The house that stood on 14th.

Actually the house is still there, but I liked that title better. I saw that house the other night and I thought I would take the opportunity to pay a little homage in honor. Technically the house is completely not worthy of such an honor, but just go with it.

I lived in a half house my junior year of college. And when I say junior year I mean my third year for those curious minds. It was my first year out of a dorm and that in and of itself was nice. It was a good house. Most of the time. Part of the time. It was a roof over our heads.

Our landlord decided to be kind and replace the kitchen tiles. That went well. On our move in day he was on his hands and knees gluing them down. This was his first time tiling, I’m assuming, because I still have that sock with a cheery sunshine with glue all over the bottom. It was a nice thought of him to retile but I don’t think I ever walked around that floor in my bare feet my entire stay.

Not too long after we moved in, the house was broken into. We were home tucked snuggly in bed with no idea that some hungry stranger was meandering downstairs. Why hungry you ask? Well, upon waking up we found our kitchen window broken and a piece of cheese on the floor. The punk stole my cheese! As well as my bread and my roommates ham. Thankfully we were not completely moved in so there was nothing of great value on the bottom floor except for my bike, which was also gone. I miss my cheese.

There was a piece of fruit that flew through our kitchen window one evening. At least it appeared to be a fruit although the four roommates and landlord who was over replacing the window for a second time couldn’t figure out the exact type.

Winter came. We didn’t have any heat. I don’t remember why it took so long for it to get fixed but there was an extensive amount of swiss hot chocolate packets overflowing the trashcan. Sugar free of course. That was the only time I wished that I was one of the two ladies living up in the attic.

Summer came and guess what that meant. Killing the front yard grass! Don’t worry, I got permission. I think. Anyway, I spent the thirty or so bucks for a blow up pool. And when I say blow up pool I don’t mean one of those pools to sit in a lawn chair and cool down your feet. I mean eight foot we had no air pump to assist blow up using my saxophone breathe from the diaphragm skills to the point of passing out, taking a break and repeating over and over again. Then spend even longer with a hose connected to the kitchen faucet. Finally followed by blowing up my florescent yellow raft and laying out catching the brilliant rays of sunlight making sure to flip over every half hour or so to nearly suffocate myself in said raft so I could get an even tan. It was beautiful.

The best part of the house, and when I say best I mean could it seriously get any worse, was the bathroom. Or was it the kitchen. Oh, yeah, it was the part of the bathroom floor landing in the kitchen. That was a good one. And I got to be the lucky one to be there when it happened. A little to close for comfort I say but it was amusing.

Overall it was a good year. I lived with some great girls in a house worth speaking of.

In other news, I’ve started to post some of these blogs on facebook. If people ever start to defriend me at least we know why.