Update: We’re Living in a 1940s Household

We moved in the beginning of August from Bloomingdale to Capitol Hill. I previously mentioned that the move unburdened me from a burgeoning anxiety about this spot on the west curb corner near our house where people would drop things off without any apparent bulk waste removal schedule in mind. You can read about that anxiety here.

What I didn’t mention is why we decided to move, which, with some reluctance, I will tell you now. I mean, we live in a time of blogging and not only blogging, but blogging about feelings and personal happenings-which I have to say, and with an ingrained, perhaps situationally* generational point of pride, that I have, for the most part stayed clear of doing.  Though I did just invite you all, without batting an eye, without any hint of sarcasm, to read about anxiety, and specifically, to read about an anxiety of mine. Douglas Coupland would be proud.

Well, I might as well do this right and ask that as I lean closer to tell you my story, you lean closer, too.

We moved because one set of our neighbors were a nightmare. Terrible. Weekly there would be yelling coming from their house at 4am, a pitbull running amuck, then two pitbulls running amuck, cars idling outside our house at all hours of the the day…the list goes on. This could be the Stockholm syndrome talking, but for the most part, the main group of folks that lived in the house permanently / semi-permanently were–despite all we endeared–quite nice. They were chatty and interested in what we were up to. Upon hearing that we were moving, reasons of wanting to explore a new neighborhood given, one neighbor concluded, “well, I hope no one crazy moves in.” Indeed.

Not too long after the US Marshalls showed up at our neighbors’, looking to reunite someone known to stay there with an arrest warrant he or she must have dropped, we decided, “let’s get out of here, this party just got weird.**”

About a week before we were to move, we were robbed during a rash of robberies that took place all across our neighborhood. Luckily all of our stuff was boxed up, and luckily we had an alarm system.

One of the aforementioned neighbors, very concerned about our well-being, asked, like everyone does in robbery situations, “What did they take?”  I went through the list of things, and upon concluding my list, the neighbor asked, “Did they take your tv?”  I said, “No.  Luckily, we don’t have a tv.”  He scrunched up his face, his comment one that I’ve heard many times before from lots of people, “You don’t have a tv?”

“Nope.”

“…what do you do for entertainment?”

We’re now settling into our new house in a new neighborhood and things are great.  We realized after I answered my neighbor’s question about what we do for entertainment without a tv, one night at our new house listening to the radio, with the loss of our computer, we were mimicking a 1940s household with only the radiowaves, newspapers, books, and booze to keep us entertained.  I have to say, it ain’t such a bad life–this time of the 1940s.  Dinners that are thoughtful and scrumptious, books and magazine articles are finished, games are played. Lots of talking and laughing…I’m bordering on bragging, I know, but that’s also allowed in an age of blogging, right?

* Yes, I know “situationally” is not a word. Neologisms are glorious.

** Please refer to @Hallingpres and @Precisely, the two that introduced me to this amazing phrase.

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About reginadma

Hybrid Socialist dedicated to helping the community.
This entry was posted in Stories real & true & made up and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Update: We’re Living in a 1940s Household

  1. David says:

    “Only the radiowaves, newspapers, books, and booze to keep us entertained. I have to say, it ain’t such a bad life…” AMEN, Regina! Amen.

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