After the excitement of having a pool wore off, and the reality of caring for it set in, I was ready for a one bedroom apartment. Were you aware that there are close to seven thousand different types of chemicals required to clean a pool? And who knew that paying attention to pH levels in chemistry would someday play such an integral part in my life?! I just about had a panic attack in the Wal-Mart shopping aisle while trying to buy all the right products, and finally just settled on a color-coordinated set of I have no clue what. Then there was the over-sized, three-car garage for our two sedans. It was sort of cool to show to our friends over Skype and everything, but we still lived in Yuma so no one was really all that impressed with our financial suicide. I can’t even get started on the remaining responsibilities of maintaining that house because I’ll start to seize up in paranoia – did we replace the water filters? Did we replace the air vent filters? Did we change the fire alarm batteries so they’ll stop randomly screeching in our ears and blowing our dog’s eardrums out? Did we have the lawn mowed? Did we set the sprinklers to run at the right time? Did we have Yuma Pest come spray the yard so that scorpions didn’t eat us alive? Who can seriously work full time, remember all those things, and still have time to actually live?! I vow here and now to never own a home.
To make matters worse, I would come home from work everyday and ask Anthony if he had found a job. His answer was always no. Well did you apply to any jobs? His answer was always yes. This routine went on for over a month. I would even sit on my own after work and create his resume and apply to jobs, desperate to create a second income. With the first stack of bills rolling in, the pressure on me grew increasingly more difficult to manage and I became irritated that I even had to ask the questions anymore. I really did want to be the coddling girlfriend who understood the challenging economy in Yuma, but hadn’t we been here before? I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me, but after the circumstances of our first year in Yuma, I figured that he would have had a greater sense of urgency to make this work. So after one particularly long day at work, no one was surprised when I came home and finally lost my damn mind. We are talking Teresa Giudice, table-flipping crazy. (In case you forgot). Anthony had used his free time to set up a deluxe home entertainment center in our empty living room. It consisted of the old, fifteen inch television from the RV, our Wii console, two cardboard boxes and a fold-out chair. He had invited a friend over to play Wii bowling and justified it with the fact that he needed a break. With steam rocketing from my ears and flames burning in my eyes, I offered to give him a “break” of my own – like, a break in his femur. After carefully deciding against severe violence as a way to drive my point home, we crawled into bed mad, but still touching feet. That was our sign for “I hate you right now and I have way too much pride to speak a single word, but I still love your annoying ass.”
The next few days were filled with proactive job hunting. Apparently my fit of rage was effective. I would get selfies from Anthony holding job applications while he was out looking for work. He applied to grocery stores, food establishments, and retail chains. Yuma did not exactly boast a mecca of career opportunities, but this was only to bring in some cash while pursuing his degree and waiting for baseball. When the dust settled, Anthony landed a job at Fry’s, the local grocery store, and delivering pizza for Pizza Hut, and he took both of the jobs. Damn, what an overachiever! He held onto the Fry’s job for just long enough to receive one paycheck and then he went nearly full time with Pizza Hut. Unexpectedly, one can make a decent amount of tips while working as a delivery driver for Pizza Hut, and I suppose being handsome didn’t hurt his chances for cash either. I imagine the old ladies answering their RV doors just about had heart attacks when Anthony showed up. Probably assumed he’d fling off his “uniform” and bust into a Chippendale’s routine, but as far as I know, that never actually happened.
In hindsight, it may have been a wise decision to pimp him out to the Real Housewives of Yuma. Times were tough, and we really needed a big screen to watch the NFL Ticket on. Per usual, we were keeping our priorities in check and things were right on track for a smooth year in our new home.