Candy Crushed

After spending most of February and some of March being a productive member of society, I decided to take a break and spend some time just consuming oxygen and catching up on TV.  Sure I could have ridden that wave of productivity to get a job, volunteer, clean...but I decided to get off, park my surf board and have an ice cream.
So what Have I been doing? Obviously not blogging, painting or looking for gainful emplyment.  Nope, I made a grave mistake: I took advice from Facebook and downloaded a mindless, highly addictive and slightly aggravating game.  I should have started recreational drinking, at least they have rehab for that.  What's this mindless game that seems to have consumed everyone on Facebook?  It's called "Candy Crush"
  Chances are you have seen this game pop up on your local newsfeed.  Normally I block all Facebook based game, because quite frankly I've never dreamed of being a farmer and quite enjoy watching my real-life plants die from neglect on my patio.  The premise is quite simple: try to get three of the same candies in a row to remove them from blocking your objective: whether it be bringing down ingredients or removing jelly.  I should explain further since chances are that you've never played the game because if you have, chances are is that you wouldn't be reading this blog, or showering, or doing anything besides looking at your device of choice screaming "somone send me a life for crying out loud!!!". AKA My Friday night.

I know.  Apparently people can give me as many Candy Crush lives as I need but no one can give me an actual life.

I'm currently waiting for my next batch of lives (you only get 5 at a time then have to wait in 30 minute increments), and that is why I am actually writing, and job searching.  When I close my eyes I see little pieces of candy floating down in unity, creating stripped candy, color bombs clearing jelly and busting through chocolate...ahem... sorry.
   The other draw back? Makes me crave candy.  Ask me about eating a kilo of jelly beans.  I was practicing real life candy crush, and let me tell you...I cleared that level.  After a long day of playing I told my husband I was making cake for breakfast.  He laughed, until he asked what was for dinner and I placed a cake on the table.  Obviously he thought I was joking....
  I introduced the game recently with my husband.  He is now glued to his Iphone.  In fact, fights have occurred over choice I Phone plug locations-the winner gets the couch, the loser? the barstool facing the fridge.  It reminds me of that Star Trek TNG episode where Riker brings that game aboard ship. Dave and I sit on the couch asking each other what level we're on. Friendships have been placed in jepardy over promptness to send tickets to unlock new levels. 
   Anyways, once we have surrendered to our new overloads: aka the Candy Crush designers who decide to withhold all future levels until you shave your head and join the Candy Crush compound-I figure life will be just a bit simpler... after all, anyone who bases a game on candy can't be all that bad?

Real Estate Reality

  
D and I decided to sell our apartment.
           As I was madly scrubbing the place clean, I came to the realization that trying to sell an apartment is a lot like dating. You spend the whole time trying to convince someone that you are a perfect fit for their lifestyle.  Yes, just as I spent hours curling my hair, putting on makeup, cramming my muffin top into my bra and posing in front of the mirror; I was shoving junk into closets, scrubbing finger prints off the mirrors and slaying dust bunnies.  Just as I appeared to be witty, charming and never sarcastic, I had to make my house look like it was flawless, that despite having 2 toddlers, my house was spacious and not some cramped camper heading towards insanityville .  I can do this.  I did this before.  When we met, D didn't know that eating pop tarts while watching star trek was considered a hobby in my books until it was too late, not to mention too expensive to run for the hills.  Oh please let my potential buyer specialize in bad decisions.
      Don't get me wrong, it's not like there is anything bad about our apartment.  However, there is nothing special about it that would set it apart, or make the toddler-caused damage seem enduring.  It lacks, character.  I'd consider it 2D because it's lacking depth.  We also haven't done anything to it: white walls, white...er...whitish...er grey carpets and not really decorated.  What can I say?  We don't own nice stuff, we have toddlers.  So my solution?  Make it as clean as possible.
         So here I am, scrubbing the walls in a desperate attempt to impress some stranger and not land myself on a demo tape for Hoarders.  I've been cleaning for three hours.  Sure, my place doesn't look spotless, but at least you won't be wondering if you'll be left with a rash when you leave.  Come to think about it, it looks almost the same as I began.  I just hope no one tries to open a cupboard, I may be hit with a potential lawsuit when a potential buyer gets buried in 2 weeks worth of laundry.  I've renamed the task "Operation Beer Goggles".  Oh please let my potential buyer specialize in bad decisions.  Now the waiting game....

Welcome to Real Estate hell...

 Enter the apartment showings....

    

     We had a showing today, which was the main reason for my renewed interest in housework.  Matter of fact, I consider this the Housewife Olympics. I had a days notice to pull this together.  At the time I was told of the showing, my daughter discovered that if you empty all the contents of the dresser drawers onto the floor, you have a nice soft landing when you try to jump off the bed.  Now it's a personal challenge: can I scrub the place clean before the next person comes to see the place?  I may be a pro cleaner but my toddlers are well schooled in the arts of mess and destruction.  Oh please let my potential buyer specialize in bad decisions.
Apartment living brings its own obstacles.  For example, it's just not you, oh no.  You have to hope and hope AND hope that your neighbors will be on the best behavior for that moment.  Yes. that lady that likes to talk about how impressive it is that Strata has managed to fit its head up its arse, given the massive stick already up there...she's probably in the elevator.  That person who lets his dog crap in the hallway, yup probably in the elevator.  In fact they are the Welcoming committee, ready to greet the buyer.  I also have a sneaking suspicion that our neighbors downstairs who are also trying to sell are choosing this exact moment to seek revenge for our kids screaming through their showings by deciding to take up  the bagpipes. Oh please let my potential buyer specialize in bad decisions.
     Anyways, as mentioned I cleaned for 3 hours straight, in hopes that maybe, just maybe, they would be blinded by the shiny chrome and not notice that the white carpet is lepoard print...or that my son just dragged his arse across it sans diaper moments before.  The realtor estate agent and buyer took 3 minutes to check out the place.  Which is a long time considering you can stand at the entrance and turn 360 degrees in place to get the full tour.  They mumbled something in another language that must of meant "I'm not that desperate yet" before leaving.  They didn't even check behind the oven.  I scrubbed that clean!  Scrubbed that clean!!
      Maybe next time.  Maybe next time Mr. Right will come along.  Oh please let my potential buyer specialize in bad decisions.