A Place of One's Own

Once upon a time I had my own apartment. The rent was too high, the neighborhood wasn't great, and my air conditioner didn't work. On several occasions I had to re-light my heater pilot with a match when it went out, and once my toilet broke and it took two days before someone came to fix it. My kitchen had the ugliest brown lacquered cabinets, and I swear my upstairs neighbors had a pet elephant who enjoyed tap-dancing. The frat boy wannabes (who were in their mid-thirties) across the way played their awful music too loud, and if the kids weren't using my back-patio to play hide and seek on, they would always be screaming in the pool (which was right on the other side of my patio).

But, despite all of this...I had my own apartment. I had my own living room, and my own bedroom, and my own kitchen, and my own bathroom. I could decorate however I wanted, and watch whatever I wanted on TV.

I'm starting to really miss my old place...especially today when I'm being charged with the task of cleaning 'my' room.

A sampling of photos from my apartment in Simi

First off, it's really hard to keep your room clean when you have to figure out a way to keep all of your stuff in there...which is tough, since my room at my parents' house isn't that much bigger than my queen-sized bed that's in there. I have maybe a 12"-border around my bed, and mom won't let me hang anything on the walls (which are no longer the teal of my teen-hood, but a shade of gray that reminds me somewhat of a prison cell...apparently it's supposed to be 'classy' but it just feels depressing). How am I supposed to feel like this is my room if I'm not allowed to put any of myself into it? With none of my travel pictures, or even pictures of my friends the blank walls just make me sad. Plus, I am really starting to miss my stuff. Every time I visit the storage unit, I see all my chairs, and my lamps and my decor...and I just miss it.

Working less than 30 hours a week, along with the three semesters it will take (at least) to get all my ECE certification means it's going to be a long while before I'll be able to see the light at the end of the 'living with my parents' tunnel.

I feel like the only way I'm ever going to be able to move out is if I:

a) Inherit a house that is already paid off and has no property taxes attached to it

b) Win a bajillion dollars by playing the lottery, because a bajillion dollars should cover rent for a while

-or-

c) Get married

none of these are likely solutions...especially since I don't even play the lottery.

I guess I'm just destined to live the life of a twenty-five year old teenager...

Let the wine of friendship never run dry

...or in our case, the margaritas of friendship!!

Back during our sophomore year, we went to this comedy club. One of the comedians was this guy who was gay...when he saw the group of us sitting in the front row, he said "A group of women on a night out? In my neighborhood that's a lesbian bowling team." We've since embraced that moniker, and this weekend we got the 'team' back together.

When the four of us get together, we get transported back to old times. We cooked a 'family dinner', talked about our lives, our loves and the things we do to pursue happiness, and you can't forget the pitcher of pomegranate margaritas we shared! So many things have changed since we've graduated from CLU, we've been through weddings and engagements, an international move and a baby, loss of job, and loss of family. I can't imagine what life would be like without these fabulous women in my life. Well...I do imagine I might have a lower credit card payment, but it's so hard not to buy that dress when your friends are telling you how great you look in it. Increasing debt is a small price to pay for the best friends a girl could ask for (and a dress that fits like it was made just for me!!)

Then on my way back up on Sunday, I stopped to see Jennie again and to officially meet her baby (last time I saw him he was sleeping, and only a week old). Three amazing friends, and the cutest 'nephew' ever...I am so lucky!

The Peace Cookie (a.k.a. The Salty Cookie Test)

As I spend my Friday night alone, watching Bridget Jones and folding laundry...I'm starting to wonder how I got to be in this situation. The alone part, that is. The folding laundry and Bridget Jones parts are obviously my own doing. The alone part might be as well...due to my pickiness. Although, it's hard to be picky when there is nothing to pick from...which is totally beside the point.

Back in college, I lived with a group of amazing girls! I still call these girls my roommates, although we haven't shared living quarters for nearly 3 and a half years (has it really been that long?). We have shared so many things: clothes, memories, inside jokes and food. Jennie was notorious for having us try her food if she thought it tasted weird. She would often say things like 'This milk tastes bad...try it' or 'does this cookie taste salty to you?' Once during our Junior year, we were having dinner in the caf, and joining us was this guy 'Tom' that one of the girls was kinda, sorta seeing. As we passed the cookie around, tasting it for saltiness, the cookie (or peace cookie) got to 'Tom'. He refused to take a bite. There was a place on the edge that hadn't been bitten yet, but he wouldn't taste the cookie. I think this was the beginning of the end of 'Tom'. For some reason on that night, eating that cookie was a big deal to us.

This all seems so silly, but whenever I start to kind of like a guy...there is a little voice in the back of my head asking 'Would he eat the cookie?'

If that makes me too picky...so be it!

You can't have your pie and eat it too...

I like to bake. Baking relieves my stress, and stimulates my creativity. Mostly just cookies, because they're fairly easy and the ingredients are usually just around. But lately, I really like to bake pies. I also like to eat pies...and homemade pies are the best to eat (so I've been told). However, my father has a ridiculous sweet-tooth, and now that I'm back living with my dearest, darlingest Mumsy and Popsicle it has become increasingly more difficult to keep baked goods around. About a month ago, I made a peach and blackberry pie. Y'know...just 'cause

It was not only the best and most prettiest pie I'd ever made, but it was probably one of the tastiest pies I'd ever eaten. But I only got to eat about two slices. I made this pie on a Monday afternoon; it was gone by Tuesday evening.

Last Saturday, my parents had a friend over for a BBQ...so my mom 'commissioned' a pie. I decided to make an apple pie with a layer of pecans and brown sugar under the crust.

I won't lie...it was a really yummy pie. According to dad, it was the best pie he'd ever had. Which apparently was cause for him to eat the half that was left over the next day. Just for once I want to make a delicious pie and have it last longer than a couple of days. I would like to bake a pie and get to eat a slice for dessert every night for a week without my dad devouring the pie I'd worked so hard to make.

Something to add to the list of things to do if I ever move out of my parents' house