When I tell someone I pay 660 for a 1 bed 1 bath apartment in Aurora, CO, people get appalled. Then they tell me how you can get one for 500 down the street. So I start asking them important questions about these miraculously cheap apartments:
1. Do they have a balcony? No, you have to pay extra.
2. Do they have a dishwasher? I don't know.
3. Do they have a walk in closet? No
4. Do they have a full size washer and dryer in unit at no extra cost? ... no
5. Do they have a wood-burning fire place? NO! Why would anyone need that?
6. Do they have vaulted ceilings? No, what are those? Oh, it's when the ceiling goes up with the roof to give the illusion of more space. Doesn't seem that important... SHUT UP!
7. Do police patrol 12 x at night on a regular schedule to make sure you're safe even though you're right across the street from Buckley Air Base? No, actually there are a lot of sketchy people and no security.
And THAT is why they are 160 dollars less than mine. My new apartment is AMAZING you guys! Of course the journey to this fictionally-great apartment was the adventure. Although my best friend told me she was going to spend the whole weekend helping me un-pack, she ended up making a date with some random, Mormon boy the night of my big move. I have never been angry with this girl in our seven-year friendship. NEVER. Therefore, I did not know how to vocalize said emotions. Never the less, that did not alter our time restriction of 5 p.m. so that Skye could drive home in time to get pretty for her date.
Skye and I ended up leaving the house at 10 a.m. and he said he'd meet us in Evergreen around noon. We started our drive off with a stop at McDonalds (gasp! the horror of fast food!) for McGriddle sandwhiches and orange juice. We couldn't remember how late they served breakfast and the 27 minutes it took to get to the one off of I-25 and Longmont exit, we argued over whether it was 10 a.m. or 10:30 a.m. As soon as we drove up and we got to the drive-through, the breakfast menu was still up! We finished ordering at 10:27 a.m., just as the lady with the stern look on her face, because she has all the power, flipped the sign to the lunch specials. Apparently, we were both wrong about the time. So, in case you are either A) in a crunch for time, B) having an inkling to kill your insides, or C) craving their AMAZING orange juice (Seriously, why is it so good?), remember that McDonalds stops serving breakfast at 10:27 a.m.
Now, I love Skye, but her driving scares the living day lights out of me. Why? It is mostly a personal problem because of an accident I had gotten in a few years ago which I may post about in the future. The fact that she speeds and follows too close doesn't help my anxiety of letting other people drive. Just saying. So, while Skye was serenading, "Jars of Hearts," by Christina Perri to me while I was eating my McGriddle, we had two near collisions. In her defense, it was because two idiots decided on a whim that they wanted to be in our lane whether we knew it or not. Ok, side rant: if you are one of those people who either A) signal as you're merging/turning, B) Signal for 1 second before you merge/turn or C) Signal after you have merged/turn, what the deuce are you thinking? Your turn signal is to alert others of your intentions before you do them! Use it correctly, because if I rear end you, I won't be sorry. It's your fault that you're an idiot.
Skye and I eventually got to Evergreen in one piece and started sorting my belongings into trash, keep and donate. If it had been up to me a year ago, I would have kept everything, but that is the part of me that is a hoarder like my mother. Skye would agree I have gotten much better about getting rid of stuff. We decided to throw away a couple broken/warped shelving units and we were donating two extra televisions (I used to think I needed a TV for every room, but I no longer have cable and they weren't HD so what did I need them for?), an extra microwave, two lamps that were missing shades and my drum set (because I have moved 8 times in a few years and not in a band of any sort). Skye promised me she would come over Monday and make me go through my other belongings to get rid of more stuff. Insert dread here.
Dad eventually showed up so that we could get the moving van and we (Skye and I) eventually got the truck finished packed by 3:30 p.m. (notice the lapse in account for how long it took dad to get there). Dad was showing around the mysterious renter-lady while Skye and I packed up the truck. She used her tetris skills to arrange the boxes and I used my athletic skills to load the boxes. We were the best moving team ever! We were contemplating at this point to become, "Two Guys and Moving Van"'s competition by being, "Two Girls Who Move You with Style (By the way we can't lift any furniture. So, you'll probably have to call the other guys for that)." We were going to be rich! Then, after our fantasy 2nd life as mover women in a man's moving world, Dad says the most amazing thing ever, "As far as I'm concerned, anything inside the house is fair game." I ended up confiscating a cat tree and a gorgeous shower curtain complete w/ liner and metal shower hooks (fancy!).
We barely got to the leasing office before it closed (in Carver Style) to sign the lease and get my apartment keys. Skye dumped the keys on the desk and gasped, “That's a lot of keys.”
“Oh, I have to go over the keys with you.” The lease lady said while I was getting a hand cramp from signing my name and initials a billion times on never-ending pages. There were two house keys, two mail keys, one pool key, one gym key, and one pool bathroom key. Then my dad came and butted in, "Do you have security guards?"
"No... but we do have police patrol at night." The poor office lady replied.
"How many times? Is it on a set schedule or random?" My dad used to be a marine and I'm the baby in the family... not to mention the favorite. It really wasn't hard to be the favorite. All I had to do was not become an alcoholic, get arrested, or have temper tantrums like I was five-years-old.
"It's on a set schedule. Twelve times throughout the night. Actually, your daughter has a sheriff living in the building next door." The keys were the least of our worry though once we got up to the third floor (yes, the third floor=predict moving disaster) to see my apartment. The carpets were completely spotted... it was like a dalmatian threw up on it.
Skye convinced me to take pictures for evidence incase of some crazy person decided charge me for damage I didn't do. Shortly after wards, Skye had to leave to go get pretty for her date. Then my friend Amelia called me to tell me that even though she had promised to help me move, that she was guilt-tripped into babysitting for her sister. That meant that my 65-year-old father and I were stuck moving a 16-foot-truck load of stuff up to a third-floor apartment by ourselves. Don't get me wrong, my father is in amazing shape for his age and no one believes me that he is in his sixties. He just ran a 10-k in California and made 2nd place in his age group. He kind of looks like the hulk before he gets so angry that he turns green. 
Well, as I was walking down the stairs for the fifth time, I looked down and gasped! There seemed to be a trail of some weird dark substance on the floor in the hallway. So naturally I decided to follow it. It led around the corner towards the stairs. What could this substance be? In my mind I came up with a few possibilities.
These possibilities included but were not limited to: grease, oil, chocolate, coffee, and blood. I decided on blood. I came downstairs and outside to find my dad sweating from the heat. "Do you want me to get us some Gatorade from the 7-11 across the street?"
"That would be great sweetie, Thank you." I raced across the street and surveyed their selection of cold beverages. I ended up getting 4 different 36 oz bottles of Gatorade, a liter of Smart Water, and a chocolate Muscle Milk. I'll admit it, I did have a little bit of trouble holding all of them waiting in line. The tall, dark, and not so handsome stranger offered help carrying them even though he had his arms full himself. I assured him that I could handle it. I almost didn't though because the girl gave me a ripped bag. When I got back to my dad, we sat under the tree and drank our Gatorades. I decided now was the time to break the news to him. "Dad, I think someone was murdered in my apartment." "You think that dark stuff on the carpet was blood?" He seemed oddly ok with this scenario.
"Yes and I think that the Sheriff did it." My father wisely did not reply to this remark and said that we should get back to work. Of course, being the protective father, and me the baby, he wouldn't let me carry more than one box up the stairs. He thought I was going to die, faint, or get heat exhaustion. It rained on and off and was dark before we were done.
After returning the UHaul, Dad talked the whole way about his new girlfriend in California... I was so exhausted by the time we got home I couldn't sleep. I was also on the verge of tears because Julius still hadn't come home from being missing from the previous night. I've lived in this apartment a week now, and I still think the full size washer, and dryer are completely worth the 160 extra a month.
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