Housed, for real this time

I have good news to impart: I got that apartment! What apartment? You know, that one, the dream one, the one! (I don't tell you guys about things I am hoping for anymore until after they're finalized, otherwise things get jinxed and nothing works out and my blog becomes a sort of memorial to my failures.) I can't tell you exactly where the new apartment is because it's so ridiculously public, being right above a shop downtown.

...Just know that when you're strolling through the city center, I am above you, watching, wondering why it doesn't occur to anyone to look up. When you are going out for a cup of coffee I am soaking in the tub several feet above and to the left of you. And when you are bar-hopping, your drunken cries will shape the plot of my dreams. That's all!

And it's gorgeous too. Don't think I mentioned that. Pics to come. Obviously!

Eviction party!

Back to square one!! Anyone want to rent to a hard-working, book-reading, fridge-cleaning, VCR-rewinding, gin-drinking writer/insomniac/German enthusiast with excellently bad taste? Here I am.

Yep, it's official. I was just nicely asked to leave, to accommodate landlady's niece with boyfriend "drama." So much for putting down roots, so much for decorating, cleaning the fridge, acquiring household investment pieces, so much for picking out succulents. So much for the effort that went into looking for a home, the endless meeting of people and being nice, so much for moving my cheap folding furniture in a Radio Flyer wagon and having everyone honk at me. I'm back on the mean streets. So if you have a hot housing tip, let me know.

P.S. !!!***Act now and I will throw in some FREE espresso snobbery at no extra charge***!!! AMAZING OFFER WON'T LAST CALL NOW

...Or have I been reading too many Craigslist postings lately?

Eviction waffles

Did I really type the words "now that I am on top of everything...?" Was that really yesterday? Well, I obviously was missing some information, such as:

Thing 1

My roommate's sister is having boyfriend drama, therefore I might get evicted. WHAT? Well, my roommate Essie's sister Ginny used to live in the room I currently rent. (She's the one who left the pile-o-shit in front of my entrance.) She moved out to live with her boyfriend. Things aren't going too well with the bf, so now she wants to move back in. Key piece of info: Essie and Ginny's aunt is our landlady. To make things worse, my stay in this room is made bearable only by the fact that the room is slated to receive a professional makeover this Friday. But now that I am on eviction standby, I have been advised not to make any changes to the room.

To complicate things further, I have friends coming into town from Washington, D.C. the weekend after scheduled room makeover. I was counting on having a nice, inviting place by then, but it looks like it's just going to stay the stinkhole room that it is, with the rank ashtray-smelling carpet laid over cement and the giant holes/stains gracing the walls.

Not to mention I just cleaned the fridge, swept, mopped, vacuumed, cleaned the bathroom, dusted, made the windows see-through again, took the towels to the laund-o, scraped the caked-on food from the stove top and scrubbed the soap scum and rust from the shower. (I did all of this before school in the morning or after work at night.) Just trying to pitch in. What was the damn point in that then?

To make matters worse, I received this alarming information via text message as I was on my way to class and my battery was dying, so there was no way to call Essie and actually talk about it.  I was intending to just speak to her at the house before work but then...

Thing 2


When I stopped off at work on the way home from school to get some coffee, I was informed that my coworker for the night (currently in Australia) didn't get his last shift covered. There was no one to work the shift with me. It was starting in an hour and I was working it...alone. What's worse, it wasn't just any shift which I might have been able to handle; it was Waffle Night, which is by far the most demanding and, in my opinion, needs three workers at least. I spent my free hour making calls from the work phone and trying to get someone to help me. I got a lot of "Ohh, I can do 7 to 9.30..." but no one would work the full shift with me at such short notice. Guess who filled in? My sister, Heather!

Did I mention my sister just got hired at Linnaea's?? I mean literally just got hired days before? She had not done any training but since she and I have been working in coffee shops together since the dawn of time, we figured we would wing it, and we did. 

By the way, usually trainees start by doing a half shift at a slow time, like Sunday afternoon, and someone takes them by the hand and guides them through everything and makes it nice for them, saying, "Now this is called 'espresso.'"

Well, that's not exactly the initiation Heather got. Linnaea's on Waffle Night is scary. However, we pulled through, served a million damn customized waffles, and were out of there before 1 a.m., which is better than the trained employees sometimes do. 

There was no time for dinner that night and since my sister is allergic to wheat and couldn't even nibble on waffles, I felt awful and took her to Mexican afterwards.

So then it was after 1 a.m. when I got home, so no chance to have a chat with the roomies tonight re: looming threat of eviction. Tomorrow maybe, if I get a free moment. I am scheduled to work tomorrow with nobody again, so that will be an adventure.

Only sustaining thoughts:

1. 5 more shifts until no more shift work. And no more food service. Ever. I LOVE Linnaea's but...
2. San Louie liked my child leash article; Ashley said it was "genius" and she "couldn't be more honored" to print it in her magazine. That was nice.

...just the Spill

Back in New York, I accidentally poured coffee on my new vintage* pants, and an idea was born. When I yelped in double unhappiness (stain + hot coffee on self), Rochelle asked, "What's wrong?" And I grumbled, "Nothing, just the &^$%?!ing daily spill." Something about that resonated with me. The Daily Spill. The Daily Spill, with your host, Anna Weltner. I commented that it would make a good blog name. I had just moved back from Germany and I was thinking of changing up my blog anyway to reflect the changes I was experiencing.

I kept this in mind, but soon got distracted with work, house-hunting, writing, and school. But now I am on top of everything again, and my life is taking yet another turn with my new Arts Editor gig, so the time is right! But I can't be the daily spill because then you guys would have to read my scribbles every day, and what's worse, I'd have to scribble them every day! So I am just the Spill. Welcome to the Spill! Now back to you in the studio.


Author's notes:

1. 'New vintage' is not an oxymoron, it refers to the newly acquired vintage slacks I spilled on. 
2. The stain came out in the wash. 

Breaking news

Last post, I hinted vaguely that something incredible had happened. Well, it has: I got the job!!
What job? Häää?
Well, I didn't go on and on about it this time, afraid too much hot air would blow the delicate possibility away, or like the Establishment saga, that I would update everyone on the application process and then have them asking me about it later when it didn't get in. (But applying at the Estab is kinda like running for President; you sort of have to let everyone know about it to run a successful campaign.)
Another reason was related to my current job. Everyone I hang out with is connected to Linnaea's in some way, and if I were to mention that I was job-hunting, the news might get ahead of me. 
So, I kept it largely quiet.
However, now that I have received a solid offer, I can share the good tidings with you:

I'm the new Arts Editor of New Times!  
The full-time position entails writing arts features every week and editing the content of the Arts section as well as attending plays, concerts, art openings and mingling with the local arts community. I will be following in the footsteps of the great Ashley Schwellenbach, (now Managing Editor) and they are rather large steps.
Looks like I can't describe myself as an unemployed writer anymore.
I can't believe a few months ago I was posting this:

Sunday, May 9, 2010:

The lethargy and sense of despairing pointlessness I have recently been experiencing came to a head today...The work I do goes in the same category as the work I don't do: unnoticed. 

I want a real job so bad it hurts, but I can't make that a reality. I want more than anything to work for a magazine. (I am hilariously bad at most things, but writing is not one of them.) But when and where do I get to use my talent? 

Hot damn, that is depressing stuff. (Bear in mind I was an unnoticed, unpaid PR intern in Erfurt while every other expat journalist I knew seemed to be living it up in the city, owning the airwaves of  Deutsche Welle or exposing scandals in the Catholic church over at SPIEGEL Online.)
Well, those days are over, folks. I'm a full time writer/editor now! Real job! No one can stand stop me now!

Left at the burned frat house....

Okay, so IDPEM has been really busy lately. This post has been in drafts since the day I moved in. Inappropriately, this writer, blogger and late-night streamer of Firefly moved into a house sans internet. WHAT? I know. This post was drafted by stealing the City-County Library's WiFi while draining the last of my Eeee!! PC's finite battery supply while waiting at the bus stop. Ghetto. This is as far as I got before I had to board the 12A Northbound:

I've moved in today!! Freedom! 

I don't have much these days.

Veggie garden, complete with Technicolor zebra.

View from the front.

The burned-out former frat house on the corner serves as an amusing and accurate landmark.

The place is cute and in a good neighborhood, but until I put forth some serious decorative efforts in my renovated-garage bedroom, I am going to be super depressed every time I walk in there. The carpet, which is really foul and reeks of cigarettes, is laid over concrete. The walls have curiosity-arousing stains, and my sweet private entrance is sort of spoiled by the last tenant's large pile of crap, which is apparently our (roomies Essie, Taylor and my) responsibility to sell/give away/make disappear.

I am ripping up the carpet next weekend, painting, and doing something frightfully clever with fabric on the walls (to make up for not being trusted to paint fun colors). This weekend I am getting a pile of soil and some plants and doing a bit of small-scale landscaping in an attempt to prettify the dry, empty ditch separating my entrance from the pile-o-shit that is not mine.

Despite these sort of forced projects to bring my living standards up to normal, it is SO wonderful to live in the downtown area. Even when I wake up in my smelly room on my mattress that someone probably expired on I am happy to be with minutes of cafes, shops, grocery stores...other people...

My life has been packed, with work every day, two exams, an article deadline for San Louie magazine and moving. (Plus there's something incredible that's just happened, but that deserves it's own post.) 

Life's intense!

In my bedroom, my sole oasis is a Dali painting complete with a sunset on a barren landscape, elephants with stilted legs, and lots of misplaced breasts. When I go in there I just try to keep my eyes fixed on that.