Where I've Been
July 17, 2007
Jared and I are getting there. What I mean is that he's less than six months away from graduation, and we're officially in the planning stages of his practice. We've settled on a few areas that seem viable for a chiropractic office, and we've started investigating available properties. So far, there are three promising places: a farmhouse on a main road in a small town, an empty storefront in a strip mall, and space in a professional building. We're true-blue New Englanders, so of course, we're leaning towards the farmhouse.
The cool (or uncool, depending on the way you look at it) thing about the farmhouse is that we would live and work out of the same building. It's zoned for a business and there's plenty of living space upstairs. The very cool (or strange, depending on the way you look at it) thing about the farmhouse is that it's actually nice. Not just decent, but really nice. It's a circa-1900 building that's been updated with a gorgeous kitchen, new walls, new ceilings, and we'd even get to pick the floors. Unbe-fricking-leivable.
You see, Jared and I have always lived in what some might refer to as 'substandard housing.' The possibility of living somewhere, ahem--nice, really has me reminiscing about our past homes. If I ever have access to a scanner I'll post some pictures--you'll probably poop yourself laughing.
When we met, I was living in an apartment with some college roommates, Sarah and Kristina. We had an enormous three bedroom apartment with more square footage than Donald Trump's daughter, and I swear to you we thought we were royalty. Looking back, I'm not sure why.
You had to walk up a two foot wide, winding staircase to get up to our place, so we never invited hefty folks over. It's not that we had anything against bigger-sized people, they just simply couldn't fit. That staircase was so narrow that when you'd buy a new pair of shoes you'd have to haul the shoebox up though a second story window with a rope. Ok, not really, but it was almost that skinny.
We had sweet plywood counter tops, and one of those smooshy toilet seats that let out an airy sigh of relief whenever you sat down to take a whiz. But I think the best part of that apartment was our insane-o downstairs neighbor, Allen. Allen was one angry fool. He came up our staircase one night at 2:30 and banged on our door. He was all, "That person has got to stop jumping!"
We were like, "What?"
And he was like "It sounds like a 200 pound person is doing jazzersize right above my bedroom!"
My roommate was like, "You're nuts," and shut the door right on him.
He was nuts. Sarah, the roommate who lived above Allen weighed about 92 pounds, soaking wet with boots on, and I never once saw her do aerobics, or jumping jacks, or anything of that nature. And besides, judging from the sweet nothings that we could hear being whispered into Allen's ear as he got it on with his girl (and other sounds that I'm trying hard not to remember), those apartments weren't very soundproof.
After we got married, Jared and I moved into an old house that had been divided into apartments--seventeen of them. We had no kitchen cabinets, the oven was too small to hold a cookie sheet (literally), and the floor was so sloped that the computer chair would roll away backwards as you typed. One set of neighbors smoked dope around the clock and the guy under us had some sort of note attached to his door about how much he didn't like Mormons (or J-dubs, or vacuum cleaner salesmen). What can I say? It was home!
After that we bought a house--for less money that we could have bought a mini-van. Literally. It was 800 square feet and two stories. I'm still not sure how that worked. Our master bedroom was 7x11, a previous owner had insulated the laundry room walls with men's clothing (seriously), and somehow it cost $500 a month to heat this smurf sized house in the winter. My favorite feature of this place, besides the 1985 rusted out Cutlass Sierra that our neighbor perched on some blocks, was the triangle room. The triangle room was the biggest room in the upstairs of the house. The walls weren't straight at all, the shape of the room followed the pitch of the roof and the whole thing was shaped, well, like a triangle--almost like being inside of an army tent. If I stood up very straight my head touched the 90 degree angle that I will loosely refer to as the ceiling.
I actually loved this house and cried like a baby when we moved from it. But we sold it 'by owner' for the price of a tricked out Lincoln Navigator--so I think we made out like bandits in the end. We took the profits from that place and moved to Texas. With the exception of a flaming air conditioner and some poopy smelling water, our apartments in Texas have actually been fine, so I won't go into detail about those.
It just blows my mind that we might actually move in to somewhere nice...it may or may not work out. But really, if it does, I worry that I might get a little bored with it. Going in and out of a convenient front door seems so, I dunno, regular. I might just build a fire escape to use as our primary entrance--just to mix things up a little bit. I'm also considering using an outhouse in the winter instead of indoor plumbing--it could be fun! Or maybe, just maybe, we'll finally start to feel like the hardworking grownups that we are, sit back, kick our feet up and say,"You know? We've worked really hard and we deserve to live somewhere just like this."