AS PROMISED, I’m updating on my current living situations. I know I’ve already made reference to my new digs (see here), but never given the “(Not-So) Grand Tour.” Ladies. Fellas. Prepare thyselves!
So semi-sadly, my roommates and I left our old, cozy Fargo home at the end of August. I never realized how much “stuff” (read: JUNK) I’d amassed since moving there, even with the Approximately Less project (which I’m STILL TRYING to keep alive). We had it reaaaaaaaaaalllllly friggin’ good at that house, affectionately known as “604”: Free cable, a garage, fenced yard, two bathrooms, laundry, two closets per room, a worthless three seasons porch, our own MAILBOX, a mini deck (that I entertained on once), a stellar hutch in our kitchen, secret passageways, spiders, two highway patrolmen’s homes within 100 feet of our house, and a landlord two doors down to clip our lawn, remove our snow, but not rake our leaves, and fix anything within five minutes. Literally. And would you believe, all that for less per month than the price of a 32GB iPod Touch!
The new place is…small. Tiny. Baby-sized, especially in comparison to the house I moved out of, but I’m one roommate lighter (Heidi, it’s been fun). Here’s the catch: It’s a garage. A double garage, converted into a studio, converted into a two bedroom apartment. I know.
I’ve been working hard since day one to make this place feel like “home” or something. For a long time (meaning the first week and even still) I’d walk in the door and my first thought would be, “This place is strange, uncomfortable, this isn’t home.” But I’m working on it. We’ve been here three weeks now (wow) and it’s sorta-kinda beginning to shape up in little ways.
Looking toward the “front door.” Which is actually the back door—and also the only door.
I sacrificed my desk to use as a kitchen table. Coincidentally, it’s the only surface in the world that’s small enough to fit this designated “kitchen table space”: two square feet.
I’d like to draw your attention to the AWESOME photo of Wilco hanging above the kitchen sink. Just a little something to look at when I’m doing the dishes.
Our “closet.” Which is not actually a closet at all, but a bastardized cutout in the wall, where we cleverly put a dresser to store all of our feminine products, toilet paper, and what-have-you’s.
There is no possible reason to not be giddy while you’re in this bathroom. No reason. It’s also the most educational bathroom I’ve ever lived with. How convenient that while—ahem—going to the bathroom, I can learn my world geography. All the reason to spend more time in the bathroom.
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I strive for my room to be a sanctuary. Or just a colorful mess. Either way, it’s pretty much what’s going on in my head.
NOTICE: My track lighting. That’s right—track lighting. Complete with a DIMMER SWITCH. These things don’t come cheap.
This wall is super skimp right now, but once the cards my mom sends me start to accumulate—BAM! Decorated.
My closet has been organized in rainbow order since 2001. Quite frankly, I’m not sure how I’d dress myself without this system.
Another notable aspect of this photo is the cube shelf. I assembled it myself without reading the directions it came with. It shows.
This is one of the greatest aspects of my room (in my opinion)—naked Ken doll holding Van Gogh post-ear amputation. Add a tennis trophy topper man sans tennis racket and it makes for a pretty magical corner of my room.
I got this knick knack at a thrift store last week. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what it does. Like a neti pot on steroids. Some might call it a tchotchke. I rather like it.
That’s a little taste of home for you—toss in the party house next door (a party or two every weekend, without fail) and it makes for a cozy environment. Sure, I don’t have as much space for visitors, but if you’ve got an air mattress and don’t mind putting up with my crazy antics (especially in such small living quarters) anyone is welcome to visit. In fact, I encourage it!
Love from “815 1/2” (so small, they can’t make us 816),
j
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