Moving out compels writer to face shag carpets, cockroaches
By MEGHAN JOHNSON
Staff Writer
Freedom is mine. Along with the PG&E bill.
Two weeks ago my best friend and I went to look at an apartment downtown. We moved in that Friday.
Moving out of my mom’s house wasn’t something I was planning on doing so soon. I still have credit card bills I’m dealing with. For things I bought in other countries. In their currency. (What did I buy for 500,000 Italian lire?)
We had hopes of moving in one day. We are the same people who haunt Riley’s Tavern with the premise of getting “just one beer.” We weren’t going anywhere in just one day.
After a few days of cleaning, moving and heavy drinking, we were settled. Our house had become a home. Everything is perfect, except for that requisite apartment smell even Febreeze can’t seem to conquer.
We have a shady cable guy (at least our bill came from a respectable company), we have cockroaches and green shag carpeting in the bedrooms. We have a Costco card, a 30-can case of Bud Light and the biggest bag of fresh spinach you’ve ever seen. A loveseat, an entertainment center and a table. No chairs. When you visit, you need to bring your own chairs. And your own toilet paper.
We love guests, we just won’t supply anything to them, except beer.
From our front windows, we can see the Fox Theatre and the Padre Hotel. It’s perfect. We are ecstatic. We have collectively slept seven hours in the past week.
In the middle of this craziness, I’ve started dating someone. Welcome to Reality 101. Move out, buy some Y2K-compliant food supplies at Costco and try to impress someone with your cucaracha-infested apartment. Golden Boy (my roommate came up with this name) doesn’t seem to mind too much, though.
Moving out was the easy part. We’re nearly done with that. Dating someone new is the difficult part, especially given the timing.
Golden Boy told me the other day that dating is the one thing in life which should be uncomplicated. It’s the most obviously natural. The problem is that, like moving out, people have so many things against you, right from the beginning.
When my roommate and I showed the apartment to our parents, they all said, “It’s a nice first apartment.” We thought it was nice, in general. When I first started dating Golden Boy, the girl who set us up said, “He’s a jerk.” He’s not. And if he was, then why did she set us up in the first place?
I’ve come to the conclusion that there are too many people who don’t want other people to be happy. I don’t like to complain about things. Well, at least things I can control. Call it Dante Hicks syndrome, on backwards day. If I want to move into a crappy apartment, let me! If I want to date a jerk, what’s wrong with that? Who is to say I’m not a jerk ... except my mother?
In all, living away from my mom has been fantastic. My friend and I feel like we’re at summer camp. I cook, she cleans. We have Saturday drinking games, Sunday brunch and Monday coffee. We haven’t gotten a bill yet. Except from the cable, and apparently they owe us 42 cents.
Golden Boy is working out great, surprisingly. I’ve been accused of being impossible to please. I guess some people are just up for a challenge. I know I am.
See you after the break.
Until next time, I remain, waiting for you to come visit our new apartment. B.Y.O.B.
This column is dedicated to Doug Boston, our manager, who never seems to get the phone messages begging to call pest control.
Runner@csubak.edu
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Wednesday, November 17, 1999
2:32 PM