Close your eyes, click your heels together 3 times, bend over and repeat after me... "Who's your mama?"

    So we're going to do it... break away from the confinements of sharing an apartment with another person. 3 is a crowd, especially if we are talking about the 4 legged hairy kind. We have outgrown our apartment, 3 adults, a hairy dog and an infant... it's a little tight, to say the least.

    We've looked around and can't seem to find anything that either of us can deal with. We've become snobs. I literally stopped at the front door before leaving for a showing wondering if I should I take Purell. You would never know either of us came from humble beginnings... and that's the eloquent version. I won't share a front door with 30 other people and god forbid I have to walk up another flight of stairs to get to my front door. I have become a spoiled brat. I'll admit it. That's the first step to recovery, right? Right...

    With neither of us trusting the other's judgment, we caved and sought a mediator. Apartment Solutions. Besides, when people asked where I found such a fabulous apartment, telling them my leasing consultant had it hidden away just for me sounded far more glamorous than the truth. I like to go big... or seem big.

    We walked into the cliche strip mall office and lucky for us, it was empty. She was waiting there... just for us. She was a sweet looking, grandma type lady with a heavy Russian accent. Late 50's and from the looks of it, in love with her hairspray. Her seemingly colorless outfit blended rather nicely with the 'sand dollar' beige walls. As we took our seats at her desk, we noticed the ministry web page she was looking at. As she fiddled with her cross necklace, she reminded me of my "special friend" that I'd had in elementary school... a woman I met with occasionally after school whose family had all moved away. She was sweet and made me feel normal. I would pretend she was my grandmother and all the other problems in my life were nothing more than the soft hum of distant white noise. We were discussing our needs, likes, dislikes, previous experiences and the such with her, when the phone broke our conversation. That's when I realized I can't read people as well as I thought. This woman began transforming right in front of our eyes. She hung up and began talking about how ignorant he was and proceeding to tell us how ignorant her clients and her boss was. He was 34 and always out running around with his attractive girlfriend, playing on his daddy's boat instead of working. All his play left her there at the office and she hadn't had a Saturday off in months. Thankfully, they weren't open Sunday's, because she would most likely have to work. But she too, gets to rest that day... and I was pretty sure by then, she wasn't using her Sunday's for church study anymore.

    One of her ignorant clients walked in and started asking her a bunch of questions about some paperwork she'd given him. I spaced out while she was talking to him, but was quickly brought back by Josh nudging me. I looked over at this frail woman helping us, standing at the door now with her client. I will never. never. forget that image. She was wearing dark green olive riding pants, with shiny, black patent leather knee-high boots. Over her pants. No wonder every thing else was so bland and monochromatic! It couldn't compete with her. She was the flashiest thing in there. My safe place with my "special friend" quickly vanished and all I could picture was a secret lair in the back. With whips and chains. And a cage. I could see her with a cage. Suddenly her Russian accent scared me a little. What was she about to do? Invade Poland? Chain us up in the basement and shove a ball gag in my mouth? Or help me find a damn apartment, so I could get the hell out of there? I wasn't necessarily in a rush to leave... I am the curious type. But, I had all my shit on my lap... just in case.

    Unfortunately, she was no help with the listings, but that was one of the weirdest things I have ever encountered and worth it for the entertainment. A part of me is scarred, though. The funniest part about the experience though, was on the way back to our apartment, J started laughing and told me I had to blog about that. He hates the idea of people blogging.... it makes people too vulnerable for him. He's not an open person. He's never even read my blog, so his comment struck me as funny.

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