Goodbye old room…
We had some good times together, room. I moved into you a couple years ago after living across the hall in the smaller room. You were a little bigger, a little cooler, you had that nook in the corner near the door where I could store my guitar amp and pedals. The closet kind of sucked and the ceilings were low but whatever. It’s hard to forget the great moments we shared together. We saw a lot of ass…some of it better than others. We laughed together, we cried together, I spilled whiskey and beer on you all the fucking time when I was drunk. Oh, and I threw up on you once. Luckily the real meat of it (for lack of a better term) wound up on my record bag, but sorry if you got hit with some splashback. Also, what’s up with that dead spot in the floor near the closet? You should have that looked into. It sounds like your passing gas whenever I stop on it. Oh yeah, and your blinds do a shitty job of blocking sunlight out in the morning. I’m definitely not going to miss that. Your smoke detector works too. Sometimes a little too well. Remember the night I fell asleep with a candle burning and one of the blinds caught fire briefly? Your smoke machine sniffed that one out pretty quickly, which is a damned good thing because I was asleep at that time.
It’s weird. I moved into this apartment in February (I think?) of 2008. At the time my roommates were Lauren and Charles in the master bedroom and Jana in “the big room”. Lauren and Charles moved in the summer of ’08 and Sali rotated into the master bedroom. The three of us were a pretty good fit for a while, but Sali left to go overseas and the day after Troy took her place in the master bedroom Jana gave notice that she was going to be leaving in a month. Enter Alex in the “small room” as I shifted my stuff to “the big room”. It’s been like a revolving door ever since I moved in, and now after three-plus years I’m the one making an exit. I can’t say I’m going to be sad to move on (down the street). There’s a lot of shitty things about living in this particular apartment that I will not miss. Terrible on-street parking, that annoying front gate that never seemed to work right, the abuse neighbors that used to fight all the time right behind my bedroom wall and then got replaced by the couple that listens to their TV way too fucking loud. The company that owns the property were kind of douchey, too. It was funny when the manager saw me packing my car the other day he patted me on the shoulder and said, “I really went to bat with you on that hardwood floors thing.” I think he wanted me to feel like a sports star being traded to a small market team after a sex scandal, but instead I furrowed my brow at him and said, “Oh, I’m definitely not moving because of THAT.” Cue the awkward pause, then he walks away shaking his head. It was as fitting an exit as I could ask for after a really weird three years here.
Now begins another new chapter. Back to the yellow house on the hill. With my old friends. In Shaun’s old room. With my records and my new TV and my fancy little home audio nook I’m building. Hey — speaking of which — does anyone in LA know how to mount a TV on a wall? Because I can pretty much guarantee with 100% assuredness I will fuck this up royally if I do it myself. And I don’t want to do that. So…if you’re cool and you can mount a TV let me know. I’ve got a drill and a level and a stud finder, but beyond that I’m retarded.
No, seriously. The tests came back. I’m really retarded.
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