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Friday, August 5, 2011

Someday my handsome neighbor will come

I found out yesterday that I was approved to rent my first apartment.  I have mixed feelings about living in an apartment.  Because I have never lived in one, I don't know what to expect.  However, I have an idea of what to expect based on movies.

According to all good and bad romantic comedies, I will have a very handsome single neighbor that I will have no interest in dating because he's a total player.  We'll just be friends.  Then one night we will get drunk at his apartment and have sex.  I will sneak out in the morning with a headache and little dignity.  For me, the night was a big mistake and I try to avoid him as much as possible.  For him, it was the night he realized he was in love with me.  He'll make several attempts to capture my affection and will finally win me over with a huge, cheesy, romantic gesture and we'll kiss by a large decorative fountain.

While I like to believe that dreams can come true and my movie romance is just around the corner waiting for me, I have another idea of what to expect from apartment living based on how my life typically works.

My neighbors will be married (some will have loud, annoying kids).  They will not speak to me (the sad, single, cat lady) for fear of catching my divorce germs.  I will try to be positive.  The apartment has a gym, perhaps there will be handsome single men there.  I will dress in one of my three gym outfits and pretend I'm going to work out.  (Walking by should be sufficient.  It's the intent that counts, right?)  I will see a handsome man...but he is accompanied by his supermodel girlfriend.  Screw the gym, I can get a better workout at the pool, anyway.  First I'll get a little tan and then I'll do some swimming.  I fall asleep on the lounge chair, dreaming about the handsome single man that doesn't exist at my apartment complex and wake up with a sunburn.

I will continue to hope for the dreamy neighbor whose eyes sparkle like a cartoon character when he smiles at me...and when they sparkle, there's a ding sound, music starts to play in my head and my pupils shape into hearts.

But I will continue to expect that my neighbor will be a stinky, toothless, beer bellied, grease ball with a comb-over.

Maybe somewhere between Perfect Fairy Tale and Absolute Hopelessness is what I should be aiming for, but where's the fun in that?

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