For Rent: A Craigslist Photo Ode of Confusion.

I've been new in town for a full two months now. I took a very strange and giant trust fall into this city and so far it has graciously supported me. Catch is a little too strong of a word, but it's rather floating me down quite slowly and generously and hopefully, eventually, solidly on my feet. I'm in my second sublet, which is actually back to the first house I was crashing in (remember Murphy?) and it's wonderful. My roommates are absolutely delightful. They cook delicious meals, I bake cookies, we drink wine, we quietly watch mindless TV, I disappear into my room.

THIS guy. Don't let his distinguished brow fool you. He's young and full of trouble.

I've been hunting for a place to call ours since I arrived (as there's a mere NINE DAYS until my fierce, wild, crazy, farmland dwelling, partner in crime arrives to the big city for some epic culture shock, true adventure and reuniting). Four people is a lot to have in a two bedroom and those of you who know me know I love to socialize almost as much as I love disappearing without a trace. Which is leading me here:

My life has been an endless barrage of "For Rent" signs and un-returned phone calls.

Apartment hunting in a new place comes with it's own set of challenges. Not knowing specific neighborhoods, judging which places are okay to go and view by yourself (if you're wondering: None of them. None of them are okay to look at by yourself. Just take someone with you. Don't be an idiot.), figuring out what utilities cost, and really, just finding what's available. I've of course turned to our lady patron saint of finding weird shit: Craigslist.

May she smile upon your search.

There's another site called PadMapper that was recommended to me upon moving here. In all honesty, I've had less luck with returned phone calls and e-mails on PadMapper than through Craigslist, and that's saying something. Over the last two months I have marveled over pictures of apartments on Criagslist that are posted, I thought, to entice me to want to live somewhere. I'm beginning to think they're posted as part of a new drinking game that I was unaware of (much like I've just recently found out what "Netflix and Chill" is thanks to one of my younger MFA cohort. I just can't keep up). In any case, I thought I'd share some of my favorite Craigslist and PadMapper apartment photos, or at least their "types".

The ol' Same shot, slight change:

See, such a bright home!

Oh! But also on "tree-lined" street!

Nothing says, "You'll love this place." More than, "I took extra time to tweak the lighting settings on my iPhone editor when I posted this.

This is either, "I do not understand how to internet" or, "I iz Robot Spamming. Money transfer direct to this account."

ALSO ALL CAPITOL LETTERS MEANS TRUTH IS HAPPENING HERE BUY THE THING WITH THE STUFF AND RENTING FOR LOW MONEY LARGE SPACE GREAT LOCATION LOCATION LOCATION!!!!!

 #NoFilter. Perfect Setting for #ManicPixieGirl. If you didn't #WakeUpLikeThis don't apply.

Perfect new home for your mug of perfectly steeped tea, Anthropolgie dishes, and sheer, over-sized white button down.

The blatant fish eye lens photos. One of my favorites.

This place is so tiny, you wouldn't believe it. Seriously. You couldn't believe it. Come and see it so we can prove how tiny this place is. Also: bring pepper spray and don't expect closets.

The tiniest blurriest of photos, helping no one figure out if this is the right apartment for them.

Sigh. This is just... but... never mind. Fuck you man.

Bro, the landlord doesn't even care what you do here! We didn't even have to clean when he took photos for the Craigslist ad! They'll let ANYONE live here! Beers and college and bros and weird things growing everywhere!

Making the least amount of sense:

It's really difficult to take pictures and transfer them to the internet, but we took the time to make a rudimentary emoji so you know we're as disappointed as you are. lolz. call 4 deets.

When this is the only photo:

WHAT ELSE COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT?!?! YOU CAN EVEN SLEEP IN THIS ROOM! YOU JUST HAVE TO WANT IT BAD ENOUGH! DO YOU WANT IT?!?! DO YOU!? WASH AND DRY!

So while I continue to call and leave messages that go unreturned, while I see the same place I called about advertised and re-advertised it's hard for me to think that a small part of the property managers in this city aren't playing a bit of a trick on the new girl. There are things called brokers here, which I wouldn't have to pay, but I can't seem to get them to call me back either (I can only assume this is because I'm not willing to pay over four digits for a place to live. In my defense, I'm absolutely willing to live in a place that's falling apart).

I'll keep you updated. Adventure continues.

Journey to Groceries

There's something called a "Super Fresh" not far from where I'm staying. It's okay as a grocery store, but has apparently recently been bought out so they're not re-stocking anything. It's pathetic. It depresses me to go in there and it's actually quite a little trek from where I am, so I sort of swore off of the Super Fresh train.
On a Sunday just over three weeks into my move to the big city, I decided I had earned a day confined to my bedroom Netflix-ing my life away.

I had delusions of making it to a real grocery store but all I really REALLY needed was milk, because Mac and Cheese.

Dear Mother sent me four of these and various other food products because she in convinced I am starving. Everyone: Please continue telling my Mother I am starving.

So I knit and Netflix-ed and promptly realized it was past 4 PM and I should maybe consider leaving the house at some point. I Yelped the closest grocery stores (of which there were several, but I have recently noticed that a city's idea of a "grocery store" is similar to my idea of a "gas station"). Ultimately, I found something called a "Save-A-Lot" that was about a six minute walk from my gracious hosts abode.

I mean, c'mon, Save-A-Lot? How could it not be great? I like many things that include the word "Lot" Big Lots, back home is slightly quirky, but has some great things. Sir Mix A Lot? I mean, of course. Dye Lots? Has to do with yarn and is very useful, so of course I like it. Parking Lots? Sure. They're alright.

Couldn't possibly just be a coincidence, right?

I set out on my adventure and roughly three blocks from home base, I found myself surrounded by several very large, abandoned warehouses and came across this:

Because sometimes you just gotta burn a bunch of shit on the sidewalk.

So that's cool. Just a fire in the middle of the sidewalk. Saturday night public bonfire, perhaps? Whatever, I'm sure the had permits (I'm certain they didn't) or a good reason (disposing of crime evidence? a murder weapon? a BODY?!?) I'm sure they fire department came and put it out (I haven't seen or heard a fire truck since I've been out here. I'm beginning to think they're still horse drawn out here).

 Not even a block farther down the road was the mystical land called Save-A-Lot, whose entrance was surrounded by bars. You could get through the bars, but not easily. Looking back on it, I think they were placed that way to keep people from stealing their carts (they're VERY serious about keeping all their carts) but when I squeezed through them at the time I contemplated how one had to be truly hungry to shop here. A principle concept probably directly out of line with Sir Mix A Lot's teachings (yeah, I said his teachings. Like he's booty-prophet or something), whom I had assumed would have something to do with this place...

As far as the content of the store goes, it was really quite something. I'm uncertain if any of it had passed any sort of FDA exam. The ingredient lists for most everything were longer than my arm and from a brand that I had never seen. Isles had one or two things listed as being in them and were full of anything but. Although, some form of coffee or instant coffee could be found in every isle. In short: This place was magical. And so. cheap.

I didn't take pictures of the store because I was so entranced. If you would like to experience the ultimate anti-climax, you're welcome Google Earth link here.

I can't say I'll be returning to the Save-A-Lot anytime soon, as I don't think I could sustain a functioning, highly physical, active body off of it's goods for long, but as I was passing the skate park, classically full of pre-teen boys that reeked of weed and swore almost as eloquently as my mother does, I was grateful for the experience. It was also a place that I might as well have been screaming to everyone, "HEY! I DON'T BELONG HERE! I ABSOLUTELY DON'T BELONG IN HERE RIGHT NOW!"

So the adventure continues. Country bumpkin-ing. One foot in front of the other. Slowly but surely. And victoriously:

Yes. Shameless Mac and Cheese in bed selfie. And yes. 1 box=1 serving.

In Which Homesickness Strikes

I have now been living in Philadelphia for three weeks. My program is still incredible, but it's not the only thing I'm learning. I'm learning a ton about the city too.

I got a bicycle, which is making getting my bearings around the city MUCH easier than just riding the El, which has a tendency to jostle my sense of direction. As does being surrounded by tall buildings. Funny, when I can't tell where the sun is, my sense of direction becomes really terrible.

Why is there a dinosaur in this shot? That's a ridiculous question.

I'm learning all sorts of fun things. Things like you can't buy wine or beer in grocery stores. You can buy wine at liquor stores, but not beer, beer you have to buy at beer stores. You can drink beer at beer stores sometimes, but usually you have to take it home, unless it's a special beer store/restaurant combo. Unless it's some weird street festival like Oktoberfest, then you can just take your beer outside and drink it wherever you want. You can also pay an inordinate amount of money for six packs to go at almost any bar. and you can bring your own alcohol to almost any restaurant. Seriously, Pennsylvania, with the liquor laws.

I'm also learning that, hey, maybe don't go into parts of town that make you feel weird. Like the El stop closest to where I'm living. Or north of that one street EVER. Or anywhere near Temple. What makes it feel weird? I DON'T KNOW! It's seriously been the most fascinating country bumpkin experience ever. It's not a race divide, though it may have to do with class. I've felt the least comfortable when I'm out numbered greatly by gender in neighborhoods, which I don't really even know how that happens. It's really fascinating to have this instinctual feeling of "I really don't belong here" and being an analytical human that I am I immediately start asking myself, "Why do I feel like I don't belong here?" "What would make me feel more at home in this situation?" "Why am I asking myself these questions instead of focusing on getting off this block?"

I have gotten the stone cold bitch face down to a science. Like I didn't already.

"What about that shadowy part?" I asked and James Earl Jones said to me, "That is North Philly. You must never go there." I then promptly got off at a North Philly El stop. Sorry James. At least it was daylight hours.

I spent some time in South Philly yesterday, as I hadn't really explored that area before. South Philadelphia, for those who don't know is what upper-middle-class people would generally refer to as a "nice" part of town or "quaint" or "so bo-ho" or "cultured" or something else ridiculous. It was full of people having brunch and families in parks. There was an art festival happening in Rittenhouse Square and people enjoying their weekend everywhere. Why was I there? Come on guys, for the yarn shop, obviously.

Loop is one of the few yarn shops I could find in Philly that wasn't somewhere far off in the distance in West Philly or in a mythical land some call "New Jersey". Everything about this shop is delightful. The ladies working were warm and welcoming (yes, of course I dropped of my resume and fished for work-though to no avail), the shop itself was beautiful with hardwood floors and lovely displays, and the clientele was exactly what I've come to expect from yarn stores. Versatile and quirky as all get out (one of them was even in town briefly from said mythical land called New Jersey. Guys- stereotypes exist for a reason).

I thought finding a lovely yarn shop would make me feel more at home and in my element in a new city, but alas, it made me long for the things I saw echos of familiarity in. I ache a little for home this weekend.

When I'm constantly busy working through the week and physically exhausted from school it's very easy for me to keep my Philadelphia blinders on. But when the weekend hits and I have some time to stew, I start to miss small things like nature. And being not sweaty from humidity. And of course, the humans. I find myself illogically, immensely frustrated that I can't just go visit Boise for the weekend. But I can't. And that's okay. It will make it all the sweeter when I can. See you someday, Boise.

Firsts

And so the adventure begins.

I arrived three days ago. I caught a cab. I big part of me wanted to go for public transit right off the bat. I'm not 100% stupid though, so I took my extra heavy bag and two carry ons to the cab stand and paid my $40 fare (totally worth it) to get to my generous hosts' house.

Totally nerdy picture of a city bridge I took from the cab.

The place I'm currently staying is delightful. Two performers (one focusing predominately in the dance medium) and someone that I'm fairly certain is a marketing director of some kind. 

When I first arrived no one was home. Keys were left for me sneakily. I hauled my things up stairs and settled in, noting the very sweet and excited dog in the kennel in the living room. 

"Can I let your pooch out, or does it stay kenneled till you get home?" I texted my host.

Gah! That FACE!

"You can let him out! His name's Murphy. He's my roommates. I think there's a leash by the door if you want to take him out to pee too!" 

Of course I did. 1. I love dogs. 2. What a nice thing to come home to after a long day at work, knowing that your dog had already been taken out. 3. Why bother thinking beyond that? WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE WRONG WITH THIS PLAN?!

I changed out of my sweaty shirt and grabbed Murphy and we were off! Sure I was in a city I didn't know, but I had looked at maps pretty studiously for the last few weeks, and Murphy clearly knew exactly where we were going.

We strolled along, he peed on everything. He led me around a corner and tried to tug me across the street to a dog park. I know better than to take a dog I don't know very well into a dog park. At least I have that going for me. 

I wanted to turn around and head back, as I realized I'd neglected to leave a note for Murphy's owners and they might be worried that someone had robbed their apartment of their dog. Maybe my host had forgotten to tell her roommates that I was coming in today. I hadn't even met these people yet. For all they know maybe I'm just a serial dog napper. 

Now of course as I started trying to loop back Murphy was NOT okay with they fact that we were missing his favorite point of the walk. You know, that part with grass, and other dogs? I apologized to him, (as dogs totally understand what an apology is and it fixes everything) and kept tugging him along, attempting to not look like some sort of animal abusing idiot while trying to find my way back to the apartment I had left six blocks ago.

I pulled out my phone and mapped myself, which I HATE doing, but I was out of options. I kept heading down and re-checking block by block. At about the fifth time I checked my phone (we'd probably been out for a good half hour at that point) I looked up from my screen to see a man 20 yards from me eyeing me suspiciously. He then squatted down with a sign of relief and said, "Hi Murph."  

Over apologies ensued. I felt dreadful, then promptly called him by the wrong name. Then apologized some more. I should have known better than to take him without asking you directly, I should have at the very least left a note, I should have not been an idiot.

Murph on our totally non-approved walk.

It took us a couple days but I think we're on the level now. He cooked the whole house breakfast this morning. It was delicious. I'm very lucky and trying to be the least noticeable house guest I can be. I leave them tomorrow.

I have housing lined up for September as of last night.

I still don't have a student ID.

I'm still not registered for classes, that start on Monday. 

I have a very small, part time position working in the office of the theater. 

I have a cat that wakes me up at three AM to snuggle. He's lovely.

I have my chevro-legs.

I have a ukulele, thanks to a dear friend who gifted me one we've named the "starter uke" that I am to gift and sign as soon as I purchase a better one.

I have a kick ass theatre program and a diverse and exciting cohort. 

I have work to do. I need to start living a less guarded existence. It hasn't gotten me far. It certainly hasn't gotten me anywhere compared to laying all my cards out and showing my under belly and saying, "I could use some help." "I'm really vulnerable right now." "Please." "Thank you."

I like this place. A lot. People are nice. I've been thrown into a family of people who want me to do well.

Adventure officially begun.

Adventure.

A little more than four weeks ago I heard about a new MFA program. A program across the country that had recently come into existence from the magical roots of a theater company that I've long admired from afar that started in the mid nineties.

I was in the midst of finding something to do while working at my summer job which consisted of sometimes teaching and sometimes making myself available to teachers while they taught kids to sing songs from musical theater. I buried myself in an office and tried to shut out the non-melodious sound of 9-year-olds learning what the words "off key" mean.

I went to the schools website and figured it was far to late to apply for this Fall, but I figured I'd get a head start on Fall 2016 and started my application. I think I put in my address and saved it, going back to do something more relevant to work.

Here's some things they do:

They're website's pretty great too: pigiron.org


Two days later I got an e-mail from the school.

We've got spots available for Fall 2015.
You should apply.
Have any questions?
Need anything? 
Here's the program director.
Here's three former students you can talk to about anything you want.
What kind of theater do you make?
Where are you? Boise? That's so cool.
Let's Skype interview.
We like you. Do you like us?
Come. Please. Bring your weird Boise magic.

Now, there's some pretty fantastic roller coaster craziness that happened in the two weeks leading up to my departure- which is now in two days. Things that multiple times made me come to the conclusion that I couldn't go, then could, then couldn't again. They're entries in and of themselves and I'll save them for another time.

As of now, I have less than 48 hours left in what I have made my hometown for the last fifteen years. It's weird. I'm still unsure of where I'm sleeping the first night I'm there- though I have a last resort, so that's good. I'm terrified. And so excited. I'm moving to Philadelphia to make some art with people. It's going to be an Adventure.

Now if you'll excuse me. I need to get back to putting my life in boxes.