This was me a few days ago:
While maybe 70% of what I post on Twitter is braggarty bullshit, this one was true. My neighbors are having a party tonight. And if I am home for any part of it that gets crazy, I really am super excited to call the cops on them.
This is how I know I am definitely getting older.
In my defense, though, they’re having a Tres de Mayo party (which means tequila) and have invited 175 people (which means rampant assholery). They also advised Graham to “just clear out” instead of doing the neighborly thing, which would be a combination of warning and inviting. Or maybe that’s just how I look at it. Graham says that he wouldn’t have invited his 30-something neighbors to any of his mid-20s parties, but I actually did invite my neighbors even though I knew they wouldn’t show up because it was just the right thing to do.
It’s not that I expect our neighbors to suddenly be less rude or stupid, I’m just a little appalled at the idea that they found it appealing to invite 175 people to stumble drunk around our yard. My most ambitious party had only 50-something people on the invite list a good number of them showed up. I lived in an apartment, by the way, with downstairs neighbors in a place with limited parking. And I don’t mean to brag, but maybe I just have better manners than some people?
Thankfully I just visited a possible new place that seems like it could work out. Just getting there in the first place felt like a victory. In Seattle, the rental market is extremely competitive, so if you’re not spotting the Craigslist post within the first hour of its appearance, you should probably not expect to hear back from the lister. I’ve been refreshing listings on four different sites for days in the hopes of spotting the right thing, and this one had been up for 28 minutes when I made the call. An hour later, I was walking through the front door.
It’s not the exact type of building we wanted (it’s an apartment, not a house or duplex) but it’s got two floors, two bedrooms, and even an additional half bathroom. Which, I mean…I grew up in a house with three other people sharing one bathroom you could barely turn around in, and I thought anyone who had another bathroom – even a half-bathroom – was unspeakably wealthy. And the owner/landlord seems to like me, too, so after I bring Graham back to see it tomorrow, maaaaaaaaaybe we can work on making it our new place. I’ve learned not to get my hopes up about things like this, but a) it’s really hard and b) I already feel about 40% less anxiety about the whole finding-a-place-to-live idea than I did when I woke up today with absolutely nothing on the horizon.
Now I get to relax for the rest of the day, and Dylan and Rachel are having a get-together tonight, which means that I won’t be present for a good portion of what’s sure to be an awful fucking time to live next to these idiots. Tomorrow I’ll take Graham to the potential new place, Monday I’ll spend all day getting my car and drivers license sorted (hey Washington, thanks for making people go to three separate places all over the goddamn universe for this!), and Tuesday and Wednesday I’ll get taken out to dinner(s) for my birthday.
I might complain about a lot, but two dinners are not on that list.