After being wildly unsuccessful at finding a place to live, I got a break on the job front. A department on campus needed someone to fill in for several months while they re-classified , re-opened, and re-hired for that position. With that in the bag, I had a new bounce in my step as I approached a beautiful Victorian house with a room for rent just a couple of blocks away from my girlfriend's apartment.
I met the owner of the house, a woman in her late 50s named Joan. She lived there along with her daughter who was around my age and a renter named Bill who was a couple of years older. I chatted with Joan for a while, and we both agreed that I would move in at a given date. It was slightly different than what I had expected to find, but everyone seemed nice so I was excited to move in. The only thing that worried me about the house at the time was that there was no family room or den with a tv in it, but with one in my bedroom, my girlfriend's apartment very close, and my friend Dave's apartment not too far away, I knew that would be fine.
I moved in and began my time in "that house" (as it would later be called). Bill and I shared a bathroom, and although he seemed to always get in there to shower thirty seconds before I wanted to, that was working out fine. My first problem was that it was extremely lonely there. Everyone seemed to hang out on his or her own, and without a common area to chill in, I'd usually make food and bring it back to my room and sit there alone. I spent a few nights a week at my girlfriend's place, but my situation was weird enough that we rarely spent any time together at mine. I got used to it though, and things became routine fairly quickly.
Then the holiday season started approaching. You know, around frickin' October! Joan told me that she "liked to decorate the house for Christmas," but that's like saying Wilt Chamberlain "liked to have sex with women every once in a while." Words can not describe what this woman did for Christmas, but I shall do my best. There were two adjacent rooms that both served as dining rooms in the house. Joan created what can only be described as "a fake snow mountain" in each of those rooms. Starting in one corner of the ceiling and coming down and out about six feet was a big, white, fake-snowy mountain in each room. On each of them, there was a snow village. They had what you might expect in the way of little trains, people, and quaint shops, but they also had houses. Not little cute houses, but size-of-my-laptop-screen cottages, and a shitload of them on each mountain. What constitutes a shitload? Well, there were over 70 of these rather large cottages amongst the other scenery and modes of transportation, so that qualifies in my book.
The yuletide spirit wasn't confined to these two rooms by any means. There were three (yes, three) Christmas trees in the house, ornaments hanging from various ceilings, and lights all over the place. I got home one day from work and had a box of icicle lights at my door with a note asking me to put them on my window since it faced the street. I decided not to play my Jew card since it would've come off as a Grinch card, and I put up the lights. Because honestly, what do icicle lights really have to do with Jesus anyway? Apparently, I didn't do a good enough job though. The next day, I came home and saw that they were neater and hung more professionally, meaning someone came into my room to do that without asking. That pissed me off, but being a master of nonconfrontation, I managed to avoid a conflict. I told everyone about the ridiculous amount of decorating, and yet everyone who came over was still floored by what they saw. I'm telling you, I am limited by the boundaries of language to describe this level of overkill. I got through it, and on January 2nd I found a box at my door and a note asking me to please put the lights back in there. I did that part fine.
In addition to Joan, her daughter, and Bill, there were two pitch black cats. One was named Bill, which led to me calling him Bill the Cat and the roommate Bill the Human. The other was named Athena, and she had these haunting yellow-brown eyes. Very frequently, the first thing I'd see when leaving my room in the morning was a black cat crossing my path. "Oh, that's nice," I'd sarcastically say to myself each time. Neither cat was particularly affectionate or playful, but maybe they were for cats and I'm just not used to them. Still, I said hi to them and pet them when they were close enough.
One afternoon, I was walking down the stairs from my room to go to my girlfriend's place. Out of nowhere, I heard a little girl's voice. "Who are you?" it asked. I looked toward where the voice came from, and there sat Athena, motionless but fiercely staring directly at me. "Um, I..." I began. Then the little girl's voice started laughing. I opened my eyes a little wider and took another step down. There, sitting on a couch behind Athena was a little girl I'd never seen before in my life. One of Joan's friends came in right then and introduced me to her granddaughter, the owner of the mysterious voice.
Here's the thing though: When I thought the cat was talking to me, my first thought wasn't, "Holy shit, that cat's talking to me!" It was, "Holy shit, the cat's been able to talk all this time and I never formally introduced myself!" I don't know why I thought that, but if the little girl hadn't laughed, she would've heard me say aloud to a cat, "Um, I...I'm sorry I never introduced myself. I'm Peter." And she'd be writing that story somewhere online today and making people laugh at the weirdo who thought he was Dr. Doolittle.
A couple of months later, two of my best friends moved back to Santa Barbara and we found a place together. I gave Joan my 30-day notice, and she seemed a little pissed that I making her go through the whole rental process again. About a week before I moved out, I woke up one morning and started toward the bathroom (before Bill the Human could snag it). I saw an open door out of the corner of my eye and glanced over. There stood Joan's profile, completely naked, looking in the mirror. Immediately, I turned back and pretended that I was practically sleepwalking to the bathroom and didn't notice anything. Some people have suggested that she was making a strange pass at me, but I'm sure one of the cats just nudged the door open or something. Regardless, I was glad to be getting out of there. I didn't want to see another naked woman in her late 50s until I was also in my late 50s.
I didn't see Joan again for years, and when I did one final time, it wasn't even in Santa Barbara. Quite differently, it was on Kauai during our honeymoon. She was at a nearby table at a pizzeria playing Scrabble with her friend (the talking cat's grandmother), and I managed to avoid her line of sight for the whole meal. And do you know what the weirdest part about seeing her there for me was? Watching her eat. I realized right then that although I lived with that woman for a few month, those were the first bites I'd ever seen her take. I guess I was too busy hiding in my room and not introducing my pets. Live and learn, live and learn.
I met the owner of the house, a woman in her late 50s named Joan. She lived there along with her daughter who was around my age and a renter named Bill who was a couple of years older. I chatted with Joan for a while, and we both agreed that I would move in at a given date. It was slightly different than what I had expected to find, but everyone seemed nice so I was excited to move in. The only thing that worried me about the house at the time was that there was no family room or den with a tv in it, but with one in my bedroom, my girlfriend's apartment very close, and my friend Dave's apartment not too far away, I knew that would be fine.
I moved in and began my time in "that house" (as it would later be called). Bill and I shared a bathroom, and although he seemed to always get in there to shower thirty seconds before I wanted to, that was working out fine. My first problem was that it was extremely lonely there. Everyone seemed to hang out on his or her own, and without a common area to chill in, I'd usually make food and bring it back to my room and sit there alone. I spent a few nights a week at my girlfriend's place, but my situation was weird enough that we rarely spent any time together at mine. I got used to it though, and things became routine fairly quickly.
Then the holiday season started approaching. You know, around frickin' October! Joan told me that she "liked to decorate the house for Christmas," but that's like saying Wilt Chamberlain "liked to have sex with women every once in a while." Words can not describe what this woman did for Christmas, but I shall do my best. There were two adjacent rooms that both served as dining rooms in the house. Joan created what can only be described as "a fake snow mountain" in each of those rooms. Starting in one corner of the ceiling and coming down and out about six feet was a big, white, fake-snowy mountain in each room. On each of them, there was a snow village. They had what you might expect in the way of little trains, people, and quaint shops, but they also had houses. Not little cute houses, but size-of-my-laptop-screen cottages, and a shitload of them on each mountain. What constitutes a shitload? Well, there were over 70 of these rather large cottages amongst the other scenery and modes of transportation, so that qualifies in my book.
The yuletide spirit wasn't confined to these two rooms by any means. There were three (yes, three) Christmas trees in the house, ornaments hanging from various ceilings, and lights all over the place. I got home one day from work and had a box of icicle lights at my door with a note asking me to put them on my window since it faced the street. I decided not to play my Jew card since it would've come off as a Grinch card, and I put up the lights. Because honestly, what do icicle lights really have to do with Jesus anyway? Apparently, I didn't do a good enough job though. The next day, I came home and saw that they were neater and hung more professionally, meaning someone came into my room to do that without asking. That pissed me off, but being a master of nonconfrontation, I managed to avoid a conflict. I told everyone about the ridiculous amount of decorating, and yet everyone who came over was still floored by what they saw. I'm telling you, I am limited by the boundaries of language to describe this level of overkill. I got through it, and on January 2nd I found a box at my door and a note asking me to please put the lights back in there. I did that part fine.
In addition to Joan, her daughter, and Bill, there were two pitch black cats. One was named Bill, which led to me calling him Bill the Cat and the roommate Bill the Human. The other was named Athena, and she had these haunting yellow-brown eyes. Very frequently, the first thing I'd see when leaving my room in the morning was a black cat crossing my path. "Oh, that's nice," I'd sarcastically say to myself each time. Neither cat was particularly affectionate or playful, but maybe they were for cats and I'm just not used to them. Still, I said hi to them and pet them when they were close enough.
One afternoon, I was walking down the stairs from my room to go to my girlfriend's place. Out of nowhere, I heard a little girl's voice. "Who are you?" it asked. I looked toward where the voice came from, and there sat Athena, motionless but fiercely staring directly at me. "Um, I..." I began. Then the little girl's voice started laughing. I opened my eyes a little wider and took another step down. There, sitting on a couch behind Athena was a little girl I'd never seen before in my life. One of Joan's friends came in right then and introduced me to her granddaughter, the owner of the mysterious voice.
Here's the thing though: When I thought the cat was talking to me, my first thought wasn't, "Holy shit, that cat's talking to me!" It was, "Holy shit, the cat's been able to talk all this time and I never formally introduced myself!" I don't know why I thought that, but if the little girl hadn't laughed, she would've heard me say aloud to a cat, "Um, I...I'm sorry I never introduced myself. I'm Peter." And she'd be writing that story somewhere online today and making people laugh at the weirdo who thought he was Dr. Doolittle.
A couple of months later, two of my best friends moved back to Santa Barbara and we found a place together. I gave Joan my 30-day notice, and she seemed a little pissed that I making her go through the whole rental process again. About a week before I moved out, I woke up one morning and started toward the bathroom (before Bill the Human could snag it). I saw an open door out of the corner of my eye and glanced over. There stood Joan's profile, completely naked, looking in the mirror. Immediately, I turned back and pretended that I was practically sleepwalking to the bathroom and didn't notice anything. Some people have suggested that she was making a strange pass at me, but I'm sure one of the cats just nudged the door open or something. Regardless, I was glad to be getting out of there. I didn't want to see another naked woman in her late 50s until I was also in my late 50s.
I didn't see Joan again for years, and when I did one final time, it wasn't even in Santa Barbara. Quite differently, it was on Kauai during our honeymoon. She was at a nearby table at a pizzeria playing Scrabble with her friend (the talking cat's grandmother), and I managed to avoid her line of sight for the whole meal. And do you know what the weirdest part about seeing her there for me was? Watching her eat. I realized right then that although I lived with that woman for a few month, those were the first bites I'd ever seen her take. I guess I was too busy hiding in my room and not introducing my pets. Live and learn, live and learn.
1 comment:
Hey Pete, do you have a Just Mark the alarm guy like your mother ? Someone who you seem to run into in the oddest places. Maybe Joan, naked Santa Barbara lady will be your Just Mark.
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