June 08, 2008
My landlord says I jam too loud
When I tell people I just moved to Maplewood, their response is always the same: "Maplewood's an up and coming area." I'm not sure what they mean by "up and coming." All I know is that, since trading my South City apartment for what Craig's List described as a "darling domicile," I live closer to Mr. Wizard's than Ted Drewes and can get a citation for neglecting to mow my lawn. Bummer.
Still, these are sacrifices I'm willing to make to enjoy the luxury of living in a house, where I can play music as loud as I want without incurring the wrath of, well, anyone. In fact, I actually like my new residence. The only real downside to ditching my apartment was painting over the giant glow-in-the-dark Crimson Ghost that adorned one of the dining room walls. Last fall, fueled by Steak 'n' Shake milkshakes and an ESG album, my friend Michelle and I spent an entire evening painting the ghost, our home and garden-style tribute to the Misfits. What took us hours to complete took my boyfriend a whopping 15 minutes to paint over. Though it was painful to see the ghost disappear under multiple coats of KILZ primer, the paint job was for the best. My landlord, a man who may well have inspired the saying "If it's too loud, you're too old," would have killed me had he ever laid eyes on the ghost. Miss you, glow-in-the-dark ghoul! You were a good roommate.
