Sunday, February 01, 2009

Third Floor, the Two Windows on the Right

I’ve mentioned this before, but I used to have this intense belief that whatever you were doing at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s would set the tone for the next twelve months. (Which was, a few times, sitting in my parents’ living room playing Bon Jovi’s “Always” on my Discman, but whatever.) This spilled over into lingering superstitions about firsts of all sorts: that whatever you wear on the first day of a new job can determine how well you do, or that whatever song you listen to on your way to hang out with someone for the first time can color your whole relationship, or, in last night's case, that the first DVD you throw in while you’re putting together your kitchen table can cosmically determine what happens in your new house.

So, of course, I played the boiler room make-out episode of My So-Called Life. That’s the one with the part where Jordan Catalano comes to Angela’s house all late and her mom is on the stairs and doesn’t know he’s down there and then and he’s all, “So you like me? Because your mom says you like me.”

(And I know, truly, that it is not cool or interesting to talk about this show, and the obviousness of my love for it irritates even me. I mean, if I could zoom out and pan back around to myself as a stranger I’d be just as annoyed with the cliché. Glasses? Bad hair? Nose ring despite being 26 and working in an office? Undying love for flannel? Eyeliner that is both too heavy and accidentally smeared? Large headphones? Chipped nail polish? That girl clearly loves My So-Called Life and she probably sucks.)

I’m trying not to get all new chapter-y about moving, but this is a monstrous change in my life and I’d rather focus on things I’ve felt consistently since I was thirteen than the onslaught of new, new, new. But (to continue with this recent all-consuming theme in my life of being an adolescent while simultaneously being in the middle of my twenties), that particular episode of that show is the way I want my new apartment to be. This is mainly to accomplish my one enduring teenage romantic goal: having a dude throw rocks at my window. Vibing the place all up with My So-Called Life can only help. Plus, my windows finally face the street. Big step in the right direction. All of my windows in New York have faced a fenced-in backyard. Or an airshaft! No one’s throwing pebbles of romance at a window that looks out onto airshaft.

I’ll leave a pile of rocks on my stoop. Now I just need someone to supply the charm and the decent throwing arm.


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