In flux: the end of an era
Since moving in temporarily, the fridge in my parents’ basement has had two thermometers in it. Interestingly, one reads 30º and the other 34º.
Hmmm.
Today I spent eight hours cleaning Apartment 3. I did not think it would be that big of a job but it was. Especially for one person; I took it upon myself to do all the cleaning because I knew Mervgotti would not do nearly as well. (No where close, as a matter of fact.) Nonetheless, the carpets are clean (courtesy of a $125 check to Americlean), the bathroom and kitchen are squeaky clean, and everything is out. The place is totally empty and I do not expect to ever go back. Tomorrow morning I will return the keys and do all the move-out whatnot and be done with it. Ha HA!
As I may have mentioned, I have eagerly awaited the day my lease ended — since the day it began. Moving into Apartment 3 was a complete waste of money. As much as I did not want to do it, I should have stayed in my parents’ basement for the hell of it. The only reason I moved out, really, was because of the mostly self-imposed stigma of being 28/29 and living at home with mis padres. Though all the Baby Boomers at this weekend’s family reunion expect me to be a married homeowner by now, times have changed. I have thought about buying a house, but I have never been much of a financial risk taker and definitely do not want to be under water on a mortgage. For the most part, “homeowernship” is a misnomer. In a roundabout way, the bank owns the house and you are paying for it over time. Debt has never been something I have sought.
Anyway, though I have eagerly awaited this, others are looking at it as the end of an era. B.O., who himself will be moving to Los Angeles for film school soon, considers it the sad end of an era. It is. I doubt I will ever live with Mervgotti again and this ends — period — the days at that building. It began in 200_ and I probably would have shit my pants if someone told me I would be moving out for the last time ten years later. Though I only lived there for three years out of the last decade, and have lived elsewhere and far, far away in the meantime, it blows my mind.
Today, having finished cleaning, I met Mervgotti at the apartment. He took out the last of his stuff and I collected his keys. He let me keep the remaining beer left in the fridge so I took it to my car. When we were about to leave, a dumpster diver drove into the lot and blocked my car. As I waited, Mervgotti decided he wanted one of the two PBRs I put in my car. I gave him one and cracked open the other. Standing in the parking lot, we sipped our beers, chatted, and watched the Latino movers and the tenants in our first apartment (Apartment 12) resolve an issue. I had wanted to grill in the parking lot before we moved, like we did in the old days, but did not get the chance; I never once grilled while at Apartment 3. However, chilling with a beer seemed like a better end to the era.
Hmmm.
Today I spent eight hours cleaning Apartment 3. I did not think it would be that big of a job but it was. Especially for one person; I took it upon myself to do all the cleaning because I knew Mervgotti would not do nearly as well. (No where close, as a matter of fact.) Nonetheless, the carpets are clean (courtesy of a $125 check to Americlean), the bathroom and kitchen are squeaky clean, and everything is out. The place is totally empty and I do not expect to ever go back. Tomorrow morning I will return the keys and do all the move-out whatnot and be done with it. Ha HA!
As I may have mentioned, I have eagerly awaited the day my lease ended — since the day it began. Moving into Apartment 3 was a complete waste of money. As much as I did not want to do it, I should have stayed in my parents’ basement for the hell of it. The only reason I moved out, really, was because of the mostly self-imposed stigma of being 28/29 and living at home with mis padres. Though all the Baby Boomers at this weekend’s family reunion expect me to be a married homeowner by now, times have changed. I have thought about buying a house, but I have never been much of a financial risk taker and definitely do not want to be under water on a mortgage. For the most part, “homeowernship” is a misnomer. In a roundabout way, the bank owns the house and you are paying for it over time. Debt has never been something I have sought.
Anyway, though I have eagerly awaited this, others are looking at it as the end of an era. B.O., who himself will be moving to Los Angeles for film school soon, considers it the sad end of an era. It is. I doubt I will ever live with Mervgotti again and this ends — period — the days at that building. It began in 200_ and I probably would have shit my pants if someone told me I would be moving out for the last time ten years later. Though I only lived there for three years out of the last decade, and have lived elsewhere and far, far away in the meantime, it blows my mind.
Today, having finished cleaning, I met Mervgotti at the apartment. He took out the last of his stuff and I collected his keys. He let me keep the remaining beer left in the fridge so I took it to my car. When we were about to leave, a dumpster diver drove into the lot and blocked my car. As I waited, Mervgotti decided he wanted one of the two PBRs I put in my car. I gave him one and cracked open the other. Standing in the parking lot, we sipped our beers, chatted, and watched the Latino movers and the tenants in our first apartment (Apartment 12) resolve an issue. I had wanted to grill in the parking lot before we moved, like we did in the old days, but did not get the chance; I never once grilled while at Apartment 3. However, chilling with a beer seemed like a better end to the era.
