Top 5 Things to Look For (and Steer Clear of) When Considering Relocation Spots

If I was to sum up the feeling of being in my 20s (and it seems an apt time to do so, since I'll be 29 in mere months) I think it would have to be characterized as "vaguely to severely dissatisfied restlessness". As a result of this omnipresent emotion, I find myself moving or considering doing so almost....Daily.

I'm sure I'm not alone in this sort of daydreaming. Many people fantasize about a better place, where the purple drank flows like wine, and women flock like the "salmon of Capistrano".

There are many news outlets that list the "best places for young adults" and "up and coming towns for hip professionals". I'm willing to bet that you guys can already name some of these metropolises. They all have certain things in common: lots of stuff to do, universities, and subsequently, a large population of humans aged 18-35.

Although some of these places seem like they would be nice to visit or to maybe even be homeless for a short while, I think most of them are about as realistic a possibility for actual living as the Land of Oz (for a poor freelance dirt bag such as myself.)

So, let's get our heads out of our poverty-ridden asses and get real, people. Here are my Top 5 Things to Seek (and Avoid) When Considering Relocation Spots.

1) A Few Reliable Corner Stores.

Just about every town has a bodega or two here and there. But I'm not talking about a no-name, sketch central hole in the wall. I'm talking about some reliable shit, like Cumberland Farms, Stewarts and/or 7Eleven type establishments.

Before you get all "fuck the man", hear me out: there is some comfort to be had in the knowledge that you can get 3 for $1 sour raspberry gummy strips at Cumby's, no matter where you are in this great country. Ditto that for Big Gulps or similar. It doesn't matter which chain gas station you choose, just scout out a few and familiarize yourself with their best wares.

Case in point: You're not going to get charged an extra $5 for a turkey sandwich because the douche bag behind the counter doesn't like the color of your skin or the tell tale hook in your nose (true story, unfortunately). 

Pricing and products are consistent at these spots.

2) Steer Clear of The Panera/Starbucks/Target Trifecta.

Some of you are probably shaking your heads right now, thinking "how on earth could I live without these mainstays?!"

Well, don't get me wrong - I love a good thai chicken salad or java chip as much as the next gal, but the towns that have these establishments in common also typically boast something else: rent prices that will disembowel your wallet swiftly and mercilessly.

You can still live within driving distance of a Target or a Panera, but I wouldn't recommend being inside of 5 miles, as you will probably find that the rent to distance ratio is staggering.

And, if the town you love also has one or more frozen yogurt or "healthy" smoothie establishments? Unless you've got a trust fund to fall back on, run away as fast as your generic brand footwear will carry you.

Worst of all - if you're giving serious thought to moving to a town of over 4,000 that has nary a McD's, Wendy's or Ihop--this means that the residents are so rich that they're actually keeping these mega corporations at bay, beyond the outskirts of their village limits. I'm going to bet that, in such cases, you won't even find a studio apartment for under $850 per month. Major suckfest.

3) At Least One Pawn Shop.

 Some people consider pawn shops harbingers of a "bad neighborhood". I however, beg to differ. Personally, when I'm broke (which is most of the time) one of my favorite things to do is look through my shit to figure out what I can sell. Having a pawn shop nearby can be the difference between eating canned pineapple for dinner tonight or a respectable chicken parm.

When you've got more than one pawn broker in town, you can even shop around to see who'll give you the best price for that (gently used) Chris Kirkpatrick Backstreet Boys blow-up doll.

4) Smartly Dressed Older Folks Walking Down the Road with Plastic Bags.

OK, this is where it pays to get specific: I'm not talking about putrefying people, laden with shopping carts. I'm talking mature ladies, 50+ years old, wearing knee length skirts, or pressed polyester pants, and sensible, clean shoes.

When you see this sort of person walking, it's usually a good sign because: a) she (or he) has the good sense to comb his/her hair, and put on clothes that they haven't yet crapped in. This probably implies that the individual is not a crack/meth head, and thus is not quite desperate enough to rob you of the last few dollars you've got.

b) At the same time, Sally or Rick may have had some aggravated issues with alcohol (thus the hoofing it, instead of driving). This means that you can enjoy that little giddy superior feeling if you still have your license, not to mention, you can head down to the local bar with them later on to hear some top notch tales of debauchery.

5) Bail Bond Advertising.

Some towns have billboards for things like fine dining and local law firms. Others have advertisements for Bail Bonds and (the aforementioned) pawn shops. I don't know about you, but I'd rather pay for necessities like gas, groceries and housing in a town that advertises bail bonds than surf and turf restaurants, because they're going to be way fucking cheaper.

After all, if there are a lot of people who require the assistance of bondsmen to be released from court custody, we're probably in the same broke-ass boat.

However, you have to be careful here, because if the majority of crime is related to methamphetamines or opioids, chances are you're going to get jacked at gunpoint coming back from that 1AM Baconator run.

Creative Bail Bond Advertising via Bench in Downtown Nashville, Tennessee.

Nature is a (Goth) Whore.

 Some people might think that gardening is an old lady hobby or more eloquently stated, "for pussies."

Well, I'm going to have to go ahead and say that's wrong...Dead wrong.

I've done a lot of toiling around in the dirt, and let me tell you, there is nothing pussyish or old ladylike about having soil smeared all over your arms, face, legs and hands, or stabbing into the ground repeatedly with an ice pick-like tool, trying to sever through the roots of a stubborn dandelion.

There's something decidedly serial killer-ish about ripping a flower out of the ground in one spot, only to transplant it elsewhere. Or driving around in a red truck with large, peculiarly shaped lumps of organic rubbish hidden beneath a black tarp.

Reminds me a bit of  murderers disfiguring/transporting bodies and then keeping them in their freezer or the shed out back as a little momento of their handiwork.

Also, when it's 96 degrees out, you're pushing a wheel barrow full of mulch uphill and your clothing is drenched in sweat and filth, it's not a far cry from (what I'd imagine) being in a mosh pit is like.

I'd do a windmill or two during this cathartic, soul-ripping task, but I don't want to hack myself in the back of the head with the three-pronged killing trowel or accidentally saw off my own leg with the electric hedge trimmer.

To wrap up my case, I'd like to present you with what I believe to be.....

The Top Seven Most Metal Plant Varieties:

1. Bloody Butcher (varieties of both tomato and corn).

2. Snapdragon

3. Love Lies Bleeding

4. Ghost Flower

5. Queen of the Night Tulips

6. Baby's Tears (a ferny/mossy ground cover).

(Jesus Christ, a gargoyle?! Could this be any more fitting?)

7. Bleeding Hearts.

Feel free to comment and add any additional bad ass flora that I've neglected to mention.

Time Travel as a Means of Financial Avoidance

Sometimes when I start feeling crappy about how little money I have, I like to do a little bit of time traveling.

Although it would be really cool if I could literally go back in time (to a period when I could undo the purchase of an ill-advised pair of shoes, or not have "repairs" done to my car which fixed nothing), I can't actually do that.

So, what I do instead is to think about my bank account balance in terms of history.  As in, equate the number of dollars I have with a certain time period and think about what life would be like during those years.

For Instance:

$1610 (After I get paid).

"Oh cool, we're just about in the Enlightenment right now....Chillin' with Sir Isaac, listening to some serious baroque shit. Life is definitely improving up in this piece."

~but then~

$1335 (After I pay for food, gas, phone, insurance and the Internet/electricity bills)

"OK, so we're in the Middle Ages...Not the best place to be, but I think we can sneak out of here without the Bubonic Plague doing us in. It's almost over."

~Aaaand finally~


$500 (after I pay for rent and a random horrible thing that always seems to crop up...)

"Well, there's no doubt about it, this time period sucks...The world is pretty barbaric, and if I wasn't raped and/or killed I probably would have died of old age about a year ago. But hey....pretty soon there will be lots of Vikings!"

*************************

Although this bizarre practice doesn't increase the amount of money I have at all, it does give me a way to exercise my knowledge of social studies. In turn, this allows me to secretly maintain a false sense of superiority over others who can actually afford to buy steak and subscribe to premium HBO channels.

Forbidden Love

I've been having some untoward feelings lately. Feelings of a lustful, forbidden nature.

Sometimes I lie awake at night thinking about our future together, even though we have only known each other a short while. There are times when I even lose sleep considering the possibility that you could be what I've been looking for my whole life. Perhaps you will make me come alive in a way that I simply never have, on my own.

I'm getting bolder by the day. Now I whisper your name to myself all the time - a little secret that only I know. I mutter it in line at the post office. While driving down the Thruway. In the bathroom:

"Smoked Gouda."

I've loved a lot of other cheeses, but there is just something about you that I'm drawn to - maybe the fact that you're smoked makes you seem rebellious, like kind of a bad ass.

I don't know. 

But I imagine some very unladylike scenarios, starring the two of us. You sandwiched between two pieces of buttery, golden bread, melted...Maybe with some apples, or even caramelized onions in there.

Or an omelet, with spinach, pepper and you, drenched in a deluge of Hollandaise sauce.

 Oh, the things I would do to you!

But I'm getting carried away, here; let me cut to the chase: Smoked Gouda, I really think that we could make this work...Just the two of us, you know? In a romantic capacity.

I promise I won't make fun of you when you start to sprout mold after a couple of weeks, and I won't lock you in the basement this time if I find cigarettes, or autographed Katy Perry pics in your backpack.

I guess what I'm trying to say here is that there's just no one else that tastes quite as good as you do.

So....Will you be mine?

xo,
Jess.

Six Commandments of Domestic Dirt Baggery

If you're anything like me, the prospect of moving into your own apartment without another person who can split the costs may have you crapping yourself with fear.

After all, this is an expensive proposition: there's heating oil or gas, electricity, food and of course, soap.

Well, I'm here to tell you that there's no need to spend money on most of this bullcrap. Sometimes, you've really got to pick and choose, and there are ways you can get your basic needs (and more) met without paying up the bum for all of these "necessary" implements.

Here are my Six Commandments for Maintaining the Illusion of Responsibility Without Actually Earning/Spending Much Money.

1) Ye Shall Not Shower at Your House.

I learned the hard way that you need heating oil or propane to make your water a hospitable temperature. This really isn't something you want to fuck with. Therefore, use other people's facilities to clean yourself!

How, you might wonder? Well, there's always the first (boring) option: you can just ask. However, I find that this option gets old after one, maybe two uses. So you need to start getting creative with it: Start having random "accidents" whenever you are at the homes of friends and family.

Example: When a friend passes the bubbler your way, accidentally slosh some bong water onto your shirt and/or pants. Be like, "Oh MAN! I got stank-ass bong water all over me, and I have to go play bingo with my grandma later. Can I hop in your shower for a quick sec?"

The thing about accidents is that they happen all the time. You can think of a number of inventive scenarios in which you just have to bathe at someone else's abode twice or even thrice weekly.

Your friends will probably be talking behind your back about how clumsy you've become, but all the while you will definitely be smiling to yourself while lathering up with their expensive brand name body washes, and shaving your nads with their Mach 5 razors.

2) Ye Shan't Work From/ Loaf at Home

Look, I'm not saying you have to get a job. And I like loafing around just as much as the next guy. But think about it: just about any activity (save for sleeping) requires that you use electricity, heat and/or other resources that you must pay for. You can't play Call of Duty all day at your house without using electricity. You can't sit around in your underwear and watch porn unless you have electricity, Internet access, and possibly even heat.

I'm not saying you SHOULDN'T do these things. In fact, it is your constitutional right to play Call of Duty, watch porn, and/or eat Easy Mac while shopping online for chicken-themed kitchen decor.

I'm just saying you shouldn't do this stuff at your house. You can do some or a combination of all of these things in other places.

You can probably play Call of Duty at Walmart for a good long while. You can most definitely watch porn on your computer at Starbucks. If you feel exposed doing this (or don't want to pay for a cup of coffee...I don't blame you) you can always sit in the McDonald's parking lot and watch in the privacy of your own car, or behind a discreet shrub.

If you have gainful employment that is located outside of your living space - and you'd actually like to keep that position - you've pretty much got all of these bases covered, because you can typically do many of these things and even get paid at the same time.

3) Go Forth and Be Slutty.

Alright, this may be going a little bit too far for some people, but hear me out: I'm not promoting that you change into (or continue being) a dime store hooker for the physical pleasure it brings.

The point of this isn't fun, it's a FREE PLACE TO CRASH.

Even the biggest pieces of shit usually feel obligated to let a chick or dude sleep in their bed for a while after they've bumped uglies. Don't count on kisses or cuddling, but you will get something far better: a warm bed - at least for the night.

This is a major score, because it means that you don't have to have your heat or a/c cranked up in your apartment if you're not sleeping there! That's a solid 4-12 hours (depending on how you play your cards) of utility savings.

Plus, the great thing about this is that you can do it again EVERY NIGHT. Even if the chick you slept with last night pulled a knife, or the guy you boinked kept trying to show you his hairball collection while you were nodding off in his lap, you can just find another bed to sleep with tonight.

4) Refrain From Buying That Which is Naturally Abundant.

Now, this is mainly addressing the need for nourishment. Of both the physical and mental varieties. You definitely know by now that you can peruse Dunkin Donuts dumpsters, trash cans outside pizza parlors, and straight up sidewalks for food. You also know that you can get books, movies and music at libraries, right? Well, more often than not, you can also get that last crucial element you need for maximum comfort right outside in the Great Outdoors.

Let's Try Out a Few Equations to Familiarize Ourselves With the Concept:

Trashcan pizza scraps + lofty library novel+ 1970s side of the road Lay-Z Boy = Many afternoons of cost-effective bliss.

Also:

Expired health food store fruit leather + your mom's Dell laptop + library Ren & Stimpy DVD + metal TV dinner tray found in woods =
A solid week of al fresco nirvana.

Just make sure you are near an unlocked vehicle so you can plug your computer into the adapter for uninterrupted "Powdered Toast Man".

5) In Times of Need, Use-ith Only Crock Pot & Coffee Maker.

I don't really think you should buy these things. Perhaps, instead, ask for them for Christmas, Hanukkah, or Festivus. However, you should really have them on hand - at your own apartment - in case of emergencies.

An emergency is when it's precipitating outside and no one will come pick you up. Or, when you know for a fact that your car won't start because it's just a matter of time until the dampness seeps into your spark plugs and renders your vehicle into an asphalt-beached whale.

An emergency also might entail someone coming to visit. You know, that relative or "friend" that decides to "pop in" unannounced to see your new place. Let me first acknowledge that this is bullshit. Next, let's prepare you to use your Crock pot and coffee maker to service all of this intruder's needs.

OK, so basically you can make anything in a crock pot: meat, vegetables, dessert, breakfast, etc. You will have to suck it up and use a bit of electricity for this, but you're still good to go in terms of heating oil/gas. You can eat a meal made in this puppy for days, too, because it makes huge batches of grub. It's a god send.

Now, you may be a little bit more puzzled when it comes to the coffee maker.

"I don't drink coffee," you might say. (And I might ask: what is wrong with you?!)
Or, "I really prefer my cup of Joe squeezed from a french press." Well, you're a fucking snob. But also, the french press doesn't do the same magical things as a coffee maker does. After all, you have to boil water to get the damn thing to function, otherwise it's worthless.

A coffee maker will make coffee, but it will also boil water for tea and other stuff. Which brings me to the final commandment...

6) Your Quesadilla Runneth Over: Eat Mexican All Day, Every Day.

Alright, so that other amazing thing that a coffee maker does besides create delicious java and boil water for a myriad of needs? It makes QUESA-FUCKING-DILLAS.

Let me just sing the praises of Mexican cuisine for a bit, here: It's amazing.

Usually, tacos/burritos/quesadillas/enchiladas whathaveyou are a nutritionally complete meal when you include veggies (if you actually care about that), they're delicious, and most importantly - they're cheap as shit to make.

So basically, I learned from experience that when your stove doesn't work, when you have no microwave and no toaster oven, the coffee maker serves as a cooking surface.

Simply remove the glass carafe from the device, and then turn the appliance on. Next, you're going to want to grab a soft taco shell and shred some cheese up on that mofo, ese.

Just leave the taco on the coffee burner for like five to ten minutes and I promise you: the cheese will melt.

BAM! Instant hot plate.

Finally, add whatever else you want to put in there: chicken (cooked in crock pot beforehand, or from KFC bucket, whatever), beans, veggies, sour patch kids, tincture of bat toenail, etc.

A couple of minutes on that bad boy and you've got yourself some serious gourmet shit.

And demanded Moses of his Disciples,  

What Say You?!

**************

Singer/Songwriters & Their Respective Neuroses

There are a lot of great songs that we hear every day on the radio, our iPods or even in the grocery store.

However, even though we hum along and fumble through the lyrics, we don't always, well...think about exactly what these musicians are trying to say.

In fact, I hardly ever fucking know what song lyrics are trying to express - although I do have my suspicious. And my suspicions confirm that most, if not all songwriters, are absolutely looney tunes. (Which of course, doesn't mean we love them any less).

Here are a few songs I personally love, along with a rather judgmental assessment of what the lyrics of each are attempting to express...As well as a (kind of) clinical sum-up of what they're ultimately telling me about the singer/songwriter's personality.

Name: Iggy Pop

Diagnosis: Deranged, Perverted Stalker.

Evidence:

lyrics to "Search and Destroy":

"Look out honey, 'cause I'm using technology..."

This motherfucker is so into you, he's discreetly using his iPad (and, of course, the Interwebz) to discover your address, home phone number, the names of all living relatives, and their respective ages.

Once Iggy has your address, he will Google map your house and drive, walk or bicycle past it daily.

 "Baby penetrate my mind...
And I'm the world's forgotten boy
The one who's searchin' - searchin' to destroy."

Chances are, this twisted character pleasures himself to your Facebook default pic and eventually breaks into your home to steal all of your dirty undies.

Name: Smokey Robinson.

Diagnosis: Anxious Attachment Style (AKA: Overly Needy Cry Baby)

Evidence:

lyrics to "I Second That Emotion":

"Oh, but if you feel like loving me / if you got the notion -
I second that emotion. 
Said, if you feel like giving me a lifetime of devotion,
I second that emotion..."

Whoaaa there, Smokes! There's a huge difference between "feeling like loving you" and "a lifetime of devotion". A BIG fucking difference, dude. I think you're taking things a bit too fast here. Let's slow it down a bit.


"Maybe you want to give me kisses sweet,
But only for one night with no repeat.
Maybe you'd go away and never call -
And a taste of honey's worse than none at all..." 

Seriously, Smokey?! Can't we just enjoy a movie for once in our fucking lives? Do we have to have this conversation about FEELINGS every single time we see each other?

Yeah, well, I guess if you think that "a taste of honey's worse than none at all," I'm going to think long and hard before giving you a taste of honey in the first place, if you get my drift...

Backup Evidence: lyrics to "Tears of a Clown" (self explanatory). You need to learn how to keep your shit together in public, man.

 Name: Gordon Lightfoot

Diagnosis: Avoidant Attachment Style/Pathological Narcissist 
(AKA: Category 5, Grade A Dickhead)


Evidence:

lyrics to "For Loving Me/Did She Mention My Name?":

"So don't you shed a tear for me,
'cause I ain't the love you thought I'd be...
I've got a hundred more like you
(So don't be blue)
I'll have a thousand 'fore I'm through."

OK, so let me get this straight. You're dumping me, and trying to comfort me...With the fact that there are shit tons of other chicks identical to me, and you're going to bang them all?

WOW, thanks! I feel like a million fucking bucks now - Good as new.

But wait--

"Now there you go you're cryin' again,
Now there you go you're cryin' again.
But then someday when your poor heart, is on the mend--
I just might pass this way again..."
That's what you get for lovin' me."

Holy shit. This is cold blooded.

He's disdainful of the fact that I'm (understandably) blubbering like a lovelorn war widow after the breakup. To make matters worse, the second scrap of "comfort" offered up is basically saying: once I start to feel strong again, when getting out of bed becomes less of a challenge each morning, he'll probably just come back around and fuck my shit up all over again.

OH, and it's not even over with him after that, either--

Most people only know this song as "For Lovin' Me". However, there's another version that gives us even more insight into the mind of this sadistic fuck. It's called "For Lovin' Me/Did She Mention My Name?"

After that whole dreadful first bit, the song segues into a pleasant folk lilt and he throws this little monkey wrench at us:

"Did she mention my name, just in passing
And when the talk ran high
Did the look in her eye seem far away?
Won't you say hello from someone, they'll be no need to explain -
And by the way, did she mention my name?"

Wow. Just, wow.

So now, this insufferable Cockasaurus Rex is hundreds of miles away, I'm finally getting back to a semblance of my former self, and I have this conversation with a neighbor:

"Oh, hiiii! Dude, you'll never guess who I bumped into the other day...Yeah, it was Gordon Lightfoot! He wanted me to tell you that he said 'hi'.

...

"Well actually, he said to tell you that he's screwed like 43 girls since you guys broke up, and all of them were much hotter than you...he like -- well, he just said, 'tell her someone she used to know says hi, and banged a chick that looked like you last week, only more attractive.'"

...

"Uhhhm....Well, I don't know why I didn't keep that to myself. I guess I just, like, thought I should let you know or something. Uh cool, yeah I'll see ya later, too. Yep, bye."

AWESOME.

More Bullshit Commercials

I laughed, covered my mouth in embarrassment (for the girl starring in this rubbish),  gasped in disbelief, and then laughed again.