A/N: Yeah, so...we're are totally flying by the seat of our pants here, and if you're up for a crazy journey, then welcome aboard! We've determined that this endeavor will either be epically awesome or incredibly fail. Either way, we're having a hell of a time. We hope you enjoy!

A huge, sloppy, wet kiss to our sweet and saucy beta, Lexiecullen17. She makes our words purdy. Any mistakes left are totally are own.


"Do you want to pay your bill? Say yes or no."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, we could not get that. Please repeat," the mechanical voice stated.

"Yes."

"You said, 'no,' is this correct?"

"No."

"Do you want to pay your bill? Say yes or no."

"Yes," I enunciated as clearly as I could.

"I'm sorry, we could not get that. Please repeat."

I refrained from tossing my phone across the room and took a deep breath.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, we could not get that. Please repeat."

At this point I just started pressing random buttons in hopes of speaking with a live person, not that it was even a remote possibility. I pictured the call center for Verizon, and it was not kind. In my mind it was just a bunch of computers -- and maybe some monkeys pushing buttons, because the level of customer care I was receiving now did not paint a prettier picture.

"YES! YES! YES!" I shouted.

"Can you hear me now motherfuckers?" I ended my tirade, desperate to get through to somebody...anybody.

"Miss Swan?" a rather kind, human voice on the other end of the line broke me from my fragile mental state.

"Y..yes?" I replied, almost fearful that I had been hearing things.

"Hello, Miss Swan. This is Bree at the Verizon Call Center, how may I assist you today?"

I breathed a sigh of relief before launching into my story. I had received a text on my cell phone that said my bill payment was past due, but the only problem was that I had never received a bill. I didn't understand what had happened since I was usually aces when it came to paying bills. Bree swiftly checked her computer and alerted me to the fact that my bills were being sent, but apparently they were still going to my old address. I groaned, wondering what else had not made it to the new place. I thought I had been thorough when I checked off all the little boxes at the post office for forwarding my mail. I had been a tad distracted by the cute postal worker behind the counter, but I was relatively certain I had marked off all the correct boxes. I mean, almost one hundred percent certain. Now that I was really thinking about it, maybe it was more like eighty percent. Or sixty percent certain. Yeah, definitely sixty percent...

However, that was not the case. Now I had to deal with figuring out which of my mail was still headed to the old place and how to fix that. My first stop was the post office, where I was bummed to see that Hottie McMailman wasn't working. Instead, I had to deal with the Wicked Witch of the West's long lost twin sister, the Wicked Bitch of the West Side.

"Miss, I can't do anything about it. Once you've filled out the card, you can't go back and fill out another one. It is not the US Postal Service's fault that you filled it out incorrectly."

"But..." I stammered, trying my best to explain how, yes, in was in fact their fault. Perhaps if they did not hire such pretty boys to work behind the counter, I would have been able to fill out the form correctly. The Wicked Bitch was having none of it, though, and held up her hand to silence me.

"You'll have to take it up with your various bill collectors and others who may send you correspondence," she said in a clipped tone, looking at me as if it was doubtful anyone else would ever send me mail.

Without letting me get a word in edgewise, she barked out, "Next!"

Looking around for somebody else to help me, I found no one, and had to settle for shuffling out of the post office, dejected, my mission a complete failure. I made a mental list of all the people and places I would need to call to ensure they had my correct new address. But what could be done in the meantime? I had only moved a few blocks away from my old place, so I figured it couldn't hurt to swing by and see if the new tenant would be so kind as to gather any mail of mine that might have come. I knocked a few times, but nobody answered. Rifling through my my purse, I tried to find some paper and a pen.

Two boxes of Tic Tacs, a tampon, a cracked pair of sunglasses, three hairbands and a half eaten piece of Bubble Yum later, I finally found a blank piece of paper to write on. Granted, the other side was for a buy one-get one free coupon for cat litter that somebody had left in my new mailbox. I didn't have a cat, but perhaps the new tenant did and I was doing them a solid by giving them this coupon. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a pen, so I had to resort to using some clumpy mascara I found. It was either that or the Berry Sexy lipstick Alice insisted I carry in my purse, you know, in case of a make up emergency -- poor thing had never seen the light of day. I wasn't sure what to say, but I knew it had to be brief, since the mascara was sort of dry and my 'ink' was limited.

Dear new 201A, You have my mail. Please return to 51 W. 86th St. Apt #3D. kthxbai.

I thanked my lucky stars that Renee kept sending me all that LOLcats junk. Never before had I so desperately needed a seven letter way to say 'hope that's alright, thank you and goodbye.'

I didn't have any tape, and was wary that if this new tenant did indeed have a cat, and I tried to slide the note under the door the cat would probably pee on it, or the mascara would smudge, because knowing me, I probably didn't shell out an extra few bucks for the non-smudge kind. Instead, I rifled through my purse again until I spotted the Bubble Yum. I had started chewing it earlier in the day, but then I had ordered a coffee, so I had saved the barely touched piece for later. Now was the perfect time, so I popped it into my mouth and started chewing, making it nice and gummy. When I was satisfied with the texture, I pulled it out and stuck it to the back of the note and attached it to the door. I sniffed the air a little and hoped the new tenant would appreciate the faint smell of grape that now scented the air. Hell, it was much better than the ammonia odor the hallways usually had. Pleased with my work, I gave one more glance around the old digs before deciding to head back to my new place, hoping that the new occupant of 201A would send my mail along soon.

I heard a door creak open and ran as quietly as possibly down the hall, hoping that whoever it was didn't see me. It wasn't that I didn't like my old neighbors, but the thought of having another half hour discussion with old Mrs. Cope about the bunion on her toe was just not appealing at the moment. I breathed a sigh of relief as I made it out the door and down the street, slowing down my pace to walk the rest of the way to my sweet new pad a few blocks away.

I was finally free of the ammonia-laced hallways and Mr. Strankle's powerful b.o. -- strong enough to persist through even the toughest hospital grade cleaners. But most importantly, I was finally free of Lauren, the world's worst roommate. Lauren had responded to my ad on Craigslist looking for somebody to split the rent at 201A. She seemed totally normal at first. Lauren worked as a paralegal and played in a jazz band on the weekends. She was friendly when we met up for coffee to discuss things, and I really didn't think twice when I asked her to move in.

I should have thought twice.

Within a week of her moving in, Lauren's true colors began to seep through, and they were ugly. And not the sort of ugly that is kind of cute and kitschy like chartreuse. No, Lauren's colors were all nasty mustard and shit brown. That girl was seriously crazy. It started with seemingly innocuous things that most people, I assumed, had to deal with regarding roommates. I let it go at first, because I guessed we all had bizarre habits...hers were just more bizarre than most. Lauren would practice her trumpet at all hours of the night, which drove me absolutely wild. She also had a habit of cooking the weirdest meals. Cabbage seemed to make a frequent appearance in her dishes, and as a result, our apartment retained a faint odor of cabbage permanently. I wondered if the new tenant was a fan of cabbage.

If it had only been the three AM trumpet solos and the scent of cabbage, I might have been able to maintain, but of course, those things were only the tip of the iceberg. Lauren claimed to be vegan, proudly displaying wall size PETA posters in her room and chastising me every moment for snacking on a hunk of cheese or slice of salami. I might have been able to take her holier-than-thou rantings if it wasn't for the fact that little by little, my own stock of totally non-vegan food started to deplete. I never had any solid proof, but I once found a wrapper for a Slim Jim in Lauren's room, and that pretty much sealed the deal. The crazy chick was busy promoting her heady vegan lifestyle any chance she got while she secretly scarfed down all sorts of meat and cheese.

The last straw that had me clamoring for a new place to live was when I discovered that she had been stealing my newly laundered underwear when she ran out of clean ones herself. I had to hold back the vomit that arose as I recalled that unpleasant memory. I was beyond thankful when my best friend, Alice, told me that her current roommate was moving across the country and she had a spare room for me. I was able to ditch the crazy, move in with my bff and have a killer new apartment all in one fell swoop.

When I told Lauren I was moving out, she burst into hysterics, claiming that she'd never be able to afford the place on her own. I shrugged my shoulders and told her to figure it out. Apparently the way she figured it out was by moving in with her boyfriend. Good old cabbage head was his problem now. I made it back to my new place within a few minutes and breathed a sigh of relief, relishing the clean, sweet smelling air in the apartment. Flopping onto the comfy couch, I turned on our fancy-pants high def television that Alice's parents had bought her and began to drown my mail troubles in an afternoon long marathon of Real Housewives.


A/N: *peeks out from behind potted plant in the corner*

So...is there any interest in seeing this insanity continue...?

Next up is Edward and...well, you know what? I actually have no clue wtf Edward is up to. Only Lara does, so I'll be waiting with y'all to meet this fine fellow. - Yoga