I have news. Big news.
Ok, so maybe not quite so big to anyone else, but for me, we're talking mucho macho grande. I officially have an apartment complete with a number and an address!!!
How many of you out there have already had your first place? How well do you remember it? Do you recall the feeling of "I'm so grown up now!" True, I've been living on my own for four years now, but the first two of those years were in a dorm room= does not count. The last two of those years I had an apartment... and a roommate (consequently, the same roommate I had the first two years). I'll always remember the Jamestown apartment, in all its glory: The constantly dripping facet in the kitchen, the roommate upstairs that played the bongos to all hours of the morning, the way the bedroom door always shut when the A.C. turned on. Oh, and I mustn't forget all of our neighbors: Shirtless Guy, Party Animal, Cat Lady, Girl with the Pink Bedroom, Kick-Butt chick, Asian Boy, and Girl- With-A-Thousand-Dogs. I have great stories to tell. Like the time Girl-With-A-Thousand-Dogs' Chihuahua ran into our apartment as Amanda was going to class one morning, only to hide under our dining room table and pee on the floor anytime anyone touched it. Or like the time it snowed and our across-the-courtyard neighbor (Shirtless Guy) decided to chill all his beverages in the yard.
It hasn't really sunk in that this new apartment, however, will be the place that I live- "My First Place" in fact. I think its still an ephemeral idea floating around. Furniture is being collected/bought. I know where its all suppose to go, like giant crossword puzzle that needs to be figured out. I've collected trinkets and books, and even have a set of the cutest dishes you've probably ever seen. But it has still yet to become the solid reality of four walls, a floor, ceiling, plumbing, and electricity. This weekend, however, it has become a little more solid.
First, I would like to introduce you to my parent's new favorite child...
Didn't know they had gotten a dog? That's because they didn't. This is our neighbor's dog. We think they might have named him "Wally," but we're not sure so we just call him "Doh deeDoh."He hangs out at our house quite a bit. Mom and Dad seem to enjoyh is company but I think that's just because he's more of a surrogate "GrandDog." They can play with him all day but when it comes feeding time he's high tailing it back over to his house.
Now you have to know my parent's in order to know that they are big DIY people, and they're really quite good at it. Over the years I've watched them do all sorts of Home Improvement projects: play house building, hardwood floor installation, uninstalling and reinstalling old/new kitchen cabinets. I sort of think that they live with the motto "why pay someone to do it when you can enjoy the adventure of doing it yourself?"Of course, the adventure only last so long when you find yourself on your hands and knees on the bathroom floor at 2 in the morning trying to re-grout the tile.
Anyway, I'm now in possession of some beautiful odd-n-end furniture thanks in part to Uncle R and Aunt J and the First Monday Flea Market, Canton Texas. I wouldn't think it unfair to say that many post college girls trying to furnish their first apartment might not like the idea that the pieces don't match, but they don't have their mom's standing between them and the new furniture with her hands up saying, "don't form an opinion until we're done." I say, "Have at it guys."
Saturday they primed...
Sunday they Painted...
And by Monday I have the most adorable set of matching furniture...
(End Table, Coffee Table, and TV stand- and behind that you see a bookcase, part of my day bed for the guest room, the spools soon to become tables for my balcony, office chair, and bar stool)The most adorable part of the entire set, I think are the glass knobs.
Even if my apartment has yet to become real to me, my garage it serving a reminder that something different is about to happen.
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