Tara Parks

Temptations of The Flesh Cost Me My Room, or How Not Gettin' Any Will Get You Kicked to the Curb

If you read my previous blog A Christmas Suicide, Or Thoughts Of, you know that I was told on Christmas Eve that I must move out of the apartment I just finished moving into the night before.

Today, I got in touch with the woman who runs the roommate service. Her name is Margaret and she said the lady I rented the room from wants me out because I came home from a party early in the morning and she thinks this is unChristian like; therefore, she made up a lie (like a good Christian) about her family coming from Florida to live in the room that I was renting. Now, I thought the family story sounded suspicious and to be honest, this makes more sense because I know she is religious. The only thing she told me when I moved in was that there was to be no smoking, drinking, or overnight guests, which quite frankly is fine with me or I wouldn't have taken the room. Being under pressure to write a book and all, I prefer things quiet. However, I didn't know that going to a holiday party/poetry reading was forbidden or that my life outside of the apartment would be monitored. This lady told Tony (see previous blog; he is the guy that made a pass at me and I slapped) that she fears I am an ungodly slut drunk.

Well. I hold very stong spiritual beliefs and I don't happen to think coming home late from a party is a violation of anything other than a false human made perception of sexual sin. (By the way: I didn't get laid at this shindig; perhaps when I finally move out, I'll have learned to say in Spanish, "If you have a son or know someone I can fuck, tell 'em about me!")

A Christmas Suicide, Or Thoughts Of

told several of you how excited I was about my new apartment.

Last night I finished moving in at 7. I moved everything all by myself and it was hard work but well worth the effort. I figured this place would be my last share until I finished my book, which is due at the publisher's on June 15th. Hopefully by then I will be able to rent my own place. I have to do things this way because of a combination of reasons; poor financial decisions in my twenties and a lack of money as a result being major among them.

This morning, the woman who lives here hands me her cell phone and tells me Tony is on the phone. She doesn't speak English so I thought perhaps he was just going to relay a message for her. Now Tony is the agent who my roommate service went through to obtain this place. Margaret at the roommate service told me he is a total drunk but only deals in the best places, so she uses him frequently. and after the rat infested dump I just fled, that sounded fine by me.

I said, "Hello?"

He said, "Tara, her family is coming. You have to leave."

I said, "You mean for the night?" Tis the season and all.

He said, "No. Forever."

I guess between eight o'clock last night and soometime today, her fucking Florida family fucks decided to move up here and now I have to leave. Tony said not to worry. She is giving me my money back and I should just come down to his office and he can find me a room and we can have sex.

untitled freelancer

here where you are is full of Santeria cigars waiting to be smoked in the kitchen and roses wrapped around the shower stall. you guess this is what you get when you rent a room from someone you don't know without even looking at the whole apartment bc you are so desperate for some place any place where you can shut a door and you need that quiet that a door gives to shut it so i shut it out you out while waiting for that dream place to open up. it's ok. you are on the list. just when you found out you had to leave the first place, you found out you were on that list, the no money list for a skyrise version of heaven. you are on the 80/20 train to St. Peter but there is trash on the tracks. trash on the tracks causes small fires, they say. little mini spurts of hell that cause your train to be delayed.

you knew it was going to be crazy when you got back and it has been. you are going on no sleep after a freelance experience writing about rugs for four or five days. well, they are good for hiding the bodies is all you have left to say.

the Saint Candles that are burning on top of the fridge give the apartment a soft glow. it is appropriate that you are writing a ghost book. today your phone died---couldn't be a power surge bc it wasn't plugged in. Jodie saw it. the screen was stuck on "goodbye". was Jodie willing you off of her couch? anyway, now it works, but you have to charge it in the kitchen with the spirits of the dead because it must be amongst its own kind. plus, you have no outlet in your room.