Arranging the Piles

I went out to see my grandma today. As usual, mom and I arrived only to stand in the summer heat knocking on the door for way too long because the old folks can't hear. I can't really hold it against them though. They are getting older.

Grandma let us in and frantically tried to give us drinks. She always does this when we come over, like the trip from the "big city" is actually a desert voyage. Since I was used to this behavior though, it didn't bother me.

We sat down for a lunch o

f sandwiches and potato salad. I was secretly grossed out because of the deviled eggs, which I both hate because of flavor and smell. Mom, grandma, grandpa and I all made our sandwiches by passing around the meats and cheese and vegetables in a haphazard disorganized way that befits me.

Finally when everyone got their plates made, I got to tell my grandparents about my big move. They were excited for me.

Grandpa: "You'll love living on your own. Honey-babe," (that's what he calls my grandma), "why don't we give our granddaughter here some tupperware. Kids need tupperware these days!"

I really don't know why I

need tupperware so desperately, but it was still a nice gesture.

After a few hours, my aunt also joined us. She was hungover and cranky. Apparently, she had too many margaritas the night before. Pitchers and pitchers, she had said. I tend to believe she did. She looked trashed.

Mom and I, who are usually left out of the loop concerning things going on with grandma and grandpa, or my aunt, (for instance, they all leave for trips without our knowledge...) also found out that my aunt was having a bit of a midlife crisis. She'd bought a white Solara convertible.

It looks like this:

She also informed us of her purchase after telling us again and again how she had no money, and couldn't even afford to buy her son McDonalds. Its like a $25,000 car. She really makes me shake my head in wonder.

After my aunt left, mom and I opted to leave too. Grandma assured me that the next time I came out she would teach me how to sew. I smiled pleasantly, but I know she will just forget.

Mom and I drove to my dad's where I picked up my car and drove myself back to her house. There, I found out that my mom's boyfriend was over at the studio.

Excited by this, I took the dog with me to see what Adam was up to. He seemed surprised to see me, but I went straight to work, helping him sort through boxes. He had set up a table for Goodwill. Honestly, I think the table is going to turn into the "keep" pile. There is just so much stuff we don't use.

I found a massive desk in there that for whatever was bought, put to use for a short time, then deconstructed. Adam said my mom thought it was too dark. It was a casualty that needed to go. There is also a dog-hair covered futon that is the resting place of almost ten boxes of old books.

I went and checked out the appliances, and the dishwasher is so old it has a knob that you turn to "On." I think it is both cool, and archaic. Its like finding the old television in my dad's parents' basement that has a built in antennae and three knobs to find channels 2, 3, 4, 9, 11, and 30. I feel both the dishwasher and t.v. would be better suited in a museum. One of those museums that is shiny and new looking, with all kinds of antiques in it, like a fridge from the fifties, the first Ford car, and a flapper dress.

Anyways, Adam said it might need to be replaced because he isn't sure it works. In one respect, a washer that works is a big thumbs up. In another, my kitchen is not going to match at all. It'll turn into a mishmash of old yellow appliances and sparkling new ones. Like the white microwave that can make an eight inch pizza because its round.

I tried going through more stuff than just the two boxes I covered, but mom beckoned both Adam and I to help her with the groceries.

That's when we set up a time table for when things need to be done. Theoretically, I will be able to make payments on my new living quarters starting in October. So if everything is done by then, it will be great. That simply means that we have to arrange our piles accordingly; those piles being keep, Goodwill, or trash, then follow through on the few fixes it needs.

Those fixes include a new thermostat, fixing a post or two on the deck because of wood rot, replace a couple of vent covers and light flippy things, and maybe get a newer dishwasher. And we have to clean the fridge. And make sure the stove works. And then when we move out the stuff that is already in there, I am going to want to paint it, (I am thinking BLUE). Then we will have to actually move me in. But it is just the very end of July, beginning of August. I think that is a workable time table.

Adam seems to agree. He thought I was going to ask to be moved in before school starts. I told him I wasn't crazy.

All in all, I am hesitantly happy to start on this new project in my life. Honestly, it seems a lot less scary than starting college was. What seems a lot scarier than moving out, though, is telling my dad that I am.

I got a few months though. I think he can wait.

The Storage Unit... I Mean Studio

So, I decided, since my mother and I had talked about the studio at length, I should maybe actually go ahead and look at it. My mother, her boyfriend, our dog and I all made the short trek over to the next building to have a look-see.

The first few things I noticed. 1. The person across the hall uses a wheel chair. 2. The apartments are one floor down; definitely not wheel chair accessible. 3. The screen door opens on the left and the actual door opens to the right.

I took all these things in pretty quickly, mentioning the wheel chair thing to my mother. While we both thought it was peculiar, I didn't have time to ponder, for it was inspection time.

The studio is pretty cool. It big and open, and there is a freaking breakfast bar. The deck is huge, and can easily fit a nice round table. The appliances are old school, but the condominiums were built in the seventies, so the tacky yellow stove, dishwasher and fridge had been in style at one point.

Oh, and the whole place is full of everything imaginable. Did I mention it is used as a storage unit?

There is all kinds of things in the studio. Old bike skeletons, a rocking chair, really green bar stools. There are huge mattresses and the frame to go with it. There are boxes and boxes of old clothes, winter clothes, boots, shoes, towels from when my parents were still together, Christmas and birthday bags. I spotted my archery target and my little brother's stuffed Simba he gave a mohawk when he was seven. I know my Beanie Baby collection has been sequestered over there.

Everything has also been placed on tarps. The studio's main room had been redone. The floors are a new hardwood, the walls repainted, and the sliding glass door replaced. It looks really nice and updated until you get to the back-to-the-past kitchen. The juxtaposition though is sort of charming. I think I will be able to make it work.

Looking at the studio, which will hopefully be mine here in the next couple of months, I am getting really excited. Its like going to school that first day. I am nervous about the work that is going to go into making that space my own, but also really excited at being able to express myself so freely. So what if I don't have towels or plates or a coffee table! It'll all come together eventually.

How This All Came About

When exactly did I decide I wanted to move out? Well maybe when I realized I had the opportunity; Mother had offered me the studio a while back. It wasn't like I hadn't considered her offer, weighed the pro's and con's; I had. But when I finally decided that I had to move out was after the big fight I had with my dad.

Let me clear things up, first. My dad and I don't fight. Like, ever. We don't even argue for real. We understand each other completely, on a level that is never seen with teenagers and their parents. But a fight was bound to happen. The way I see it, nineteen years of not fighting was really going to have to come to a stop at some point in time. Sooner was better than later.

So we argued, and fought, and it ended with my dad, who never gets mad, screaming at me to "pack up your fucking shit and get the fuck out of my house!" I decided that going to my mom's must be the best route. I mean if one fight, even one of epic proportions, ended this badly, who knew what would happen during the next fight. I mean one fight precipitates more fighting in the future.

So while I went upstairs to leave, my dad cooled down.

He then told me about a half hour later that he didn't mean it, that I could stay at his house for as long as I wanted.

Well I didn't want to for very long.

Which brings me to now: I am making the big move to leave the nest.

What leaving the nest means, I am not totally sure. On one hand, I get freedom from both of my parents. I can do what I want when I want. But that also means I won't be coming home to my dad's grilling, or my mom's candles. Or the million other things that make both of their houses my homes.

There are a million things that are going to make this whole thing very fun. And also very stressful. I mean, I don't have towels. Or pots and pans. Or a blow dryer! I don't even know how much those things cost.

Mom suggested I watch my spending for a whole month, to see if I can really afford to live by myself. I already know I can though. I pay two hundred dollars on my car, and it'll be paid off in October. It's really the perfect time to make a move. My car will be paid off, which means those funds can just be made for rent instead.

So I know I can pay for the studio, but the question is really about all those other things. Things I don't always pay for. Like food, and shampoo, and toilet paper. How much of that stuff do I even need? I am only one person. I don't even eat that much. I probably won't need to buy copious amounts of food like my parents do. Feeding four people is way more expensive than just me!

I really have just decided that it is really going to be like one big adventure. Everyone has to be on their own at some point in time. I figure I should make the big move before my dad really gets mad and kicks me out a second time.