Blake had everybody over for a party one weekend. While we were there, Stacy told us about the allergy attack she had had earlier that day, and their frantic search for anything in the apartment that could have caused it. They found what looked like cat hair on one of the chairs, but they couldn't be sure. After all, how could cat hair have gotten into the apartment? There was too much of it to have come off someone's clothes. Erica thought it might have been fibers from a fuzzy blanket she had.
Phil and Christy showed up later with some friends, and ordered pizza since they hadn't eaten. At the end of the night, the two of them took everybody home, but left the pizza boxes for someone else to clean up. Exasperated, Blake took the pizza boxes and all the trash that had been left out by his roommate, and dumped it in Phil's room. He may as well have lit a fuse.
First day of school today. Was late for class. The parking situation looked so desperate, I wasn't sure I would make it to my first class at all. But I did. Everything after that went swimmingly. At ODU, that is.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I sit here in my swimsuit, typing, when I should be swimming. I spent an hour cleaning out the pool, before I got too frustrated to go on. See, the problem is we have this tree. The tree grows over the deck and covers half the pool. Everytime the wind blows, the tree dumps crap into the pool. You wouldn't believe how much crap one tree can produce. No intelligent person would design a pool this way. This has become my mantra, repeated with each sweep of the net. No intelligent person... No intelligent person... No intelligent person... I keep begging my parents to trim the branches back, but they say it's the wrong season. If you cut branches during a growing season, you run the risk of killing the tree. So?
I went to ODU today to take care of some administrative stuff: parking decal, ID card, and books. The idea of school seems a little less intimidating now. The ODU campus is pretty easy to navigate.
Our next door neighbor came over and brought some spice bread. :) Her daughter is 24, living at home, and starting grad school at ODU this year. I didn't expect to find anyone my age in this neighborhood, let alone someone in the exact same situation living right next door. This could turn out to be pretty cool. Also, these neighbors happen to be Christians, a commonality that especially pleased my mom.
I suppose I should conclude my little chronicle about my food vendor friend. Nothing much ever came of our flirtations with one another; nothing but vague promises and disappointments. I think the inevitability of my moving away put a damper on things. Shame. Last I heard, he was trying to leave Sutton Place for a better job elsewhere. Best of luck to you, Steve!
I vacuumed the pool today. One and a half hours and 11 mosquito bites later, I felt like I had truly accomplished something.
I'll write more later when I have more to write.
Today's the day. I will leave my self-sufficient urban living environment for the parental-run domicile in Chesapeake, VA (a.k.a "Bubbaville"). On my last day in the city, I wanted to do something really worthwhile, so I dragged my dad along and we went paddle-boating on the Tidal Basin. He said, "This sure beats loading a U-Haul truck!" It remains to be seen which activity will provide me with more closure.
There was the issue over the pot. Who knew such turmoil could develop over one cooking implement? According to Christy, Blake called Phil when he was out one night and demanded that he come to the apartment and clean a pot left in the sink. One pot. It seemed a ridiculous request. According to Stacy, Christy and Phil cooked dinner at the apartment all the time and never cleaned up after themselves. And it wasn't one pot, it was a whole sinkful that had been left there for days and was starting to stink. Blake was tired of cleaning up after Phil, and for once wanted Phil to take responsibility for his own mess. Christy blamed Stacy for Blake's relatively recent dedication to cleanliness.
I went driving around Old Town last night. For some reason, I had never noticed before how many cool date places there are down there. I found myself thinking, "Ooh, that would be a good place to go on a date... and that... and that..." Naturally, this line of reflection turned to how relatively few dates I've gone on in the two years I've been here (even while I was dating someone!). So, DC guys, this is your last call. You have one week. If you want to go on a date with me, speak now or forever hold your peace.
(I am somewhat discriminating, but being male and under 40 will definitely help your chances.)
Blake's sister Erica came to stay with them for the summer. Blake bought her a futon and rigged up the dining room of their small apartment as a bedroom for her. Since she didn't have a job yet, and because she was family, Blake wouldn't let her pay anything in the way of rent. This did not go over so well with Phil. He felt like a guest in his own apartment, that he would be intruding if he just wanted to watch TV in the living room. It didn't seem fair that Erica could take over half the common area and stay rent-free, while he struggled to afford the smaller of the two bedrooms.
Then Phil had an idea. If he could sublet his room for the summer while he stayed at Christy's, he might be able to recoup a little money and make some headway on his debt. There didn't seem to be any other options open to him. He ran it by Blake... and Blake said no.
Yeah, it turns out the guy I thought was the manager was actually the catering guy. And somehow, all on his own initiative, he picked *me* out of their entire clientele to give Steve's number to, the same girl Steve had given his own number to the day before. Pretty remarkable.
So I go in yesterday to see if Steve's there--I mean, to get some sushi--and Andrew, the catering guy, starts talking to me. (I have to walk by his desk to get to the exit.) He asks me if I've called Steve, etc., and then he says something like, "He's gonna be thanking me for three years when he marries you." Ha!
Phil's lack of fiscal prowess was a real problem for Christy. She wanted a guy who could take care of her, and that meant financially, among other things. "He says he wants to marry me, but he can't even pay his cable bill, let alone afford a ring," she lamented. She wanted Phil to get a better job. She was tired of paying for things.
Phil's mom and step-dad saw the pressure Christy was putting on him and branded her a gold-digger. They said they would give him the money he needed if he would break up with her. He refused.
He was sick towards the end of week before last, so I didn't get to see him. Neither did he call my cell phone, which I kept meticulously charged for just such an occasion. I didn't see him again until last Tuesday, when I added this little tidbit to my collection of facts about him: after he was a kindergarten teacher, he played professional volleyball for a number of years. (That's what he was doing in Miami.) When it was time for me to go that day, he made a point of giving me his number.
Interestingly enough, when I went in the next day, Steve wasn't there, but his manager came up to me. He said, "I have something for you, from Steve." That was the last thing I expected him to say. He handed me Steve's phone number, and said, "Give him a call." (I kept my mouth shut about already having his number.) I'm guessing Steve must have given this guy his number to give to me the week before or something. How delightfully middle-school. :)