Home Rule!
I have an apartment.
The Details ...
My very own pied-a-crap, as I've come to call it, is a humble studio apartment.
Lord a-mighty, it took some doing and deciding before I settled. It's technically in Sparks, but it's on Victorian Avenue, so that's a plus.
The term "studio apartment" was first introduced to me when I was hunting for a place in Sioux Falls. Since it was just me, I figured I should go cheap. Through a reporter at The Argus, I found the LaSalle and its Hilter-loving landlord. [When I saw "Hitler-loving" I mean both figuratively and literally, he was a self-made man who ascended to his BMW convertable through hard work and accepting blowjobs from poor tennants and had a stern love for his property that made it impossible for me to have an active social life. Also, when Jon helped move me out, he saw a framed photograph of der Fuhrer himself in the landlord's apartment.]
Anyhoo ... my apartment at the LaSalle was a humble, but spacious and elegent place. Hardwood floors, crystal door knobs, oak doors, plaster walls and a defunct fireplace that screamed "SWANK!" The main living/bedroom was about 15-feet by 18-20-feet with a walk-through closet that led to a bathroom with porcelain fixtures, tiled in seafoam green. It was small apartment, but made a statement.
My new lodgings are spacious, to be sure, but lack any panache.
The main room is about 15-feet by 20-feet with a kitchenette consisting of a small, electric range, five-foot refrigerator and one-foot by one-foot sink. The bathroom is nice, tidy and clean. Stand-up shower and enough room in the corner for a hamper. The floor that isn't the kitchenette is carpeted and here is the kicker: it's decorated in No-Tell-Motel chic.
The bedframe and headboard are attached to the floor and the wall, respectively, there's a TV hutch with drawers below and the one table in the place is square and situated underneath a oddly-placed cabinet. The headboard, TV hutch and table are all ivory white with gold trim.
I'm waiting for Betty White to knock and regale me with tales of St. Olaf along with the rest of the Golden Girls. Oh yes, there's also a built-in mirror next to the door.
It's fine though, I'm not complaining. I've seen worse for the same price. For instance, the dream apartment building I had my eye on was just that.
Although the draw of a renovated storefront apartment building has always appealed to me, I've always assumed the property owners took good care of the interior as well. Of the two units I saw, the one on the first floor was tiny. Maybe 10-feet by 15-feet. It had the plaster walls and even a cute little alcove for a well-placed rotary telephone, but that's where the charm ended.
It had a Murphy Bed. And while I'm not averse to the idea of throwing your bed into the wall at a moment's notice, the idea that I'd be sleeping in a bed where some whore from the Golden Nugget did her last John before being sliced to shreds and stuffed into the wall was just too much to bear. I liked the size of the kitchen though, enough room to move about. The second apartment I saw in the same building had more floor space in the main room, but the kitchen was tiny and the closet had no doors. Both had average sized bathrooms.
Just to tell my brother that I followed his lead, I stopped by The Colony Inn complex. The price was right, regular rent of $445 a month with $170 security deposit, I could have moved in today. It was clean, had a very well-manicured courtyard and it even had a pool, but the name Colony Inn is more Colony than Inn. The entire complex is based on the premise of community.
Each unit has four "apartments," basically rooms with a closet and a vanity sink. The kicker here was that you had to share your bathroom with one other person and the kitchen with three other people. Perfect for undergrads looking to party the night away without a watchful eye of a snooping RA, but not exactly a place for a 25 year-old whose only privacy for the last year has been the hour-long drive into town.
I was polite and even showed enthusiasm for my very own electric plug-ins!
The charade even went so far to me filling out an application. Then, I saw the section for former residences, ka-ching. I stuttered, "Umm ... you know, I have my last landlord's info, but it's at home ... in SUTCLIFFE ... so I'd have to drive back and get it. Can I bring this back to you tomorrow?" Luckily, the manageress told me she loved my little village by the lake and said she'd look forward to seeing me on Thursday. I plan to call back and say I've found another place. What though, it was a bit pricier?
On a lark, I went through downtown to scout for any diamonds in the rough. And I even found one, at a diamond price.
The Ross Manor Residence Hotel and Apartments is a very nice, very old building nested on the borderline streets of First Avenue and Arlington Street between the gaudy downtown casinos/bars and the classy riverfront area. I was buzzed in and asked to see an apartment if they had one available for show. The one unit that stood out was a corner room, situated on the second floor, with a view. This place is so old, the floorboards creaked beneath you as you sunk into the deep carpeting. I lurved it immediately.
The unit I saw came furnished in turn-of-the-century decor with four-post bed and walk-in closet. The kitchen was small, but manageable, it even had glass-front cabinets that I lurve with all my heart. The sink was a huge, porcelain affair. The bathroom was the selling point. It had a claw-foot tub with enough room for an orgy if you and six other people were flexible enough. The apartment came with basic/expanded cable as well and all utilities are paid. I was about ready to start my application process right there, but then the undergrad coed with sun-bleached, blonde hair told me the price: $650 a month with a $225 security deposit. While that wasn't exactly a killer, I didn't exactly have $875 on me at the time.
So I had to say goodbye to my beloved would-be home, tucked into an atypical neighborhood with coffeeshops and Buddhist bookstores and access to the Truckee Riverwalk. It's a shame too, I would have listened to Saint Etienne's "Side Streets" as I walked across First Avenue for my morning coffee at Java Central before parusing the metaphysical texts at Dharma Books.
Besides, Ross Manor looks like a cross between something out of "The Shining" and someplace I image Rufus Wainwright would check into before writing and recording his final album of swansongs before the ghost of Jobriath would've come to take away Rufus' sin-sick soul from his OD'd body, if you catch my drift.
But all-in-all, I am pleased with my choice. It's on the cheap side, $595 a month with all utilites paid except phone and cable. There's privacy and within walking distance of the In & Out Burger and an IHOP. I've already placed an order for digital cable and cable internet and I plan on starting my move-in this weekend.
So yeah. Almost an entire year after I moved down here, I'm finally on my own ... again.
Hooray.
The Details ...
My very own pied-a-crap, as I've come to call it, is a humble studio apartment.
Lord a-mighty, it took some doing and deciding before I settled. It's technically in Sparks, but it's on Victorian Avenue, so that's a plus.
The term "studio apartment" was first introduced to me when I was hunting for a place in Sioux Falls. Since it was just me, I figured I should go cheap. Through a reporter at The Argus, I found the LaSalle and its Hilter-loving landlord. [When I saw "Hitler-loving" I mean both figuratively and literally, he was a self-made man who ascended to his BMW convertable through hard work and accepting blowjobs from poor tennants and had a stern love for his property that made it impossible for me to have an active social life. Also, when Jon helped move me out, he saw a framed photograph of der Fuhrer himself in the landlord's apartment.]
Anyhoo ... my apartment at the LaSalle was a humble, but spacious and elegent place. Hardwood floors, crystal door knobs, oak doors, plaster walls and a defunct fireplace that screamed "SWANK!" The main living/bedroom was about 15-feet by 18-20-feet with a walk-through closet that led to a bathroom with porcelain fixtures, tiled in seafoam green. It was small apartment, but made a statement.
My new lodgings are spacious, to be sure, but lack any panache.
The main room is about 15-feet by 20-feet with a kitchenette consisting of a small, electric range, five-foot refrigerator and one-foot by one-foot sink. The bathroom is nice, tidy and clean. Stand-up shower and enough room in the corner for a hamper. The floor that isn't the kitchenette is carpeted and here is the kicker: it's decorated in No-Tell-Motel chic.
The bedframe and headboard are attached to the floor and the wall, respectively, there's a TV hutch with drawers below and the one table in the place is square and situated underneath a oddly-placed cabinet. The headboard, TV hutch and table are all ivory white with gold trim.
I'm waiting for Betty White to knock and regale me with tales of St. Olaf along with the rest of the Golden Girls. Oh yes, there's also a built-in mirror next to the door.
It's fine though, I'm not complaining. I've seen worse for the same price. For instance, the dream apartment building I had my eye on was just that.
Although the draw of a renovated storefront apartment building has always appealed to me, I've always assumed the property owners took good care of the interior as well. Of the two units I saw, the one on the first floor was tiny. Maybe 10-feet by 15-feet. It had the plaster walls and even a cute little alcove for a well-placed rotary telephone, but that's where the charm ended.
It had a Murphy Bed. And while I'm not averse to the idea of throwing your bed into the wall at a moment's notice, the idea that I'd be sleeping in a bed where some whore from the Golden Nugget did her last John before being sliced to shreds and stuffed into the wall was just too much to bear. I liked the size of the kitchen though, enough room to move about. The second apartment I saw in the same building had more floor space in the main room, but the kitchen was tiny and the closet had no doors. Both had average sized bathrooms.
Just to tell my brother that I followed his lead, I stopped by The Colony Inn complex. The price was right, regular rent of $445 a month with $170 security deposit, I could have moved in today. It was clean, had a very well-manicured courtyard and it even had a pool, but the name Colony Inn is more Colony than Inn. The entire complex is based on the premise of community.
Each unit has four "apartments," basically rooms with a closet and a vanity sink. The kicker here was that you had to share your bathroom with one other person and the kitchen with three other people. Perfect for undergrads looking to party the night away without a watchful eye of a snooping RA, but not exactly a place for a 25 year-old whose only privacy for the last year has been the hour-long drive into town.
I was polite and even showed enthusiasm for my very own electric plug-ins!
The charade even went so far to me filling out an application. Then, I saw the section for former residences, ka-ching. I stuttered, "Umm ... you know, I have my last landlord's info, but it's at home ... in SUTCLIFFE ... so I'd have to drive back and get it. Can I bring this back to you tomorrow?" Luckily, the manageress told me she loved my little village by the lake and said she'd look forward to seeing me on Thursday. I plan to call back and say I've found another place. What though, it was a bit pricier?
On a lark, I went through downtown to scout for any diamonds in the rough. And I even found one, at a diamond price.
The Ross Manor Residence Hotel and Apartments is a very nice, very old building nested on the borderline streets of First Avenue and Arlington Street between the gaudy downtown casinos/bars and the classy riverfront area. I was buzzed in and asked to see an apartment if they had one available for show. The one unit that stood out was a corner room, situated on the second floor, with a view. This place is so old, the floorboards creaked beneath you as you sunk into the deep carpeting. I lurved it immediately.
The unit I saw came furnished in turn-of-the-century decor with four-post bed and walk-in closet. The kitchen was small, but manageable, it even had glass-front cabinets that I lurve with all my heart. The sink was a huge, porcelain affair. The bathroom was the selling point. It had a claw-foot tub with enough room for an orgy if you and six other people were flexible enough. The apartment came with basic/expanded cable as well and all utilities are paid. I was about ready to start my application process right there, but then the undergrad coed with sun-bleached, blonde hair told me the price: $650 a month with a $225 security deposit. While that wasn't exactly a killer, I didn't exactly have $875 on me at the time.
So I had to say goodbye to my beloved would-be home, tucked into an atypical neighborhood with coffeeshops and Buddhist bookstores and access to the Truckee Riverwalk. It's a shame too, I would have listened to Saint Etienne's "Side Streets" as I walked across First Avenue for my morning coffee at Java Central before parusing the metaphysical texts at Dharma Books.
Besides, Ross Manor looks like a cross between something out of "The Shining" and someplace I image Rufus Wainwright would check into before writing and recording his final album of swansongs before the ghost of Jobriath would've come to take away Rufus' sin-sick soul from his OD'd body, if you catch my drift.
But all-in-all, I am pleased with my choice. It's on the cheap side, $595 a month with all utilites paid except phone and cable. There's privacy and within walking distance of the In & Out Burger and an IHOP. I've already placed an order for digital cable and cable internet and I plan on starting my move-in this weekend.
So yeah. Almost an entire year after I moved down here, I'm finally on my own ... again.
Hooray.