On My Limitless Capacity for Complaining
So I love my new apartment. I love that it takes but five minutes to walk to the gym, to the library, and to any number of establishments on State Street. I love that it has a ginormous jacuzzi bathtub and that it has chosen to bless me with free cable. And I love that all of my furniture seems to fit so well into it.
Right now, only two things really bother me.
The first is that the larger apartment building seems to be solely inhabited by ghosts. For despite the fact that there are at least 35 units in the building, I have yet to actually lay eyes on another resident since the day I moved in. I heard water running across the hall yesterday afternoon, and I’m fairly sure that someone dropped something above me early this morning, but that’s it. It’s a little creepy, actually. I’ve taken to peering out of my eyehole now and then just in case I can catch someone wandering the hallways. Not a good sign.
The second issue is the smell. My apartment doesn’t smell bad by any means. But it doesn’t yet smell like I expect my place to smell -- not that I have any idea what exactly that means. It smells flowery. And foreign. And I’m not really sure what to do about this. Will this flowery smell go away as I come to inhabit the place more fully? Or does the apartment just have its own particular smell that I will have to get used to (much as I got used to the smell of Malt-o-Meal that pervaded the St. Olaf campus)?
Actually, I guess things could be worse than having ghost neighbors and a flowery smelling apartment. I shouldn’t complain. But I will anyway.
Right now, only two things really bother me.
The first is that the larger apartment building seems to be solely inhabited by ghosts. For despite the fact that there are at least 35 units in the building, I have yet to actually lay eyes on another resident since the day I moved in. I heard water running across the hall yesterday afternoon, and I’m fairly sure that someone dropped something above me early this morning, but that’s it. It’s a little creepy, actually. I’ve taken to peering out of my eyehole now and then just in case I can catch someone wandering the hallways. Not a good sign.
The second issue is the smell. My apartment doesn’t smell bad by any means. But it doesn’t yet smell like I expect my place to smell -- not that I have any idea what exactly that means. It smells flowery. And foreign. And I’m not really sure what to do about this. Will this flowery smell go away as I come to inhabit the place more fully? Or does the apartment just have its own particular smell that I will have to get used to (much as I got used to the smell of Malt-o-Meal that pervaded the St. Olaf campus)?
Actually, I guess things could be worse than having ghost neighbors and a flowery smelling apartment. I shouldn’t complain. But I will anyway.
posted by OleNelson at 10:51 PM
6 Comments:
I'll kill your ducks - that'll give you something to complain about!
our last place had a corner that smelled like cat piss. i think that's worse than flowers.
Today's entry was read accompanied by my famous song, "Poor little Travis boy," (to the tune of Poor Little Jesus Boy.) Suck it up OleNelson! Or in about a week and a half nature will throw something your way on the road that will REALLY give you something to complain about...
Perhaps you should offer the ghaosts a gimlet. Always good to keep the paranormal happy.
I say, (despite the fact that the scent of flowers is certainly better than the stench of cat piss)if it helps, complain away. However, it may be apropos (for a bit of context) to also remind your loyal readers of your first abode in WI. I think they would be highly entertained by stories of the creepy crawly infestations, and wasn't there a gross bathtub/shower fiasco?, and most scintillating of all, the too frequently self-abusing leather man upstairs. Care to elaborate for us OleNelson?
Good point, b-lish. I will try to drag back those old stories this evening sometime. Shudder.
God I love the smell of Malt'o'Meal. Especially the stuff they were baking at roughly 6:30am when I trudged my ass to the pool for a morning workout. I don't miss the pool. I miss the M.O.M.
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