These is busy times for your old pal Joel. The school year is officially three-quarters done, Spring Break is all but over, and my lease is up at Ironwood Gardens on May 31.
The idea for The Girl and me is to stay around Bloomington-Normal. We both like the area, we’re familiar with it, and truth be told, we’re just unable to come up with an area that we collectively like more than this one. However Amy’s graduating in April and heading into the elementary education industry, where open positions are slimmer than Lara Flynn Boyle. She could end up anywhere, and I’m pretty open to the idea that I could end up anywhere right with her.
Which leaves my living situation in the meantime sketchy. As I said, my lease at my current apartment is up in about seven weeks. I’ve got a summer sublease, and beyond that who knows, but I’ve got to admit, I’m starting to feel a little sad about moving out of this place.
I’ve been here for two years, and there have been many, many stories.
Like the Wiener Kid who lives below me coming upstairs to complain about my “stomping” once every seven days (It’s seriously like clockwork, and I swear I tiptoe everywhere for this guy. Needless to say, he’s really annoying). Or the countless noisy sexual experiences of the Nerdy Couple whose bedroom lies adjacent to mine. Then, of course, the people that lived in Wiener Kid’s apartment before him were constantly beating the hell out of each other. There were more ass-whoopings downstairs than an episode of WWF Smackdown.
I think my personal favorite memory will be the time The Girl stayed over for the evening and the Nerdy Couple’s dilapidated, ancient SUV had a horn malfunction, and the thing blared constantly for about 45 minutes in the middle of the night. Amy and I stood on my balcony and stared at that damn truck like it was a Nazi leper.
But in retrospect, these things are funny. It’s always easier to “look back and laugh,” because I know at the time I was spitting an inferno of fury.
It’s just a little depressing to be moving out of here. My good friend Erica stopped by earlier today with her boyfriend (fiancé?) Mike, and she put it very nicely: “It’s sad because it’s your first home, and you have to move on.” She’s going through a similar situation right now, and she also has to be out by May 31.
I was so excited to move into this place, and now I’m going to be leaving it in less than two months. My dad, brother, and I watched the White Sox win the World Series in this apartment. I’ve had parties here, and Thanksgivings, and Spaghetti Sundays. I’ve even gotten my ass kicked at Monopoly in record time (Amy landed on and bought every railroad by the second revolution around the board. I landed on every single RR my third go-round. I was bankrupt in less than fifteen minutes. I’ve yet to see any board game defeat replicate Amy’s domination that night).
I’m sure I’ll create memories at the next place, and believe me, it’s time to move on. But for the time being, I’m just going to be a little downcast, because this apartment deserves a little mourning. Consider this entry Ironwood Garden's “living funeral.”
Okay, now I’m just getting romantic and sentimental…