Cinderella in Tucson

I arrived back in Tucson last night. I sat from DC to Dallas sandwiched between two very large men who both insisted upon using the shared arm rests (resulting in a 2+ hour attempt by me to contort myself into a Cirque du Soleil posture for the length of the trip). Then I had the pleasure of enjoying a back row aisle seat -- with a view into the galley kitchenette next to the bathroom -- and a full window view of a jet engine from Dallas to Tucson. Thus, I was actually relieved to hit the ground in Arizona.

My friends Alana and Lindsey picked me up outside the baggage claim, and I think they regretted their decision to come get me after they saw me heading toward them hauling a 67-lb suitcase, a 45-lb bag, and three carry-on pieces hanging haphazardly off my sides.

This is what packing for three months looks like, at least when you pack like me...

Hey, you never know what occasion you will need to dress for... so my motto is pack everything.

After squeezing the cargo securely into the trunk, back seat, and on my lap, we headed toward my place. I, of course, had forgotten the number code to get into my apartment complex, but luckily Shauna was home so after hearing a rather hardy "hahaha!" on the intercom loudspeaker (Shauna's outward ridicule of my early stages of full-bore dementia), she came out to fetch me and my wretched baggage.

The first thing I found taped to my door frame was this note from my landlord (double click on the photo if you can't see the writing clearly):


AKA... Welcome home! You have to love Tucson...

And this lovely brochure was attached (please note that it's called the "Wastewater News"... do you think this is actually a monthly publication?!?), with the portion about American roaches -- also known as the sewer roach -- highlighted so kindly by my landlord as well...

Needless to say, my shower looked like a roach graveyard of dried up and dead baby sewer roaches, and it was filled with cobwebs too, which made me want to hurl.

In addition, my hardwood floor, kitchen counters, window sills, and everything else in my apartment exposed to open air (ummm, yeah, that would be just about everything except for a few pairs of old underwear) was covered in at least an eighth of an inch of grime, which turned my bare feet black within seconds, significantly increasing my gross out factor yet again...

However, it was going on 1 am East Coast time, and I was absolutely exhausted after taking my clothes out of my bags and shoving my suitcases out of sight. So this morning, I woke up at the crack of 6:30am (not my choice, mind you, but I am still on EST, where it is 9:30am), tore up an old college t-shirt that I used to sleep in, filled a bucket with soapy water, and literally scrubbed my entire floor, walls, shelves, knick-knacks, etc. until it was clear that I was no longer living in squalor.

I had a cameo appearance this morning as a poor young waif, scouring floors and cleaning up bug parts...

However, small and chipper birds and mice wearing babushka headgear did not figure into my reality. Nor did a peasant blouse and black flats. I mean, really, Walt Disney, who the hell would clean a floor wearing black Capezio flats?

So everyone, I'm back in Tucson. I should be writing more often again, and I promise that I will soon post the pictures from our vacation in NC, where we were last week, which was positively fabulous, by the way, and I'm even sporting some semblance of a tan now.

More later... time to go give myself a paraffin wax hand treatment -- my hands feel like sandpaper from all that watery scrubbing -- or at least just lay on my futon for a while reading the latest Us Weekly. (Who knew Kate Hudson was having an affair with Owen Wilson? Scandalous!)