rich people. I'm not completely convinced, but there are probably more productive things I could be doing. The point is, I think we're all probably wasting something. But judging others for their choices isn't going to make me any less guilty. 

Festivus for the rest of us

Spending Christmas Eve watching Sunny in Philadelphia reruns and taking advantage of a fully stocked refrigerator. Life is swell.

Went to the porch to have a thought, got to the door and again I couldn't stop

The days get shorter and the nights get cold

I like the autumn but this place is getting old

I pack up my belongings and I head for the coast

It might not be a lot but I feel like I'm making the most

I like songs about drifters - books about the same

They both seem to make me feel a little less insane

I know that startin' over's not what life's about

But my thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth

Yep, it's cliche to quote song lyrics. But hey, if I could write poetry this good, I would. But I can't. So get off it.

Hey, it's only the next four years of your life, so f***ing choose...

Thanks to findmeafuckingcollege.com, I am again forced to ponder this option for the infinitely-pronged fork of a road that is my life. It seems to me like this is as good as any way to make this decision.

Results coming soon.

Why Turning 20 Isn't Cool At All

Top two reasons why turning 20 is lame:


#1 You're not 19 anymore. Which means you've lost all chances of fulfilling your dreams of becoming another teenage statistic. And believe me, I have plenty of those. Did you know that [spoiler alert] "In general, teenage mothers do not fare as well as their peers who wait to have children"? Or that 1 in 3 teenagers will be pregnant by the age of 19? Damn. Guess I missed the boat on that one. ...or not?


#2 You're still not 21. Which means you've got another year of waiting before you can do all those 21 year old things. Now, don't get me wrong. If I wanted to get hammered right now, I absolutely could. Ask any 18-20 year old in the country if they knew where they could get alcohol at that moment, at least 90% would say yes. It's not about that. I'm not a big fan of the alc' the majority of the time. It's about being 21 and having a 21 year old ID. Do you understand that at this moment I can't even legally go watch a stand up comedy show without another year of life under my belt? It will forever elude me why I am not allowed to go listen to some good ass music in a place where they serve fermented beverages to idiots just because I've been doing my thing for 20 years, and not 21. 


I know, somebody call the whambulance, right? There are worse problems in the world than Christina having to wait another year until she can go to a bar. But seriously America, take your eyes off yourself for a moment and consider how the rest of the world handles this issue -- maturely and responsibly. Duh.

Things No One Ever Tells You - Vol. 1

As I approach the end of my second decade and am well on my way to my quarter life crisis (see especially definition #2 "you feel lost and confused 23.5 hours of the day"), I figure it is my duty as a seasoned "adult" to pass on some of the wisdom I have acquired from my galavanting.


#1 Thing No One Ever Tells You: Being poor in a fun city is just as shitty as being poor in a boring city. So poor that if walking the 3 miles there and 3 miles back in the rain saves me the $4 dollars for public transit, I'll do it. So poor that if eating a breakfast souffle three hours past its expiration date means not having to pay for lunch that day, I'll do it. So poor that if stealing from The Salvation Army because it doesn't even disturb my moral compass anymore will get me a new polo for work, I'll do it. So poor that if taking the industrial sized toilet paper from work that won't even fit on a standard sized roll so we have to keep it on the back of the toilet means not having to buy toilet paper, I'll do it. So poor that no, man, I really honestly can't spare any change.


Bear in mind, these are not complaints. I know these circumstances were chosen, they are not out of real necessity. It's not that I couldn't have help if I wanted it, especially if I needed it. I do not thrash about in the depths of the truly desolate. I do not know what it means to go hungry a few days before every pay day. I do not know what it means to be sincerely grateful for that 25 cent raise. I do not know what it means to really have no roof under which to sleep. But I have seen glimpses of all of these. And I do finally understand how these conditions manifest themselves and how adults find themselves in lifestyles like these, where every move forward just puts you two steps back. It's by doing what we are doing for too long and expecting different results. Expecting it, expecting something, to actually pay off in the end. Rookie mistake. Hard times are getting the best of us, and you just can't get ahead in this race wearing thrift store shoes.