I’ll never be confused for someone who has expensive taste in…well, anything.
Admittedly, the older I’ve gotten (read: got a job that pays money) the more “nice” things I may get, but I would never be confused with Don Draper.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I am super sexy just like him. And I have woman fawning over me just like him. And I’m drunk a lot like him. So, I guess sometimes I could be confused with him.
In any event, one thing I am is easy-going. I don’t like to get worked up over anything or over think things too much. This of course leads to spontaneous (read: unnecessary) purchases, last minute plan making, and completely under-thought, poorly executed plans.
With that in mind, we rewind to a few months ago, when I up and decided I needed to move. Why? I’m sure I had my reasons at the time. I think I had some vague plan to save money, get more space, and get a place with a fenced in backyard for the dog. I didn’t really care where this place was, as long as it was close to work and fit the aforementioned criteria.
Magically, I found a place that fit that description, checked it out, and signed my name on the proverbial dotted line. Soon after I was moving out of my nice, new apartment and into a duplex that was clearly built before I was born. We’ll call it vintage.
I have two bedrooms, 1.5 baths, a giant kitchen (you know, for all the cooking and lavish dinner parties I throw), and the backyard for the furry one (my dog, perverts). Oh, and a new found worry that I’m going to get robbed, raped, stabbed, or forced to choose sides between the Bloods and Crips. And who knows, the Latin Kings may throw their hat in the ring too. I’m leaning Crips, because I think I look better in blue, but it’s not a fashion show, it’s all about what they stand for, you know? Decisions, decisions.
Despite the title of this journal and that last paragraph, I’m pretty happy with my decision and if I can ever get a roommate, I will save SO MUCH money. And just think, all that saved cash can be put towards this sweet gun I have my sights on. I know, I know..I’m just getting it to fit in, but the peer pressure in the hood is fierce. Plus, my neighbor just got a sweet pistol with the serial number scratched off and EVERYTHING and I mean, it’s just soooo me, you know?
Honestly though, my new neighborhood isn’t that scary. It’s more “trashy ghetto” than “Hey, I just saw my first dead body” ghetto.
And now, I present a list of evidence to support my claim:
1. My neighbors have about 18 trash bags piling up in their backyard. They claim it’s just for the ambiance of the neighborhood, but I think they just maybe be lazy…and white trash.
2. I saw a pregnant lady smoking on her front porch. In all fairness, she could have just been fat.
3. When I left for work the other day (around 10 am because I had a mid-shift), all my neighbors were outside hanging out. It was a Wednesday.
4. People have couches on their porches. And one very eclectic neighbor of mine has a baby swing hanging from their porch.
5. The front yards are generally “spruced up” by shrubs surrounded by cinder blocks
6. All the houses are predominately made of brick.
7. There is a trailer park in my backyard. Granted there is a small batch of trees and a couple fences that separate us, but really that’s not enough distance.
8. Beer cans appear to be the lawn ornaments of choice.
9. My first piece of mail? A Capri Sun container..sans the tasty drink.
I’ve been here for 9 days. So, I’m sure this list will grow. I’ll be sure to keep you guys on the interwebs posted on my ghetto new home.