Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Home is where the fart is

I am living in my second apartment since moving into the city. The first, I found on Craigslist and made my decision over the course of a week. While it worked out all right, and my roommates were cool, it was never home. Actually, 3 out of the 5 people I lived with were cool. One was okay, but left in the middle of November and the rest of us were scrambling before the holidays to find a replacement or find $200 extra each to cover the rent. Her replacement constantly smoked pot and said it was just incense (who burns incense besides potheads?), left her dyed red hair in the shower drain, and being rude to all of us, including me, and all I did was ignore her because when she first moved in, I thought she was the cleaning lady.

In my second apartment, I am home. As a trio, we searched apartments, sometimes in pairs, in every combination of two possible. We had nachos and a drink over our decision to sign the lease on the place we loved. Then, we rallied the next day when we found out that apartment wasn't available. We even worked as a unit creeping out one of the realty agents on a hot July 3rd morning with mentions of baby chambers, bacon chambers, Buddha statues, and a life history of Bubbles the chimp. No, I don't know what a bacon chambers is, but I think the baby chambers was a room full of babies.

My first apartment mirrors the first room I had in college. No one really ever saw my room freshman year of college. I would prop the door open when people came, and then close it, and reopen it only to join them wherever we were going. Very few people saw my apartment last year. Being a huge dork for metaphors and television, I decided it was as if there was no money in the production budget (if my life was a TV show) to build a set for the dorm room or the apartment.

I always thought that it was because of the stuff. Freshman year, I didn't have my own computer at first. I had a lofted bed. No fridge. Few belongings, besides a Buffy poster. Sophomore year, I had a futon, fridge, posters and personal effects everywhere. But I also had a roommate I could be myself around.

I can remember the moment it felt like home. He farted. So, I farted. From then on, we could fart. That's disgusting, I know, but can you really ever be at home if you don't fart? Since I live with girls now, I don't run around farting, but I can be myself. I can do the weird things that I couldn't have done around my old roommates, without feeling all eyes on me, or feeling weird. Usually, they join in. We are all a little off, which is why we often say to each other "What are we?"

Now I can buy a tacky wreath and put swords from my Halloween costume through it as a decoration, because my roommate suggested it. While I do the dishes, and pick up several butter knives, it's okay if I start singing "I-look-like-Freddy Krueger/ when I was the dish-eeessss!" When I start humming a tune, and my roommate starts doing the Pee Wee Herman "Tequila" dance, I look at her, puzzled, because that's not the tune I was humming. But I like where her head's at, and that she is a weirdo just like me.

4 comments:

C said...

"I can remember the moment it felt like home. He farted. So, I farted. From then on, we could fart. That's disgusting, I know, but can you really ever be at home if you don't fart?"

One of the best moments of my college life was exactly the same...And one of the funniest moments with my wife. Either way, I knew I was home, so I get it.

Kim said...

Also one of the definitely moments for J & I. We fart. All the time. It's....awesome.

Nicole said...

teared up a little reading this. and slowly shook my head in slightly-embarrassed agreement. ditto, kid.

****** said...

I can't stop laughing as I read this. I totally forgot about the baby/bacon chamber. And seriously, what are we & what would I have done if I never met you two?