Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Home Sweet Home


OK, now that moving day is over and most of my boxes are unpacked I feel less like ripping someone's fucking face off. I might have been a little cranky for a few days there, but I'm back to normal now. Moving day, Friday the 13th nonetheless, sucked BALLS at first. I signed my lease, walked in my new place, then was assaulted by a KU sticker that the previous resident left stuck on the dryer. I swear it burned my retinas, but I had to take a picture because that was just too weird. Then I found a goddamn KU face tatoo in my medicine cabinet! But that's not really why it sucked. It was just Mom and me moving stuff at first...us two and my 300 foot mountain of shit. We didn't get very far needless to say, but then my pals (and Dad) got off of work and came to the rescue - Kate, Baron and Sam. We were done in an hour and a half. Mom compensated the hard workers with Papa John's and Miller Lite in my clusterfuckity living room, then somehow I found stuff to bathe with, clothes and make-up and we went out for a celebration...which means we drank a lot at bars.
It's a given that I love Mom and Dad, but I love those three other monkeys too. They're the kind of people that I know are going to be around for the rest of my life and they're not going to flake out when shit gets rough or decide somebody else is more interesting and ignore my existence or any of that petty high school "I do what's popular instead of what's right and the word loyalty has no place in my life" bullshit.
Anyway, besides the fact that my stove, my ice maker and my sliding glass door all decided to crap out on me within the first two days (they were all fixed promptly) and I've watched every DVD in my small collection six times because I'm a dumbass and didn't call the cable company ahead of time, life as a true singleton has been fabulous. My big girl bed is like a "yea! kiss my ass insomnia cloud," my decorating skills have proved to be even better than I expected, in unit washers and dryers are the best things ever and I don't have some anal shitbag breathing down my neck about anything. Here are a few things I've noticed since embarking on my first living alone experience:
* I've become a nudist. Yes, screw clothes, I love naked. Drying my hair, washing dishes, watching TV, dancing...I hope I didn't move into one of those creepy apartment complexes you see on 60 Minutes that puts hidden cameras all over the place. If so, at least they're getting some good quality entertainment.

* I love me. I talk to myself. I hang out by myself. I sleep alone, except for with Andy Boo. I make time for just myself...and most of the time I like it.

* I'm pretty sure I just moved into a retirement community. Everytime I walk Andy, the complex is either completely deserted or on the rare occasion I do see another soul, they are 150 years old. It's so bad that I'm afraid that if I see someone within 20 years of my age, I will tackle them and demand that they become friends with me just because I'm so glad that somebody else lives here besides me and the crotchety crowd. Plus, people are so "settled" in this place, which is unusual for an apartment complex. I'm talking storm doors, vegetable gardens, wooden name signs hung above the garage and scary amounts of self landscaped "yards" complete with birdbaths and lawn gnomes. It's kinda bizarre.

* I do not enjoy playing with dog poop. The complex demands we clean up after our pets and as sexy as it is to see a woman bend over and scoop up her dog's shit in a little plastic bag, then carry it around the rest of the walk, I'd rather just go somewhere where nobody can see my dog shitting and avoid the ritual. Sometimes it's unavoidable though and I still haven't figured out exactly what to do with the shit bags either since there aren't any outside trash cans.

* How narcissistic can I be? I guess this sort of goes with the "I love me," but I've decided that this apartment will bear something "me" all over the fucking place just because I can. I mean, it is all about me right? My first project is a giant "L" to place on a mantle shelf in my living room. I found one at the craft store when I was there with Mom the other day and she almost peed her pants laughing with I walked up to her with a 5-foot tall paper mache "L." OK, so maybe I don't want it that big, but I'm currently looking for something similar.

Well, so far, so good, but if I suddenly mention a new found love for BINGO or shuffleboard or start to impulsively hoard cats, somebody please intervene.

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