Two Weeks

 We get to do this all the time.

I wanted to write One Week, Three Years Later, or One Week Part 3, or One Week something to continue my One Week series (part 1 and part 2), but the parts that were thoroughly out of the ordinary happened over two weeks (well, if I'm being completely honest it's been more like a month, but I've already written about a lot of the things that have happened (like my apartment flooding and the decision to move in with the boyfriend). So I'm going to abandon my hopes for a trilogy and instead focus on these first two weeks of cohabitation. Because this is so not normal.

Yet it is. Easily the weirdest thing about living with the boyfriend is that it's not weird at all. When we first decided to find a place together, then signed the lease, the boyfriend sent me a middle-of-the-day text, sounding all cute and excited, reminding me that we were going to live together in a couple weeks. I said it was going to be weird. And I fully believed it would - neither of us have lived with a significant other before, we haven't had any relationship testing experiences such as a move for either of us, and we had no idea how the animals were going to take it.

The move itself sucked. When we first decided to live together we said the fall would be a good time to aim for, partially because moving in cooler weather was just way more preferable than moving in the heat of summer. But San Diego thinks that September and October are summer and we moved at the tail end of a crazy heat wave - it was definitely mid-80s on moving day and we and our amazing helpers were so goddamn miserable. It was hot, the furniture was heavy (most of it really wasn't that heavy), there were stairs, and we had to visit three different addresses. Fuck. That. But we didn't have a choice so we sucked it up and did it (one of our helpers definitely picking up my slack when I just couldn't handle the heat for a few minutes). I've always said I love moving - the looking for apartments, finding the right one, packing, heavy lifting, unpacking, all of it. I used to do it often enough that I should have loved it, but this was not fun. Don't move in September.

But the actual living together part has seemed pretty normal. We spent every night together (with maybe two exceptions) the last year, and for a few weeks we actually lived together at his place, with cat and dog, while my apartment was a disaster zone. So having our own place, a place that neither cat nor dog had lived in, and room enough for both our belongings is actually so far really easy. The cat and dog are being... cat and dog... but honestly they're adjusting to sharing the same space pretty quickly. It definitely helped that the cat is no longer living in the dog's home, and obviously the dog being the sweet non-confrontational creature he is makes things better, but they're sharing the bed and walking around the condo together without major issues (Chloe being a cat doesn't count as a major issue). 

We are settling into our weekday routines of dog walking, lunch making and cooking dinner, in between washing and putting away our endless collection of coffee mugs, pint glasses, plates and stemware (which is funny because I think we have 5 forks between us). Our place is right by a dog park so Argo gets to go several times a week. We're also by the big dog park that he knows, and he's gone there a couple times already. When my lazy ass starts running again it'll be nice to have a regular partner.

The boyfriend had the internet switched over on moving day so there was no lapse in coverage. We also discovered the basic cable package he was already paying for to watch football also comes with a bunch of channels, so we've been watching more regular TV the last two weeks, and by TV I mean we can watch Breaking Bad when it airs.

I also went through my colposcopy, giving moving in stress some medical company (it went OK).

For the most part we're settled. We're in need of a bookshelf and need to figure out what to do with our patio, but the important parts are set up and functional and the living room and kitchen have already been able to entertain friends. My deadline for being art-on-the-walls settled is end of October for our first out of town visitor, but Black Friday is going to be our fancy-pants TV and Blu Ray buying time. I have a feeling after that the boyfriend is going to want to do Super Bowl Sunday here, so maybe we'll have replaced our IKEA couches by then. But it's all exciting - this is the party of moving that's more relaxed. Having a few boxes of books not put away isn't hurting anything for the time being, so we can take it easy. In the mean time, we have painting and fixing up the boyfriend's condo to get it ready for tenants to take care of. 

Living in Sin

In less than 10 hours I'll be picking up a U-Haul, filling two adult-who-has-lived-alone-apartments of stuff, and depositing it all in one place. After a year spending pretty much every night together, a year spending every night together, and a few weeks of can-the-cat-and-I-live-with-you-while-my-apartment-is-a-plumber's-nightmare, the boyfriend and I are moving in together. Officially.

The subject of moving in together came up around month 8 of our relationship (move in day, tomorrow, marks month 25). My roommate had just let it slip that he would eventually be moving in with her boyfriend (or was he fiancé by then?), not in San Diego. Being the ever eager apartment hunter I am, I was browsing craigslist one night when the boyfriend looked over my shoulder and said, "you know, you could just move in with me."

It wasn't a total shock. As far as having the major conversations went, we'd established that the future was real pretty much right away. But at less than a year of dating I could only imagine trying to explain that one to family. Plus, there were other reasons I didn't want to move in to his place, the main one being that when I lived with a boyfriend I wanted it to be a place we got together, that didn't previously belong to either of us. We spent the next year discussing this. The biggest hurdle was the boyfriend doesn't rent - he joint owns his place, so it wasn't going to be as simple as giving a 30-day notice and there were two others who had a say in things.

One day a few months ago we decided we've move in together in the fall, after wedding season is over for photographer boyfriend and the weather cools down a bit. Plus, it would be great to be looking after the new students were settled so we wouldn't have competition. But then my apartment exploded, and I pretty much moved myself and the cat in with the boyfriend and the dog, so we decided to start looking. I don't think either of us were expecting to find a place we loved so quickly, but we jumped on it. And tomorrow we get to call it home.

Unfortunately for us, the weather not only has not cooled down at all, it's hotter than ever. Our "relief" that the weather stations have been talking about is a measly 2-3 degrees, which is still in the 80s. Fortunately for us, since I've been pretty much living at his place for the last few weeks, the cat and dog are learning to co-exist. Chloe accidentally occupies a space close to Argo on occasion, but rather than immediately hissing and running away like she used to, she's been hanging out, if only for a few minutes. Chloe is a pro at moving and adjusts almost immediately to a new home, but this will be Argo's first move. Tomorrow will be an interesting day!

A Leak

At the end of a week that just didn't want to give any breaks (and the end of 9 months of apartment issues), my apartment sprung a leak.

It was a Friday night, my mom was visiting, and we'd had sushi and wine. The boyfriend stood next to my bed and told me the floor was really warm. Unusually warm. I shrugged it off - my apartment is always unusually warm and there's a spot in the bathroom that's always really warm (the cat loves it). On Saturday night he goes to put on his pajama pants, but they're wet - and my carpet is wet. And very warm. And the legs on my wooden bookshelf have visible water damage. Excellent.

We slept on couches in the living room, the recent sinkholes in the news on our minds and the slight fear we'd wake up in a lake, but in the morning my room was still there and only slightly more damp. My apartment manager came over to inspect and let me know best and worst case scenarios, both of which included excavation. So Sunday night I took the cat to the boyfriend's, along with what I'd need for the next couple of days, and left my apartment.

This happened.

And this.

And this.

The water pipe for my whole complex, which traveled under the concrete in my room and through the footing of the whole building, had a leak. They had to shut off all water for two days and the hot water for one night, giving my neighbors zero notice. It's been 10 days and 11 nights so far for me - I stopped by almost every day to grab the mail and check up on things and ended up talking to the plumbers a few times; I learned this had happened before, apparently in the exact same spot. 

There is some discoloration next to the new concrete, which I think is the evidence of a past leak. Oh, and now I have to clean my tub because they turned on the faucet and it ran brown water and no one rinsed it out.

Also, there was a large dip in the asphalt in the alley, right behind my parking space, that had suddenly appeared. It was annoying but I hadn't paid much attention to it because the whole alley is in desperate need of repaving. But it was deep enough and at the worst angle for getting in and out of my spot that I was a little concerned I'd pop a tire. But no worries, now that's fixed.

My room? 

Still got that little hole. And this is the state of my furniture:

My bed is in three different parts, in three different parts of the apartment. 

This was taken the day after my apartment manager told me I could go back to my apartment. Um, no. Also, it still looks like this 9 days later.

It might come as little surprise, then, that I'm moving! The cat and I have been staying with the boyfriend and the dog for the last week and a half, and I kind of don't even want to go back. There is so much cleaning that needs to happen before I'll feel comfortable sleeping there again, and it'd be far too much effort to clean that much only to move in two weeks. But I will right my bed... it'll be harder to sell like that.

Living Alone... Kinda

I seem to end up in the 4th apartment...

About a month ago my roommate moved out. Well, kind of. Her bed is still here, as is her dresser and shelf, and a lot of bathroom stuff, and her fiance's table is in the kitchen. But other than that, I'm pretty much living by myself. Well, with the cat.

Back in August, my roommate got engaged. (Yay!) They'd already talked about moving in together and decided she'd move to Fullerton, so I knew it was coming (actually, she even knew the proposal was coming because he'd let something slip a few months earlier). While all this was happening, my roommate was also trying to buy a place.

So, we talked about it and came up with one of the strangest agreements. My roommate placed an offer on a condo in August, which was approved by the owners  in October. But it would have to gain the approval of the bank (short sale), which could take time. My roommate would still stick to her plan to move out to start her new job in November. I agreed to pay a little bit more rent and we'd keep our apartment while she waited to hear if she got the condo. If she gets the condo, I tentatively agreed to move in and be her tenant, leaving one room open for them to visit. If she doesn't get the condo, I offered to find another, smaller, cheaper 2 bedroom and she'd rent out the small room.

Why? Even though she moved to Fullerton, she still has lots of connections in San Diego to bring her (and her fiance) back on a regular basis. So far she's been here almost every weekend since moving out, and if we didn't have our place still they'd have had already spend a good amount on a hotel. So having a place in San Diego that they can come to makes sense for them, especially while they're planning their wedding. And she's been wanting to buy a place since I met her (and as much as she denies it I'm convinced they'll eventually move to San Diego permanently).

What's in it for me? The potential ability to live "alone" for a lot less money than I'd have to pay otherwise. The upside is a pretty significant savings and the potential ability to live in a nicely remodeled condo, have a dedicated parking space and laundry room, and it'd be a few miles closer to the boyfriend. The downside is it's not in my neighborhood, which means no more walk to work, walk to bars, walk to restaurants, walk to grocery stores. And it's not in the safest of neighborhoods so I wouldn't feel comfortable going for a run, which would mean either a lot more gym time or a lot more driving to a better place to run (or changing at work and running from the office). 

So I'm undecided. There are appealing parts and there are things I wouldn't like about it. I won't have to decide until we know if she gets the place, and I'm really hoping we know this week so we can give our 30 day notice in December... not having to pay for another month in our current apartment would be awesome.

Two Thousand Eleven

After the disappointment that was 2010 I decided 2011 was going to be better. It so fucking was.

First, it was a year overwhelmingly full of love. I fell in love with San Diego all over again, discovered a love for running (which I'm working on rekindling as the year closes), and fell ridiculously crazy in love with a wonderful friend who I absolutely cannot wait to spend the next year with. I love my neighborhood, my brat of a cat, my apartment with the bars on the windows, and my new car. I loved seeing my friends move on in adulthood and succeed, paying off the debt I'd carried around since graduation (one of my favorite accomplishments), and seeing my sister get serious with someone who's great for her.

I started off the year by participating in a flash mob. I enjoyed it a ton, even though my roommate got really sick the days leading up to it and wasn't able to do it with me and now that flash mobs are so last year, I can at least say I participated in one. For silliness.

Easily my biggest accomplishment for 2011 was finishing 3 half marathons, 2 5Ks and a 4 mile race for a total of 49.3 racing miles and who knows how many training miles. I bought two new pairs of running shoes, several pairs of dry wicking socks, a running jacket, shorts and an iPod and send a few hundred dollars on entry fees and transportation. I have a small stack of bibs, 3 finisher medals (one of which glows in the dark!), a bunch of safety pins and more technical t-shirts than I know what to do with. It's a good feeling, and when I continue in 2012 I'm gonna try to beat that 2 hour mark.

Probably my second biggest accomplishment for 2011 was not moving. That's right, I had the same address for a full year, something which seriously doesn't happen very often for me. One of my goals for 2012 (a ridiculously easy goal, at that) is to make this address the one I live in the longest in San Diego. I have absolutely no intentions of moving, and unless my roommate decides to buy a place she doesn't either. North Park certainly feels a lot more like home now, and I've learned to appreciate what it offers.

I also was able to find a job in my area, one in which I'm using my degree (and, for the most part, need it) and making a higher rate than I ever have, which, now that there's a car payment, still seems like I'm just getting by. My commute is short, my hours are good, my coworkers are a lot of fun to be around and my boss can be pretty generous when he wants to be. It may not be my dream job, and one goal for 2012 will be to find my dream job, but it's good for right now, and it's helping me learn a lot that's going to help me in the future.

This year was not without it's down moments, however. In a coincidental yet poetic turn of events, the day before my birthday, which just so happened to be a day before the 1 year anniversary of my dad officially cutting me out of his life, I went to his house and gathered the last of my belongings there. It was civil and very quick and I'm glad to have gotten it over with, but it has made the last few months extra full of anger and resentment. Every time I see an older woman with red hair I feel incredible hatred towards these perfect strangers. It's becoming difficult to understand how such hatred can exist in the same place as such incredible love.

It was also not a good year for electronics. My camera battery is 99% dead, and the minute or so that it holds a charge really isn't long enough to take and download even one picture. Also unfortunately, I don't think they make those camera batteries anymore (at 4 years old it might as well be ancient) so it looks like I might have to buy a new one. Lucky for me, however, I have my own personal photographer (ok, he's not my own personal photographer) who is usually willing to take my pictures for me, so buying a camera isn't an immediate need. My computer also took a turn for the worse- a laptop without a working screen isn't good for much. The weird thing is after all the shit I put that machine through it still works perfectly and is way faster than the one I've been borrowing for the last few months, except for the screen. A new MacBook Pro is very, very high on my list of things to buy once I pay taxes. Finally, though this isn't really an electronic, my trusty Hyundai Accent died, forcing me to buy a new car.

Other events this year included two cousin's weddings, a trip to Disneyland, discovering goodies at my farmer's market, the rapture, the return of 90s TV shows, learning to drive stick shift, paragliding, getting my 6th piercing, not cutting my hair (it's super long!), a power outage, and getting more fish. It's been a very full year, and I'm proud to say I achieved the goals I set for myself at the beginning. I'm also happy to be looking forward to 2012, taking steps to accomplish my new goals, and sitting with my boyfriend and a bucket of popcorn as we watch people flip out over the Mayan calendar prediction.

Purging

Oh, moving time, that glorious time (or two or three) of year when I take stock of my possessions, organize my clutter, and purge myself of anything and everything I don't need or am not emotionally attached to. Luckily I move often enough that I really don't accumulate much clutter.

But this time, it's a lot of emotional purging.

Over the years I've gathered a variety of trinkets, notes, photos, souvenirs, and mementos related to my relationships. And, for the most part, I'm not bringing any of it with me to my new apartment. I've shredded love letters, trashed photographs, recycled bottles and reinvented objects so they don't belong to that part of my life anymore. I always feel so cleansed when I do this before a move, and purging my relationship past is even more cleansing.

So begins the portion of my life where I start to understand what being an adult means to myself and to my fellow people. Doing this unattached to another person will aid the process tremendously. This is the part where I find out who I am, what I'm doing and where I'm going. Then if someone wants to come along for the ride I'll be able to tell him all those things.

And so I say goodbye to pictures of my overly insecure boyfriend at prom, goodbye to that bottle of Billecart Salmon champagne (which was guaranteed to get you laid), goodbye to dozens of notes and love letters, and goodbye even to my keepsake heart boxes from Valentine's day. Most things were conveniently picked up by the trash collector this morning, ensuring I'll never see them again.

What I am keeping, however, are the photo albums I worked so hard on for months at a time, my custom Jones Soda bottle, my Chinese take-out purse, and my wood box, in which I'll keep old film strips. These objects are either too much my own or have too little sentimental value attached to those relationships to justify tossing. Or they're just pretty. Pretty things get to stay.