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That time a real estate broker stood me up and then hit on me

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I showed up at the apartment at the requisite time, having confirmed yesterday. The broker was nowhere to be found. I shot off a text to him.

Three minutes later, he called. “What apartment are you trying to view?”

I gave him the address. “Oh,” he said. He paused. “Just buzz any number and someone will let you in.”

“Um, what? This is really weird.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Are you buzzing? Someone should let you in.”

It was noon on a Tuesday. No one was home. Also, as non-threatening as I look, really?

“Hang on,” he said. “I’ll be there in seven minutes.”

Eventually, he showed up. “Sorry, I wrote you down for tomorrow,” he said.

I’ve perfected the art of not saying it’s okay when it’s not, so I said nothing.

“Are you Jewish?” he asked. “You look Jewish.”

The apartment was actually nice. But I had a bad taste in my mouth.

“Where do you go to synagogue?” the broker asked me as we were leaving.

Brett Kavanaugh

Grassley = Voldemort

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And other stream-of-consciousness reactions to Brett Kavanaugh’s confirmation hearings. (A brief sampling, because I’ve only made it through four hours so far.)

• Grassley: American hero for scheduling a hearing.

• Grassley = Voldemort

• Grassley: “Dick Durbin is my friend so that negates all the horrible things I’m about to say blaming a victim of sexual assault.”

• Whitehouse for president, just because I was born in Rhode Island.

• Olivia Benson would not stand for Rachel Mitchell’s whole deal AT ALL.

• Good job trying to stump a psychologist with a question about her factors for anxiety.

• Who cares if she has other factors that contribute to her anxiety? How does that prove or disprove the veracity of her sexual assault?

• Cory Booker is so cute.

• Booker has a new campaign slogan: Christine Blasey Ford’s courage.

• I am shocked—shocked—that no one has read this carefully worded, so eloquent statement yet.

• Will my face get that bloated if I keep drinking into my 50s?

• Your words have meaning, too, and personally, I would try to ensure that at least 1/10 of them are the truth.

• Oh nice! Rhode Island gets a shoutout.

• Is that Alyssa Milano? I loved Charmed back in the day.

• Who is that pissed-off looking woman sitting behind Kavanaugh? (It’s his wife, apparently.) Doesn’t look like she believes a word of this bullshit.

• Of COURSE you’re an only child.

• You’re tearing up about the lies you tell your ten year old. So excited that you’re a father.

• I wouldn’t brag too hard about your service to Bush. You know what people think of him, right? I know he’s off painting in a meadow, but people are still dying in the wars he started.

• Brett crying about his dad keeping diaries made me think his dad was dead, which still isn’t an excuse for him raping someone. Turns out he’s not. I’m so confused. Why is he crying about his dad’s diaries?

• Brett took the SATs, therefore he’s not a rapist.

• “Going to church was like brushing my teeth.”

• Guess lawn-cutting wasn’t like brushing your teeth?

• “I had lots of female friends, and they all have white-girl names.”

• “I am lying so hard about this yearbook reference and not in a very sensical way.”

• Centralmaine.com: journalistic integrity since white people were alive.

• Look at all the privileged-person experiences I have had. I went to Madison Square Garden.”

• His wife looks like a super pissed Maura Tierney.

• “So sad, I will never be a little league parent ever again. This ruins my WASP dreams.”

• “Just so ya know, Senator Feinstein, I know you’re a woman so I’ll yell at you.”

• “Sorry to interrupt, but you’re a Democrat so I don’t care at all.”

• I kept diaries in high school too. Are they evidence that I did or didn’t rape someone?

• Crazy coincidence: We took BAC charts to parties at my school, too.

• Did he keep the BAC chart in his diary?

• Leahy = MVP

• Lindsey Graham: “I would never do to Kagan and Sotomayor what you’re doing because we had a minority then. See asterisk: Merrick Garland.”

• Kavanaugh is defending himself worse than I did when I hid Flinstone vitamins under my dresser when I was six.

2017: new year, new president

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I have some bad news for you. There will be some celebrity deaths this year.

2016 was a bad year. The United States elected an orange reality star who is packing his cabinet with a new flavor of bigot each week as its president. (I know. I’m still in denial, too.) I’m sure you’ve been through some things this year, too. I know Hillary Clinton (#stillwithher), that treasure of a fine woman (in the words of my drunk brother on election night, “my queen”), has probably had it the roughest. (Putin, on the other hand, seems to have had a grand year.) Personally, I’ve been through some things, too. My grandfather, who was not a celebrity, died, and my best work friend, who is also not a celebrity, moved across the country. I’m ready for a new year.

So let’s ignore the fact that we’re kicking off 2017 by actually making this monster our president (also, fun fact: January 20th is my terrible ex boyfriend’s birthday) and instead think about the good things that will happen this year. Like The Bachelor! It premieres tomorrow, and the contestant list is packed with dolphin-lovers and Little Mermaid fans. The latter makes sense (Ariel is the best Disney princess. Don’t even talk to me if you disagree.), while the former is a bit perplexing–did I miss the dolphin memo? This is like bubble dresses all over again.

Also, I’ve set up some brand-new resolutions.

  1. Send daily thoughts of love and support to Ruth Bader Ginsberg.
  2. Be more tolerant of people who don’t watch The Bachelor and maybe don’t want to to hear my play-by-play recaps; they know not what their lives are lacking.
  3. Commit to regular meals, instead grazing out of containers throughout the day (last year’s resolution broke down a bit)
  4. Limit my crying about how this is the last full year of my 20s (yeah, I discovered that harsh reality) to one 20-minute session once a month

Happy 2017! It will only be the age of Trump if we let it.

My hopes for the Gilmore Girls revival

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Ever since it was announced that Gilmore Girls might return for a short run on Netflix, I have been mostly anxious that I am being lied to. I want this to happen more than I want a puppy or Donald Trump to not be our next president. Okay just kidding about both those things, but I want it badly.

Demi Adejuyigbe of Gilmore Guys, a podcast you should definitely be listening to if you’re not, wrote this amazing list of suggestions for the revival on the Hairpin. I’d like to add a few of my own:

*It is revealed that season 7 was just one long, horrible dream.

*Mrs. Kim has been hiding Lane’s father in their attic Mrs. Rochester-style this whole time. Or maybe under Lane’s floorboards. He has been entertaining himself with Lane’s contraband music.

*Lorelei singlehandedly brings back the 90s.

*Rory and Lorelei each break up a few more of their ex-boyfriends’ marriages.

*Emily takes down the New York Times using only her words because they rejected Rory that one time.

*Luke introduces a delicious portobello burger at his diner.

*Paris becomes Hillary Clinton.

*April disappears because she was a useless plot device and annoying and no one ever liked her anyway.

A trip to the Apple store to buy some 90-year-olds iPhones and the actual panic attack I had as a result: Part II

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I know everyone here is an avid follower of my blog, so of course you remember the time I accompanied my grandfather and his girlfriend to the Apple Store to buy some iPhones. Did you anticipate a part II? Because of course there is a part II.

So welcome to part II of the iPhone debacle, in which my grandfather loses the device that he doesn’t actually use, but to which he has become very attached over the preceding months. (He likes the flashlight feature. It helps him read menus in restaurants. So basically, this is a $700 flashlight.)

So one day I was at work, and received the most chilling GChat from my mom: “You got insurance for Papa’s phone, right?”

I had, of course. But here’s the problem: insurance doesn’t cover loss.

Anyway, this was like a week-long debacle, but at least this time I didn’t have a starring technical role in the production.

He later found it in his pants pocket. He had changed his pants.