Escrow makes me want to punch kittens.

My boyfriend's house has been on the market for about a year and a half. So it was pretty good news that we got a cash offer on the place less than three weeks ago.

Unfortunately one of the glorious stipulations of this deal was for there to be a twenty day escrow. Yes, twenty. To start with, we were still in New York when we began filling out paperwork, which means we already lost a day of that escrow period right up front.

Secondly, this is no apartment. It's a spacious, two bedroom free-standing house with a big ol' storage basement beneath that is filled with three rooms of stuff. And finally, when you are also searching for a place to live, it's kind of a part-time job. You spend days driving all over LA and looking at places you never, ever want to live. It's a tad stressful to make it all happen in the allotted time. To quote my father, "You guys are jumping through your own assholes." Indeed, wise man.

SO. That alone would lead to a pretty harrowing moving situation, but that hasn't been the entire case. Because within that teeny, tiny twenty day timeframe they have asked to extend their period for when they can back out. Which means for us, even if we find a place, we can't move forward with procuring it.

And now the escrow has turned a bit contentious. Good faith agreements were disregarded on their side, so we disregarded a good faith agreement on our side. To top it off, they now are insisting we get out on their original escrow close date of June 4th. Next Monday. Despite the fact we don't have a place, because they've been dilly-dallying till the eleventh hour about whether or not they are actually taking the house.

Lawyers may get involved. Tears (mine) may fall. It's awesome!

And playing hardball with rich fucks is no joke. It's, like, the least fun thing to do on a Tuesday night.

It also doesn't help that the buyers are a loaded, asshole couple from the east coast buying the house for their twenty-ish son, who looks like a dead ringer for this guy:

And it also doesn't help that during the inspection (where of course they cavalierly went over their appointed time with an entire team of people) the above dead ringer had his super cool friend sitting on our couch PLAYING AN UNPLUGGED ELECTRIC GUITAR. 

Here is some advice to all of you possibly poor people out there about to come rich (which according to Republicans is apparently all of us--"the haves and the soon-to-haves!"):  don't be dicks when you do become rich. Because nobody likes you. And our lives are kind of fucked up right now because your CLEARLY useless son refuses to stay at the Chateau Marmont for a normal escrow period, which is what any other rich, useless douchebag kid would do. Get it together.

But rest assured, we've been fostering three adorable kittens for the past two months, so I know where to go if I need a good punch. Just look at this guy. Totally asking for it.

The May Glooms

June Gloom has apparently decided to spread the wealth between April and May this year, and I can only imagine that actual June Gloom will be ready and willing when the time comes as well.
 
So now I am pretending that it is sunny and warm, and that I'm sipping mimosas, and wearing this cornucopia of delicious and delightful pastels and flowers. Instead of sweatpants and working on a novel with the lights on at 3 pm.
 
Hot damn, that skirt blows my mind.

The May Glooms by ginaclover featuring green tops

This is apparently a thing.

Someone posted the "This is 40" trailer on Facebook today. My friend Rebekkah is in the doctor's office scene, but that's about all the joy I have for this. 

Because, really?  That couple from "Knocked Up" just had to tell their own story? How bummed out does Paul Rudd look to be in this movie? Leslie Mann must give mighty good head, because it appears Judd Apatow's current career decisions are motivated entirely by the desire to provide his wife with a job. One would have thought that interminable, pointless third act of Funny People, an otherwise awesome movie, would have learned him. Oh, well. Leslie Mann's career soldiers on.

Friday Fantasy Outfit

Friday Fantasy Outfit by ginaclover featuring flat heels

Tom Petty was right about waiting.

Wake me up in April.

I've hit a wall.

I burst into 2012 like an Adderalled cheerleader. Rah-rah-ing my way through a 30 day Bikram Yoga challenge that I still can't believe I did. Enthusiastically fostering eleven (yes, eleven) cats for a week and a half, because I often think I need to be a better person. I lost ten very necessary pounds by improving my diet, and followed through with little things, like actually making that knitting group happen rather than just talking about it. (Although, thus far, no knitting has occurred between knitting group sessions. I'm not Jesus okay.)

But now it's March, and I'm unmotivated, over it, and watching things like Celebrity Apprentice in their entirety while playing solitaire on my phone, just to not think my boring thoughts in my tedious brain. I get that that might sound like just your average spring time resolution failure, but it's bigger than that. I've fallen into full-on existential despair. A major case of The Sads. So lame, so true.

It all stems from this, you see: My fall project/job was applying to graduate school, specifically to an MFA program in writing. I've always wanted a masters degree, and had looked casually at post-graduate websites for the past five years, never doing anything, because it seemed like a lot of work to apply. (I was right.) But hard work gets more appealing when you're a broke-ass thirty-something, because I decided in August that it was time to make it happen. And I made it happen. I studied for the GRE (96% percentile Verbal, yo). I rounded up recommendations. I wrote short stories. I was all kinds of proactive. I was filled with a spiritual purpose heretofore unbeknownst to a person like myself.

But now it's March. And now I'm just waaaaaaaiiiiiiiiting to hear. And no amount of Bikram Yoga or cat cuddling can take my mind off of acceptance emails. (Btw, did you know they don't send you big paper envelopes anymore?) It's like waiting for a text from an elusive dude you are trying not to care about, even though you are still checking your phone every ten minutes to see if he texted you.

Only self-loathing is going to come out of that scenario. Also, the moral of that story is dudes should be making proper phone calls anyway.

So two weeks ago, back when I was still Adderall Cheerleader, I told my boyfriend that I didn't want to hear from schools yet (so cavalier! so jovial!), because not hearing meant I still had a chance. If I hadn't heard no, then there was still a possibility for yes. I wasn't ready for a closed door.

I WAS WRONG.

Because like the moment your hair goes from being fine to "holy shit if I don't get this cut immediately I'll rip it out myself", the waiting has gone on one day too long, and until I find out if I'm going to school and where, I will be in a constant state of despair and distress.

This is a bad position to take for several reasons:

1) Obsessing isn't going to change the outcome, obviously.

2) Getting this emotionally worked up before an actual rejection is just undermining the moment of actual rejection. Like an actor who starts his scene too big, I need somewhere to go from here emotionally. I can't let my despair peak too soon.

3) Most importantly, not getting in will not be the end of the world. Even though sometimes I think it might be. (I had a particularly self-indulgent fantasy in which I moved back in with my parents and cried for the next ten years.)

Yes, I want it pretty badly. I truly haven't wanted anything this badly in a long, long time. But I am not a fan of letting one singular thing define my happiness. Person, thing, school. It gives me the visceral feeling of gross. There are a lot of good things about my life without grad school, and I can't let going or not going affect me to that degree. Then I would really be a sad person.

That said, I'll still be here refreshing my email, mentally paralyzed and watching Dance Moms until I find out one way or another. To be fair though, Dance Moms is genuinely riveting, and realizing I'm not the terror that is Abbie Lee Miller is an instant pick-me-up.

Feeling better by the google image search.

Polyvore v. Productivity

Polyvore v. Productivity by ginaclover featuring patent shoes

I wish I were wearing this outfit. And drinking out of that tea mug. Then I might be more inspired to read, write, and generally be more productive.

Until then, I'm dressed like it's laundry day, and acting like it.

H+

My boyfriend is in this, so I'm not impartial. But I think this is gonna be fantastic.

More H+ Videos

Portland, I am coming for you.

Okay, it's late notice, but still. Come out and see me! And, I don't know, if for some reason it's somehow too last minute for you to make it out to Portland, the performance will be online soon after.

I'm telling the "she said" side of a story, and my boyfriend, Sean Gunn, will be telling the "he said." We don't know what the other one is saying, so (hopefully) tender hilarity will ensue. Let's see.

July, you're a woman.

Six months and no posting! A personal best! Or worst!

So here's what you missed:

Since I last attempted a post, I became a redhead, oversaw a massive four month overhaul on the boyfriend's house, started playing poker, became an avid sewer, wrote my first TV spec script, got asked to be a maid of honor, and became a mother to this monster:



As of press time, I've successfully cohabitated for six months. I'm especially proud of this, because the boyfriend and I have very differing views on what constitutes a livable level of cleanliness. Also, apparently, I am moody.

Okay, so you're all caught up.

Other than the surgery incident at the beginning of the year, this is turning out to be a bomb ass year. I've started new things, picked up old things, and felt more inspired than I have since I was a teenager. In honor of it all, I'm starting a tumblr. Well, I'm also starting it because people kinda pressure you into these things. (See also: drugs, twitter) Anyway, it's heyclover.tumblr.com. Let's start all over again.

i spoke too soon.

Apparently i'm not out of the woods with this sick boob thing.

I had surgery again on Friday and it was a much more brutal experience than the one in October. I'll resume posting next week. And maybe I'll even share the gory details if you all promise not to be squeamish about it.

Let me know if you want any Vicodin. I'm carrying enough painkillers to warrant a spot on the next Celebrity Rehab.