Lease

Seeing the manila envelope slapped on the carpet in front of my door filled me with not a little apprehension at the enclosed missive from my apartment complex's management.

I was at first relieved to find the contents were not a formal complaint or request for an increased level of decency on my part. When I realized I held in my hands next year's lease the relief faded to the somber realization I have lived in this humble abode for 10 months.

I remember entering the main office almost a year ago. I sat with the very young and very blonde agent Ashley in the well appointed room listening to my options. I had told her I only needed a place for a few months. Reason for the move? Divorce. It was the first time I had used this word out loud to a stranger and I found myself stupidly slightly ashamed. Ashley, to her credit, emitted a soft "sorry to hear" and moved right along to the hard facts.

I was facing an exorbitant monthly fee for a short term fully furnished pad, normally reserved for corporate purposes. I reluctantly signed up for a one year unfurnished thinking the month penalty for early termination would be made up by the lower allowance if I could stay there for at least 5 months.

Asking what was available, Ashley told me a third floor two bedroom with a balcony just opened up in a building she described as having personal knowledge of as a good choice. It was only later I realized we ended up being neighbors, by the way.

She asked if I wanted to see it, instead I just signed the papers and escaped to retreive my check book for the down payment.

Stepping a month later into my newly acquired white walled and carpeted, white veneer cabinetted, old ass appliance appointed crib I nearly had a full blown panic attack.

Luckily, I was accompanied by my Love, who at the time was only my "Training Partner" and dear friend. She tried to ease my mind with thoughts of all the wild parties I could throw, fully utilizing the "breakfast bar" slash "wall separating my tiny kitchenette from my office and front room". Just think of all the running group bashes we will throw!

To this day, I have had one party, Matt & Sarah (fellow blogger) visiting my Love and I for the Superbowl (which was expertly documented on her blog).

I do use the bar all the time, my son and daughter perch on my barstools (sturdy ones with full backs... put down the phone, no need to call DCFS on my ass) for their meals. Me serving them "diner style", standing as I eat. (DCFS = Department of Children and Family Services here in Chicago, by the way)

Anyway, I have made myself rather comfortable and despite the fact I still do not own a couch I am very happy here.

Let me address the whole couch issue. I am consistently surprised and a bit amused at how the lack of this item thoroughly disgusts people.

I first did not purchase one because I really didn't think I would be here this long. I wasn't intending to go back to "the house", mind you. That Saturday the moving van pulled up and caught the eye of every adult male on the block out mowing their Pleasant Valley Sunday plot of green will forever be the last morning I woke up in my McMansion. Packing up in no time at all (I totally rock at packing and organizing for a move), I took as little as possible, relishing the freedom to "leave it all behind".

I still relish this freedom, but alas this, like everything worthwhile, comes at a cost. The price I paid this weekend was mincing onions with a pizza cutter on a plate because I possess neither a sharp knife nor a cutting board much to the chagrin of my Love who was making her special guacamole recipe for the St. Pat's party that evening hosted by Matt & Sarah (soon to be fully documented on her blog!).

Despite having to cut up the avocados with a butter knife my Love's guac rocked and was devoured by the only half drunk crowd only minutes after our arrival.

My neighbors who share a wall with me had borrowed a beer bottle opener from me one evening months ago. This is a young couple who moved in the same time I did, and seem like genuinely sweet Midwestern people, but also the type that would not own a beer bottle opener, having no use for alcoholic accoutrement.

My Love suggested they return the favor, and tried to get me to knock on their door and inquire whether or not I could use a "sharp knife" just for a bit. I was not sure I knew them well enough to ask for such a thing, "Hey, I just need to cut something up really quick, I'll have this cleaned and back to you in no time!"

Funny story about the newlywed guy, I ran into him the first day I saw my apartment. He gave me a hardy "howdy new neighbor" and proclaimed he was just getting married that weekend. I actually was able to bite my tongue and filter out the "what a coincidence, I just got separated!" Why take the shine off of his good time?

Another funny thing about this couple... I have never even once "heard them". You know what I mean. The sound proofing is quite good in this complex, I'll give them that, but they are a newly wed couple. I feel like taking him aside to make sure he is doing it right but I'm afraid he'd just look at me confused and reply they didn't want to "make a baby yet" so why would they do... you know... that!

So back to my couch, I think I'll celebrate the signing of my new year long lease and get one. Not as an acknowledgement of defeat, but as an affirmation that my temporary living space is not as temporary as I would like but is still the bridge to a brighter day.
I am going over first thing Monday to drop off the signed and initialed document to Ashley. If she isn't there, I will have to give it to the new leasing agent, a very young and very blonde nice young lady named Ashley.

I also finally got Renter's Insurance. I assumed this would be taken care of since I have homeowner's insurance. Like when you have car insurance you are covered no matter what car you are driving. So, can't I be covered no matter where I happen to be living? Thanks to this naive (stupid) thought process I have been living uninsured for the past 10 months.

Walking across the street to the new "State Farm" office that just opened up (a signal to me I could not put this off any longer... how much easier could it get?!) I found myself in the middle of a true to life family business.

I was greeted by the gregarious manager / father and seated with the nervous daughter at the bad dark fake wood office furniture. Her name was Ashley and she sported a tense smile and a very pregnant belly covered, not unattractively, with a print dress of some sort of manmade fabric.

I happen to follow the Dave Barry regulation that a man must not comment on a woman's pregnancy unless at that very moment he can see a baby emerging from her body. I pretended not to notice.

I declined the offer of a cup of coffee from the mother who had been beckoned to help Ashley out with the form. The scent in the air reeked of "flavored beans", and I would rather remain thirsty and slightly sleepy that subject myself to artificially tinged java.

As she clicked away at the keyboard and furrowed her brow at the curiously monochrome screen, Ashley made small talk. Do you have any kids? I had already told her I was divorced (I like to cut to the chase with this and not describe how I am still in the process and it is just a matter of court dates and legal fees at this point), I am getting very good at delivering this information to strangers, and frankly enjoying it nowadays.

This was my opening to ask her if she had children. Here is how our conversation went:

Ashley: I'm pregnant right now!

AMLite: That's great, is this one your first?

Ashley: No.

AMLite: How many children do you have.

Ashley: Four. Or five.

AMLite: (silently to himself) WTF?

AMLite: (out loud) Wow.

Ashley: Yes, I'm much older than I look.

AMLite: Yeah, I get that a lot too, how old are you.

Ashley: 22.

This discourse made me wonder why the mother, father, and two other ladies in the office (most likely aunts by the look of them) allowed their youngest member to handle the first impression department for their office.

Anyway, it was a good thing I got this insurance as my faucet broke off and my kitchen sink turned into a powerful fountain which would make a great "water feature" in my back yard but a terrible addition to my tiny kitchen today.

My Love and I were just cleaning up from our little brunch when Old Faithful broke the serene morning into a frenzied "how do I turn off the damn water & grab some towels quick!" mess.

I would like to finish this story by describing in detail how we had to drop our robes to soak up the torrent and ended up making sweet love on the slippery linoleum, but alas this was not the case.

A quick call to my emergency maintenance number had a guy out to fix the problem in a matter of hours.

Hmm. Maybe this apartment living thing isn't so bad after all.

Happy

Although I had just quit my miserable job the day prior and accepted an offer at a new company, I awoke on Saturday morning feeling distinctly unhappy.

My children had risen quite early thanks to the sun artificially signaling morning time; a nuisance soon to be wiped out by daylight savings time.

A similar pattern of negotiations inevitably follow.

Them: "Its morning time, daddy!"

Me: "Ugh. Look at the clock, its too early, go back to bed for a little bit more!"

Them: "But the sun is up, daddy!"

Me: "But the current "time / daylight" gap is just a product of an archaic and arbitrary human made system to designed ostensibly to save energy and help school children which instead just leads to mass confusion and more waste."

Them: "Your slavish adherence to numbers on a machine to dictate your actions is robbing you of the opportunity to bond with us while we are still young and willing to hang out with you."

I relent, and my 6 year old son and 2 year old daughter crawl into my Sleepnumber bed for some serious cuddling.

Holding my boy, comfortably ensconced in footy pajamas, in one arm and my daughter in the other as she gently stokes my face, unblinkingly peering into my eyes, brightens my mood considerably.

Nevertheless, a certain melancholy had descended upon me. It was the hangover of an exhaustive past few weeks; the rigors of my soon to be terminated current position, navigating multiple new opportunities and interviews, the final negotiations. This stress cocktail was capped off with the resignation call to my now ex-boss Friday evening.

What was I to do? I decided I needed two things badly: a drink and a nap and not necessarily in that order.

I ended up taking two short siestas that day. I also thoroughly cleaned my apartment (yes, in the nude) and fixed the sunglasses of my Love (while clothed, in case you were wondering).

This last task involved me finding a repair kit I had received years ago (one of the benefits of my obsessive nature, I found the thing in no time!). Concentrating on that little screw clutched delicately in my bulbous fleshly fingertips while the tiny tool twisted ever so slightly, turning into the hinge, I felt useful and focussed. I was able to block out the rest of the world, fully turning my attention to this micro task, willing my hands to act skillfully without shaking.

Speaking of shakes, I really needed that drink!

My Love and I met up with Sarah (fellow blogger) and Matt at their lovely home to tip a few cold ones and share some laughs. My mood immediately brightened and I found myself happily enjoying the company of my friends.

My friend Joel had called me that afternoon to invite us to see his buddy's band play at a local establishment. He told me his friend is a keyboardist and the band plays 80's music.

My Love and I were intrigued, but so prepared to hate it. We gleefully pictured the cheesy bar scene complete with this dude banging away on a synthesizer wearing like a sweatband on his forehead or something.

Well, we were wrong.

After parking in the Jewel (local grocery store) lot across the busy street since the club's lot was jam packed, we held our breath and slipped past the crowds of smokers gathered in the entryway. Since our state went totally smoke free, these exiled patrons pathetically shiver in the freezing cold, banished to slowly kill themselves in the outdoors and try to keep up their cool facades while shivering in tight packs.

It actually took some time to dissipate the stench of smoke from this brief envelopment, and it made me happy I wouldn't be waking up the next morning with a second hand stink.

The joint was called "Double Vision". We were so prepared to hate this filthy meat market, but actually enjoyed the place thoroughly. It was huge, like a high school gymnasium only darker with a full service bar. The patrons were also slightly older.

The bathrooms were excellent, very clean with nice new tile. The only downside was the bathroom attendants on duty. Dude, I can crank out my own paper towel, thanks. I did take pity on one of the guys, I guess he was an ex-security guard down on his luck by the look of him. For a $1 tip, though, I expect to be at least "shaken off" (and I mean that in a hygienic manner only).

My Love and I paid the $10 a person cover and got hand stamped to enter the "band room" and there was my buddy Joel dancing in the front.

He was joined by two young ladies wearing matching self-made Michael Jackson T-shirts with the word "Shamon" printed in shiny silver letters. Their glow-in-the-dark bracelets completed the package. Bubbly girls, and quite nice. Lonely, clearly, but fun nonetheless.

We all stood in front of the huge speakers and shouted at each other at the top of our blissfully smoke free lungs. Throughout the whole evening I probably understood a total of two sentences of conversation, so I stuck to smiling and nodding.

Drinks were purchased and I saw Joel bring one to his buddy perched on the corner of the stage banging away at the synth.

I had to take him aside and advise him that delivering rum and cokes garnished with two bright red cherries to a male band member might significantly reduce his chances of scoring with the ladies.

Speaking of scoring, there was a young couple who follow this band around right in the front totally making out for the entire show. She had this bad yellow shirt on clinging to her young over-tanned body. I couldn't help seeing her ten years from now, and it was pretty. Anyway, her guy didn't seem to mind the way she was dressed or treating her skin, he had he hands fully roaming along with his tongue as they dry humped their way through Duran Duran. Hungry like the wolf, indeed.

That being said, the crowd was actually pretty cool and this place wasn't the meat market I had expected. Nobody approached up to buy us drinks, and when people walked by they didn't give you that knowing glance or piercing stare I associate with people on the make. There was this one guy, obviously drinking too much and fighting with his date who hadn't yet figured out her life would be much better if only she could stop dating assholes like him. He was wearing a polo shirt with a long sleeved white undershirt for warmth. I guess he thought the short sleeve striped top was so hot he couldn't wait until spring and had to bust it out for Double Vision. He kept trying to balance his beer glass on his head while dancing, I guess that was his "special power". I actually had the impulse to punch him in the face, but then I reminded myself that I am a metrosexual engineer and not some macho ruffian.

Back to my group, we continued screaming at each other, laughing and drinking while rocking out to the seriously excellent band. This band took all the one hit wonders and cheesy 80's songs and actually made them song good. Joel's friend actually quit his corporate job (selling high tech.... just like me) and does this full time as well as serving on the board of a charity that oversees education for children in Zambia.

So, it turns out this guy seems to have it all figured out, he lives downtown Chicago, has fun playing in the band, has a higher purpose. No wonder he seems happy.

Last call was announced and the lights came on and the cockroaches scattered. We said good-bye to Joel, I admonished him not to wake up the next morning in the back of his green mini-van also parked by Jewel as a "Shamon sandwich" wearing a now fading glow ring around his genitalia.

Finding my car still in the parking lot, untowed and untouched, at 3AM hand in hand with my Love I realized that I was happy.

Although I have been termed an Optimist by some, I consider myself more of a Positive Realist. By which I mean I embrace the reality of the situation but always think things will turn out for the best in the long run.

I used to think my goal in life was to be Happy, but now that I am happy, I realize it is not a steady state.

I love reading the latest physics research on the building blocks of matter. We are starting to realize that instead of collection of hard bits and pieces, all our flesh and bone boils down to quantum states, probabilities and vibrations.

And by vibrations I mean frequency, sinusoidal waveforms, ebb and flow, Yin and Yang, penis and vagina.

We aren't meant to stay in one state, always happy or always sad.

I look at it now as having a relatively stable & content foundation from which I can swing into happiness as well as melancholy. I want to be able to fully experience and enjoy the adventures in life but also embrace painful expansion and growth. Laugh to enjoy and cry to understand. Riding the highs and relishing the lows. Keeping grounded to avoid flights of fancy or pits of despair.

Staying in any one state too long, whether it is ecstasy or malaise, robs you of your vibrating humanity and starts your decay.

Ride the wave, baby.