Moving On…

I can remember when I was a little girl, I could not grow up fast enough. When I was 9 years old I couldn’t wait for my tenth birthday; getting the chance to be in the double digits made me feel sophisticated. When I was a freshman in high school, I thought it would all change once I could drive. I would be able to go out with whomever I pleased and stay out later than TGIF was on. When I was a licensed driver I couldn’t wait until I was 18 and legally considered an adult. I would be able to live on my own and have my own schedule and my parents would have no control over any of it (a laughable thought to look back on). When I was old enough to vote, not being able to take advantage of it being 5 o’clock somewhere made my mouth water. I never had a fake ID, and one can only stay classy with the jug o’ wine from the bottom shelf of the run down CVS down the street for so long before needing to move on to more sophisticated drinks, like Vodka Redbull or shots… of anything. The chance of getting into a bar being 100% on my side was a fairtytale I had waited my entire high school career for. I was mostly excited to be able to go to CVS and buy that wine without shaky legs and sweaty palms or having to desperately call my 30 year old brother for a favor (which he still owes me). On my 22nd birthday, I told everyone it was my 21st. It pretty much  has all gone down and up hill several times since then. I feel like my life has gone back in time but my body keeps getting older. The only difference is instead of being bored in geometry B class and distracted by my constant plans to get whatever Peter’s attention I was into that week or if I would wear knee high socks or leggings with my school skirt, I was distracted by bills, booze and Plan B. Each year my distractions changed. When I was 21 my daily distraction was usually my hangover. I took advantage of my youthful liver (what I wouldnt give to be able to drink like that creepy Uncle Mel again). Nowadays I have a glass (or 3) of merlot and my mirgraine begins. Which then prompts sweatpants and a hot glass of green tea before an early retirement to my bedroom.
After graduating high school and spending half a semester at community college, I moved into the dorms at USD and began my second semester of freedom. Unfortunately, the grotesque ancient dorm I was living in with my dirtier than a Tijuana gutter roommate, made my independance seem less than acceptable. At my parents home, there were never bugs crawling around the left over yogurt cups…becasue there were no left over yogurt cups! It was a dirty world I was not use too and was definitely not ready to live in freely. I needed rules to rebel against, so I moved back in with the good ol’ parental roomies. Looking back on it, it wasn’t horrible. I had free room and board (my dad’s a lawyer and taught me nothings free and always have a written agreement, both of which I should’ve taken into consideration the day I moved back). The year I was on my own will forever be remembered, if not for the 8 day week drinking binges then for the beginning of the downfall of my independence. I wanted too much and I got it too soon, I developed tons of anxieties being on my own (which had something to do with the few break-ins I walked in on and creepy neighbors knockin on my door). But suddenly the wonderful world of freedom in my gated one bedroom apartment in the center of a valley seemed more like a prison in Compton, and I needed my mommy. It was a blessing in disguise when my very “reliable” roommate decided to bail the night before we were to renew the lease, sending me back home to Mama and Papa bear where I would spend the next 3 years trying to escape. It was impossible, but not because of the bears, because of me. I was so lost. I felt as if I went back in time, again, and the 2 years prior were just a very vivid and yet hazy dream. Work seemed impossible to find, and on top of everything, I missed two semesters of school due to a car accident that left me not only with a bum elbow but even further away from collecting my independance dues… at 24! It wasn’t until I met my boyfriend Josh that I started to become a more motivated me and less…well… a hot ass stinky mess.
See, Josh and I have been together nearly 2 years and in these past 2 years (give or take) we’ve become rather comfortable with eachother, both negatively and positively. He is the first boyfriend I have had that I can see a future with. All of the other “bee effs” I have dilly dallied with in my “adult” life have been either creepy, sexy or sad stories; plus they are usually surrounded by quotation marks when referenced- that should (and does) say enough. On the other hand, the only thing I have yet to walk in on him doing… is himself. There are of course a few things I could live without, like the Ren and Stimpy booger collection under his bed and the left over pizza and fast food wrappers everywhere. But I myself have crossed a line… of the flatulence kind. I recently in my twenty somethings have developed a bit of intolerance for lactose products. I’m sure it has something to do with the unhealthy lifestyle I led in my early twenty somethings (one can only wake up and eat a 10 piece chicken mcnugget meal and drink a beer as a hangover cure a few times before it takes it’s toll). Naturally I like to consider myself a lady, but isn’t the saying “a lady in the parlor and a freak in the sheets” …or something? I just haven’t mastered the freak part, and he has no problem constantly reminding me of that. Anyway needless to say, the two of us are only a few gasy nights and stuffy noses away from too comfortable. It’s a fine line, but we have not crossed it…yet.
We had to look for a place fast since Josh’s lease was up and mine was….well lets just say when your parents move into the much smaller house they originally moved OUT of so they could have more space for me and my siblings to play, it’s time to leave. Our price range high was $1,100. In San Diego, that is a 400 sq. f.t studio in, well lets just say if there aren’t bars on the windows already, they ask if you would like them installed. I love the guy, but living that close to his booger collection and the possibility of an aggravated crime occurring in my front yard frightened me. But we finally found a place, a perfect place for the 4 of us (Starsky and Hutch, Josh’s chiweenies you’ll meet more of later). We jumped through rings of fire and fought the King of the Jungle to gather all of our information together and we were finally able to send our applications and such over before the weekend, which quickly turned into a very long weekend of me nervously waiting, and him already packing his things.

The one thing I am dreading about being almost 25 years old and living in an older apartment with no money to spend on expensive furniture and decorations that won’t fall apart after 3 uses, is just that. I want it to be a home for us, not just a place we eat, poop and sleep. I want to make it as warm and inviting as mama bears home was, while representing both J’s, but still  keeping it trendy and cool, but of course not too girly and not too Star Warsy. I think it can be done? We have a year to figure it out, that is if we get the place of course…

…WHICH WE DID! We sign the lease Friday at 9 a.m.(but don’t worry no photos of us signing will show up on your Instagram….we’ll probably be too tipsy from all the cheap Champagne!)

Josh and I decided to celebrate our first renter’s victory (getting the place) with a couple of margaritas!

Wish us luck in our next renter’s venture of making a house a home, or in our case a box into a better looking box 🙂

Until next ime..happy renting!

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