Moving Out

I’m looking for places to move to when the semester ends. I’m tired of on-campus living and it’d be nice to be able to set down some roots. I haven’t had a permanent place of residence since I’ve moved to America; I’m done living out of a few suitcases.

My current roommate and her boyfriend have offered to let me live with them if they find a house. Right now we’re looking for places close to where my aunt and uncle used to live when they were still in Maryland (white trash area where everyone has a trailer hitch and “methed up” teeth). There’s a promising house that’s a hop, skip, and a jump from a Gold’s Gym I used to frequent. I dunno what the trainers will do if they see me working out because I told them I had terminal cancer when I cancelled the membership. I’ll tell them it was a fuckin’ miracle, grace of god stuff. People don’t openly question miracles.

Anyhow, we’d probably have to find a fourth roommate to cover the rent. Alex expressed interest, and I’d be fucking stoked if he decided to live with us. It would cut his commute in half anyway.

Jacob, my team captain, is also looking for apartments closer to campus (walking distance close). He came over yesterday to talk about getting a two or three bedroom place and to make sure we have similar expectations. For instance, I don’t want to live in a closet, I want decent water pressure so it doesn’t feel like someone is pissing on me when I shower, the house needs to be clean enough for me to walk around barefoot (Asian household), and if he eats something I bought I ask he let me know so I can get more.

“What are your opinions on loud, crazy sex?”

“I do it and so can you.”

“Sweet.”

It doesn’t matter who said what because we’re all on the same page.

I’m excited.

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