Trippy

I saw an acoustic singer perform the other night at a small venue. When I went up to look at the merch table, I stood there eyeing the album cover.

I made some bad joke about dirty dishes making me feel tired, but clean dishes make me feel accomplished.

Gosh, that sink looks familiar. Those green cabinets. Wait. I said, “This looks just like an apartment I used to live in.”

He said, “It’s near Poor Slob College Kid St & Trying to be a Grown-up Ave.”

“Yes!” I said, “2345 Slob St!”

“Yes,” he said, “I lived there!”

Friends of mine, young gay boys, lived there in the late 1990’s (that makes me feel incredibly old to type that.) I spent a lot of time at their house, and have many pictures of painting M.artha St.ewart sage green cabinets, and “it’s not burgundy, it’s Japanese Mulberry” walls. I painted those cabinets with good friends of mine. I drank wine, and spent the night, and played with their dog, and first said, “I think I might be gay.”

Then, they moved out, and it was my favorite and my first place together. We had been friends forever and were going to be roommates. It was a two-bedroom place. That second room was never used. (What college kid has a “M.artha Japanese Mulberry guest bedroom?”)

And, now this singer lived there 5 years ago.We talked about the place, the neighborhood, the slumlandlord.

Trippy. Small world.

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About EratMama

30 something midwestern gal, married to another 30 something midwestern gal, conquering depression, rockin' foster parent.
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