Good morning, one and all. Hey look, it's already Thursday. Thor, you wacky Norse god of thunder, I'm glad the day bearing your namesake has arrived. We're cool, right? Sweet.
Keeping on the housing vibe for a little longer, I want to fast forward a few years after my experiences in "that house." I had lived with some good friends for a couple of years, and my now-wife and I wanted to find a place together. The search wasn't nearly as exciting or eventful as my previous one (i.e. no Vader impressions), but that was fine with us. Eventually, we found a very cute and very small two-bedroom apartment in a nice residential area of town. The group of apartments was different from other places I'd seen, and I can't even call it a complex. There was a long driveway with four apartments along the right side, made up of two side-by-side duplexes. We shared a wall with Apartment A, which was inhabited by a single mother, her permanent scowl, and her young daughter.
As it turned out, Apartment C was also for rent, and Dusty and The Mills ended up moving in even before we officially did. It was hilarious to us that we went from living in the same apartment to living in adjacent ones. Dusty and I would often look over our common fence and say, "Hey neighbor" before laughing at how grown-up we were. I wanted nothing more than to need a cup of sugar, just so I could go over and ask him for it. Apartment D was a couple named Kareem and Laura that we're still friends with, and the six of us had a ton of fun together (much to the consternation of Frowny McScowlerson in A). We'd often keep our front doors open, so there was a lot of chatting that went on. We got so used to just popping by to say hi that it was very weird to actually call Dusty on the phone (especially since we could hear the phone ring). It was almost like Melrose Place, and by that I mean not at all like Melrose Place.
Behind our apartments, where our washing machine and dryer lived, there was a fence separating us from other neighbors. Dusty and I were back there one day, and we heard the distinct sound of a dog trying to get more information by sniffing. We looked through a small missing section of the fence, and we saw the snout working overtime to greet us. We pet the dog, and said hi to "him" (50/50 chance, right?). Next time we were back there, so was he. The space was so limited that we couldn't tell what kind of dog he was, just that he had a black nose and seemed cute. "What's your name, big guy?" I asked. He didn't answer, which I guess was a good thing. We managed to make the most of the tiny opening and got a peek at his collar. "His name is...Rabies Vaccinated," Dusty said. We looked at the other side of the tag but still couldn't find a name. Therefore, he was Rabies Vaccinated (or Rabies or just RV) from that point on. I'd bring a load of clothes to the back and say, "Hey Rabies," and he'd sniff back at me.
Now that the dog had a name, we wanted our apartments to have one too. Our previous apartment had been on Figueroa Ave., so we affectionately called it "The Fig Pad." It was catchy, and it felt cool to say, "I'll meet you back at The Fig Pad later." It might've sounded like a speakeasy to eavesdroppers, and that was almost as cool as it could get. So with this place, we had high hopes. We lived on Arden, and originally started calling the collection of apartments "The Arden Gardens." Then we heard our neighbor across the driveway (the one with the Maltese named Bon Bon) call her place that once, so it ended almost before it began. We were brainstorming one night, and I said, "Well, my mom said that these apartments are like cute little bungalows, so maybe we can use that somehow." Someone then threw out "The Bungardens," which was so awful sounding that we all agreed it should stick. Sure, we may have been intoxicated then, but that's beside the point.
Life in The Bungardens was good. It was the perfect transition place between "just out of college" and "all growns up." I went from being "in a serious relationship" to engaged to married in that place, so it'll always be special. We made some very good friends there, and when the six of us got together for drinks and games, no one needed to be the designated driver for the twenty feet back to our apartments. We had a lot of fun, settled into more of an adult lifestyle, and had several pleasant encounters with Rabies. What more can a guy ask for in a living situation?
Keeping on the housing vibe for a little longer, I want to fast forward a few years after my experiences in "that house." I had lived with some good friends for a couple of years, and my now-wife and I wanted to find a place together. The search wasn't nearly as exciting or eventful as my previous one (i.e. no Vader impressions), but that was fine with us. Eventually, we found a very cute and very small two-bedroom apartment in a nice residential area of town. The group of apartments was different from other places I'd seen, and I can't even call it a complex. There was a long driveway with four apartments along the right side, made up of two side-by-side duplexes. We shared a wall with Apartment A, which was inhabited by a single mother, her permanent scowl, and her young daughter.
As it turned out, Apartment C was also for rent, and Dusty and The Mills ended up moving in even before we officially did. It was hilarious to us that we went from living in the same apartment to living in adjacent ones. Dusty and I would often look over our common fence and say, "Hey neighbor" before laughing at how grown-up we were. I wanted nothing more than to need a cup of sugar, just so I could go over and ask him for it. Apartment D was a couple named Kareem and Laura that we're still friends with, and the six of us had a ton of fun together (much to the consternation of Frowny McScowlerson in A). We'd often keep our front doors open, so there was a lot of chatting that went on. We got so used to just popping by to say hi that it was very weird to actually call Dusty on the phone (especially since we could hear the phone ring). It was almost like Melrose Place, and by that I mean not at all like Melrose Place.
Behind our apartments, where our washing machine and dryer lived, there was a fence separating us from other neighbors. Dusty and I were back there one day, and we heard the distinct sound of a dog trying to get more information by sniffing. We looked through a small missing section of the fence, and we saw the snout working overtime to greet us. We pet the dog, and said hi to "him" (50/50 chance, right?). Next time we were back there, so was he. The space was so limited that we couldn't tell what kind of dog he was, just that he had a black nose and seemed cute. "What's your name, big guy?" I asked. He didn't answer, which I guess was a good thing. We managed to make the most of the tiny opening and got a peek at his collar. "His name is...Rabies Vaccinated," Dusty said. We looked at the other side of the tag but still couldn't find a name. Therefore, he was Rabies Vaccinated (or Rabies or just RV) from that point on. I'd bring a load of clothes to the back and say, "Hey Rabies," and he'd sniff back at me.
Now that the dog had a name, we wanted our apartments to have one too. Our previous apartment had been on Figueroa Ave., so we affectionately called it "The Fig Pad." It was catchy, and it felt cool to say, "I'll meet you back at The Fig Pad later." It might've sounded like a speakeasy to eavesdroppers, and that was almost as cool as it could get. So with this place, we had high hopes. We lived on Arden, and originally started calling the collection of apartments "The Arden Gardens." Then we heard our neighbor across the driveway (the one with the Maltese named Bon Bon) call her place that once, so it ended almost before it began. We were brainstorming one night, and I said, "Well, my mom said that these apartments are like cute little bungalows, so maybe we can use that somehow." Someone then threw out "The Bungardens," which was so awful sounding that we all agreed it should stick. Sure, we may have been intoxicated then, but that's beside the point.
Life in The Bungardens was good. It was the perfect transition place between "just out of college" and "all growns up." I went from being "in a serious relationship" to engaged to married in that place, so it'll always be special. We made some very good friends there, and when the six of us got together for drinks and games, no one needed to be the designated driver for the twenty feet back to our apartments. We had a lot of fun, settled into more of an adult lifestyle, and had several pleasant encounters with Rabies. What more can a guy ask for in a living situation?
Onto real work now. Have a great day, gentle readers, and remember to write to ptklein@gmail.com with anything about anything. I'll be back tomorrow with a Follow Up Friday, and there's plenty of room to include your thoughts, gripes, opinions, questions, or observations.
3 comments:
I'm amazed at the number of places you've hung your toothbrush. I'm 59 and 6 is the number for me. I guess the abode calculator was given a jump start when you went away to college. How many wonderful packing and unpacking experiences have you had?
I don't know off hand. I'll count and get back to you. I had 6 in a 5 year span, and I'm less than half your age. So basically, you're old.
Hey Paul - I beat you by 1. My number is 5. (PS. I won't give my age ; - ) )
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