I hate moving. I hate packing, I hate lifting shit and the mere thought of hanging a picture or getting into a UHaul truck is enough to make me vomit. That’s why I make my Mexican friend do it for me – they like that stuff.

As is the case with most of us, I’ve moved around quite a bit in my early adult life and met some pretty interesting characters along the way. In true Glitter Ginger fashion, most introductions and run-ins were awkward and occasionally involved the cops.

I moved into my fabulous studio apartment this past December, which is in a complex containing roughly 100 units per building. All of the doors look exactly the same but have your unit number on the outside.

So naturally, while returning from my run a little before 6am one cold, January morning, I accidentally broke into my neighbor’s apartment…while wearing a reflective vest and head lamp.

How does something like this happen, you ask? Well..I was 1-still new to the building 2- it was 5:45 in the morning so I wasn’t fully awake yet 3- I was freezing and cranky since it was freakin’ January and I had just made a sad, sad attempt at a 5 mile run and 4- I’m dumb.

I walked down the hall and put my key into what I thought was my apartment door, and it wouldn’t unlock. I began kicking the door and swearing in a full-on Ginger fury panic for at least 30 seconds until, much to my surprise, someone opened the door from the other side, while screaming “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

I jumped, screamed and looked up at the very angry, tired and irritated 45 year old man who lives in unit 34. I live in unit 36. I completely forgot I had my head lamp on (safety first when running in the dark; the last thing I need is to be hit by a fucking truck) so when I looked up I shined it in his eyes.

Mind you, this was still well before 6am. He threw his hands in front of his eyes to shield them from my forehead beacon while sternly saying “what the hell do you want!?”

“Oh my god, I’m SO SORRY. I live next door and thought this was my apartment! I’m so sorry”

“It’s fine – just go away. And shot off your head lamp”

Door slam.

I have probably made this same mistake at least once a week for the last two months. This man literally hates me and if I ever go missing I can pretty much guarantee it’s because my neighbor strangled me out of frustration due to my constant attempts at breaking into his apartment.

To the man living in apartment 34:

Sir, I am incredibly sorry. I’d like to be able to tell you that these mix ups will stop happening but I just can’t promise that. Mostly because I never pay attention to what I’m doing, but what I can do is perhaps put some sort of decoration on my door so I know where I live. Like a crown or I dunno, a Leonardo Dicaprio poster.

Sincerely, Glitter Ginger.

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

Roommates

My childhood best friend and I went to college together by accident. She was being recruited for soccer and I was honestly just putting stamps on envelopes that my mother had pre-filled with applications. I pretty much decided to go to the first school that accepted me. Turns out my bestie had a similar attitude and off we went to Southern New Hampshire University.

The girl in which my bestie had been matched to cohabitate with, full on decorated the room in Care Bear and Lord of the Rings memorabilia. She also sold kitchen knives. Like, for a living. That would be cool if you were, I dunno, a fucking ninja, but not if you’re knocking on doors pushing shit to house wives.

Luckily, my roommate wasn’t into kitchen weaponry and we got along great. That was until she came home black out one night, fell and hit her head. I got super scared because honestly, we all know that if someone’s college roommate is going to die straight up Lifetime Original Movie style, it’d be mine. So I borrowed someone’s car and brought her to the ER.

Turned out homegirl had a real bad concussion and since she was underage, (and clearly white girl wasted as she was drooling on herself and hitting on the homeless black man next to us who I’m fairly confident had worms living in his foot), the hospital called her parents. Long story short the roommate ended up weird hating me after the hospital incident because I “ruined her life” or some shit – all I know is bitch got mad, I didn’t care and BOOM Glitter Ginger has a single in the nicer dorm across campus.

Surprise Bathroom Guests

I made the idiotic mistake of beginning my college career while in a “really serious” relationship. This meant that I almost never left my room my freshmen or sophomore year unless it was to roll my way to the cafeteria or attend class. And even then I only made it 40% of the time.

Said boyfriend and I broke up midway through my junior year and I was ready to partayyyyy.

I was also the first of my roommates to turn 21 which means I made friends with rando’s and invited myself to the bar. This almost always ended in me getting a ride home from the guy who sold sausages on the street corner or the Papa John’s delivery man. Whatever, it’s basically the same thing as Uber, just with snacks soo fuck off.

So much weird shit happened my junior year, I honestly don’t even know where to begin or what stories to share. One time I made my new roommate, who was a super straight-edge and probably hadn’t even had a sip of alcohol before, take massive bong rips. About 10 minutes later she demanded to be brought to the hospital and took her pants off while shoving white bread in her mouth. I couldn’t be bothered and told her to quit ruining my high. We don’t really talk anymore..

One time, I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and found a strange man unconscious on our toilet with all of our butter knives and a jar of peanut butter.

I’m literally not even kidding. I quietly shut the door and went to wake my roommates up to see if perhaps he was a guest or they knew who the rando was on the shitter eating all the peanut butter. They didn’t, so I bravely volunteered to be the one to wake him up and tell him to get the fuck out. He did, and for some strange reason that we never figured out took all of our tampons with him. Like, I lived with four other chicks, that’s A LOT of fucking twat cotton.

Fucking New Hampshire…

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People suck. I realized this when I got my first job at age 14. Like most Cape Cod natives, my ass was dropped off at Town Hall the day I turned old enough to legally get a working permit and off I went to collect tickets and answer phones at the Island Queen. I actually scooped ice cream in Woods Hole for a bit, too..shit I worked harder at 14 then I have in the last 10 years.

Working on the dock at the Island Queen, and eventually behind the bar on the boat, I realized how truly miserable and mean people can be. I freakin’ loved that job (outside of the time I fainted while loading hundreds of passengers onto the boat because I was hot. And the time I accidentally got my hand caught in the engine room door and broke it in three places. Or when I somehow managed to pour boiling hot water down my pants while attempting to clean the hot dog machine..but anyways) – not only did I work with some of the best people, but I was on the water all day in the middle of summer on Cape Cod. You would think the people I was serving should have had similar attitudes, since I don’t know..THEY WERE ON VACATION?!

But no. I’d be behind the bar and someone would come up to order, I’d greet them like a normal human would greet another by I don’t know, saying “hello” and asking what I could get them, and they’d just bark “BUD LIGHT”. Or “HOT DOG”.

We did have some regulars that spent weekends on the Vineyard, and they were fucking awesome. I worked behind the bar with my older sister and one of my really good friends, Diddy. We instantly befriended the regulars and still keep in touch with most of them. Outside of the few chosen ones, my sister, Diddy and I were literally appalled by the way people treated us.

My girlfriends realized the same thing at their jobs, too. And I’m not just referring to tourists or summer jobs. I’m talking in general here. I mean even to this day, now that I’m an adult and pretty deep into corporate America, people fucking suck. I could be sitting at my desk, minding my own business and Bossy McDickTits comes up to try and bitch at me for something that 1 – wasn’t my responsibility and 2 – I literally couldn’t care less about.

Bitch, don’t kill my vibe.

In addition to sucking, people are also fucking stupid. At my previous company we used to give out blinky key chains as gifts. You would not believe the amount of people that would pick them up, look at them like they were fucking Martian’s and ask how they worked.

“You press this little button here to the left, that says ‘PUSH’. Then, hop on one foot for 30 seconds and go fuck yourself because you’re literally too stupid to insult”

At this point, I’ve just learned to not let it get to me anymore. I used to get so worked up and upset when someone was rude or spoke to me like I was dumb. Even now, people ask how I don’t get upset or bothered. Why should I let someone whose clearly miserable and hates life alter my normally enthusiastic and charming attitude?

“I can’t believe they just spoke to us like that!”

Since acknowledging and accepting that people are the absolute worst, I’ve adopted the attitude of never wanting to be around them. I would literally prefer to stay home and sit by myself then go to a party or bar. My girlfriends used to try and get me to do shit but they eventually gave up because anytime they actually did get me to go I always ended up in the corner sleeping or playing with an animal.

People are the worst. We need a new plague.

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

Getting dumped is the fucking worst. I don’t care what you look like, how much money you make or how “pimp” you think you may be – at one point in time in your life, you have been dumped.

The pain of a broken heart is equivalent to that of being punched in the throat by a pack of knife wielding ninja’s who want to cut off your air supply and watch you gasp on the ground like a fat kid attempting to exercise. Trust me, I’ve been there.

Initially, when you get dumped, you’re extremely sad and depressed. There’s nothing worse than the realization that you are in fact not wanted, (other than tights, I fucking hate tights) and when someone first ends a relationship with you, you’re devastated.

This produces a lot of tears, endless phone calls and late night chats to your girlfriends and maybe even a lot of alone time wallowing in what you’re sure to be are the last moments of your pathetic existence.

Sure, maybe you’re sitting in your South Shore studio apartment having consumed nothing but wine and coffee for an entire week and yes, you’re fairly confident you will in fact die alone in yoga pants (I know I can’t be the only one..) but this is also the time in which you can, and should, use this new found depression to your advantage.

Typically, this sudden fit of depression leads to lack of appetite. Which leads to weight loss. Which leads to being skinny. Which leads to ‘fuck you I’m hot now and sucks to suck because you dated me when I was chubby’ should you run into said ex sometime in the near future or someone muploads a picture which you know he’ll see.

This obviously won’t work if you’re one of those people that eats her feelings, which is a completely separate issue and you should probs talk to someone about that..otherwise, break ups are literally better than Weight Watchers.

Sometimes, if I’m feeling particularly large I’ll get myself into a dead-end relationship just to be let down so I can lose a few pounds. Okay, that may be a bit of an exaggeration but I’m not going to pretend like I haven’t done it. Sometimes I need the motivation and exercise is for poor people who don’t have plans after work.

Sooo take your heart break for what it’s worth: be ano for a short period of time and BOOM you’re one good stomach flu/ heart break away from your goal weight.

I should seriously go into motivational speaking. Or perhaps some sort of treatment facility.

#LIVE

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

I’m not very good at most things. In fact, I’m not really good at anything. Not unless you consider Lifetime movie knowledge, shopping or matching your headband to your shoes a talent. But anyways, for some strange reason I’m surprisingly successful when it comes to my professional life/ career.

Not that anyone actually knows what I do for a living. I once overheard my Mother telling her friends that I worked for QVC. As in the home shopping network. At that time, I was marketing contact validation software to the state, federal and local government, but sure, Ma.. tell your friends I sell Shamwow’s.

I worked really hard to get where I am right now. I graduated summa cum laude with a bachelor’s in marketing then continued on to get my global masters in business administration with a minor in statistics, in just under 7 months.

I think it’s really funny that I’m successful. I’m not only responsible for a lot of really important decisions at my company but I’m responsible for growing peoples careers and helping them get where they’re trying to professionally. Mostly I’m just sitting there like:

Then someone comes to me for career advice and to ask how I got where I am and why I work so hard..and I’m all like you guys, I’ve really grown up.

I think everyone should have a career that they’re proud of and that makes them happy. What that career is doesn’t matter. If I could, I would absolutely make a career out of drinking wine and telling jokes. Wait, that’s pretty much what Chelsea Handler did. But with vodka. Why can’t I be like Chelsea Handlerrrrr

Everyone thinks I’m super smart because I have all of these fancy degrees.

Actually, I’m a fucking idiot because I could feed all of the poor starving African kids from those commercials with what I pay a month in school loans. I could literally own a small compound in South Africa where I could go great white cage diving daily. Writing that check every month is like an ax to the face that is my bank account.

My girlfriends think my life is sooo fabulous because I get to live in a quiet, nice apartment by myself, travel to all these great places and answer to no one. Actually…they’re right. That part is legit.

My parents have no ties to the business world, therefore have no comprehension as to what it is I do for a living or what I went to school for. They know I’m book smart but have zero faith in my surviving on my own as a human being. My mom called me last week to see if I had remembered to put gas in my car, if I knew the pin number to my debit card and to let me know there was a sale at Stop & Shop on Lean Cuisines.

Obviously I stocked up on Lean Cuisines.

Then remembered that I don’t have a microwave.

My sisters think I’m rich because I have no one to take care of but myself and am part of “Corporate America”.

In actuality..after school loans, rent and my car payment I pretty much only have enough money left over for the good cable package and wine. And pickles/olives on a GOOD week. I’m totally fine with it though, because everyone keeps telling me that one day all of my hard work and degrees will pay off.

Fuck yeah they will.

 

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony