DaBabs

My first apartments

Yes, I still read The Chicago Tribune every day. A couple days ago an item caught my eye. It was about some landlords upset about something in Evanston. Which got me thinking about my first apartment in the Chicago area, which was in Evanston. I found it shortly after I got my first job out of school and I was so proud of myself for finding this "quaint" apartment on my own.

It was located on a pretty quiet street, tucked back from the main road. There was a coffee shop around the corner, an El stop about a block away and a sushi and fancy french restaurant across from the coffee shop. I was pretty far from Northwestern so most of the people in my neighborhood were post grads like me or actual families who could afford the turn of the century homes. I used to love walking around the neighborhood and peering into the homes to see the perfectly decorated interior. I used to wonder - would I have a home someday? Would someone be peering into my house?

My apartment was in a home, apparently built in 1905 (according to my recent research). I think the house was split into three apartments. I had the "attic" one bedroom. It was small. It was so small that the ceiling sloped in the bathroom and I had to crouch with a hand held nozzle to take my shower. The kitchen was a like a minature version of one. At one point, squirrels took up housing with me on the other side of my bedroom door so I got to hear them rustling through the actual "attic" part of the house all night long. When I called my landlord about it, he told me to leave them alone - after all, they deserve to live. Um, ok, buddy. The other apartments were much nicer. They had original built ins and cool features. I had a sloped bathroom and mice in my wall pantry. Awesome.

Needless to say, I didn't last all that long in there. But it was my first place and I even had my own little garage to park my car in. I have such fond memories despite all the crazy experiences. I got to decorate my first place entirely in the style I wanted.

My next apartment, in Chicago, was also a great place in a "quaint" sort of way. It too had mice. It had bars on the windows and at one point, the great flood of the early 00s ran through my basement apartment and caused the wood floors to rot and warp. The landlord never fixed those, or the peeling paint on the ceiling. But I still loved that place. I repainted it, cleaned the blinds and made it as homey as I could. It was a studio and my bed was up against a brick wall. I sprung for HBO and used to invite my girlfriends over to watch the latest episodes of Sex and the City or to have a Oscar viewing party. My friends still talk about that place.

You know, they were both dumps, but they were mine. Sort of. And now I'm a landlord. How strange.

posted by DaBabs @ 8:45 PM