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.