You might have noticed that I wasn’t around here yesterday. Or maybe not. Anyway, I’ve gotten a little distracted, as I was informed yesterday a little before lunch time that my building has eleventy-six violations that the owner has been derelict in attending to, and so, to show him, the City has decided to issue a Vacate Order.
Which means I can no longer live in my apartment. Which means that the Dude and I are couch-surfing (coming soon to Becky Sharper’s floor: the semi-homeless!). We stayed with another friend last night, and are trying to consider this a tour of the outer boroughs. Our stuff can stay in the apartment, but the latest word (meaning I just found out about this at 11:32) is that we are locked OUT as of noon today. Until further notice.
ETA @ 2:31: Further notice! We can hang out today until… something o’clock. And it seems that we can still occasionally access the building during the day (to feed cats, etc.), as long as the super is here. This is good, because I’m leery of taking Bubby the Barfing Wonder anywhere.
Aaaaaaanyway, while right now this is profoundly sucktastic, if we’re able to find a new place without too much crap, at some point in the future it will make for a good story. I ain’t laughin’ yet, but I could use a little levity.
So, today’s FFT is your chance to share your own clusterfuck-tastrophe that is now far enough in the past that you can spin a good story out of it and smile. The more absurd, the better. If you can include standing on a street corner and getting your beautiful new outfit splashed with gutter gravy: excellent.
I have to go pack. Lay ’em on me.