You may ask yourself, How did I get here?

Boredom. There are few times in my life when I ever been truly bored. But when boredom returns to my life it’s like welcoming home an old friend for a long weekend. Boredom and I have a long history. We don’t get to see each other very often but when we do it’s always memorable.

Lately I’ve realized, to my relief, I’m not the strangest person in my building. Like the guy living above me that’s probably the last surviving Vanilla Ice fan.

Hard knock life for a white guy growing up in suburban Dallas

And I won’t even begin to describe the conversations about women I’ve heard from the hallway. This is probably because I’m one of the maybe three girls living in my building. While I, like Oprah, am not even kind of gay, boys are gross. Let me explain.

There’s this one guy that belches into the stairwell so he can listen to it echo. And then the guy that leaves his clothes in the washer for hours so I have to touch his damp skivvies to do my own laundry. He also doesn’t sort his clothes so they’re all the same weird brownish purple color.

But the worst is the neighbor that comes home from work and yells into the corridor, “Honey, I’m home!” which echos up through the stairwell into my apartment.

I guess it could be worse.

I can only assume he thinks it's funny. After hearing him the first time all I could think was, “If that is the symbolic corridor of life, sir, you are failing.” Boredom makes me think in really dumb metaphors.

When I’m really bored I like to go to antique malls. Sometimes I go to find something useful but usually I’m just looking for the ridiculous or creepy. Like the time I found these pumpkins:

Or the time I found the head of Liza Minnelli:


I really considered buying the Minnelli head but I think I already have enough on my plate of weirdness.

There was a night when I googled myself and actually found some interesting information. Apparently, I’m married and making $137,000 a year but sadly still living in Missouri with my parents. I don’t know if I should be happy that Mr. Google thinks I’m married and actually making enough money to pay back my student loans or depressed that he thinks I’m in my mid 20s and still living with the parents. I think I’ll go with depressed. Mr. Google, you have both under- and overestimated me.

Mr. Google in his youth. Snappy dresser.

Most recently I rearranged my apartment and rotated my mattress. I think the rearrangement makes my apartment look a little bigger. So that was a good decision. Rotating the mattress? Not so good. It almost smothered me. Death by mattress suffocation, probably not the most peaceful way to go.