10753 Siber Avenue is a place that always seems to be in need of redecorating. It is also a place that I unfortunately call home. When I was 10 my Aunt decided that it was time for a change, she was like that, if something started to feel comfortable, or at all routine, it was in need of a swift and orderly change. So when we had been living in a small village by the name of Roterie just a little over a month, she decided, as she always did after 30 days or so, we needed a move. Swift and orderly. She found the town of Transit in a newspaper ad for an apartment to rent on the Tuesday of our third week in Roterie. Transit was quite the parallel to the village of Roterie. Unlike the quaint warm woods and cabins, Transit was a never sleeping, hustle and bustle filled metropolis riddled with skyscrapers and questionable character. One day, when the conformity was reaching a breaking point for her, she up and called the contact number listed in the newspaper clipping. The receiver of the call picked up after eight long rings, this annoyed my Aunt to no end. “This better be fucking important!” anxiously answered the landlord. “Excuse Me?”, my mother said in her annoying fake phone voice. “Oh sorry lady, the neighbor kids have been harassing me all fucking day with nonsense phony phone calls!” My Aunt, once again in that obnoxious tone said “No need to worry, I have a boy of my own, I know how rowdy children can be.” Two things about this were extremely irritating to me, for one, she did not “have” me, her sister did. She was always trying to take credit where credit was not due. Second, she uses words that a fifties housewife would use, like “rowdy”. My Aunt was not born in the twenties and had never even fathomed the thought of marriage. “I’m calling about the apartment, can we move in right away?”
Thursday, December 3, 2009
A Story From Awhile Back
Hello world! I was just perusing though my documents and I have this little story I wrote awhile ago that I would like to share with you now...
10753 Siber Avenue is a place that always seems to be in need of redecorating. It is also a place that I unfortunately call home. When I was 10 my Aunt decided that it was time for a change, she was like that, if something started to feel comfortable, or at all routine, it was in need of a swift and orderly change. So when we had been living in a small village by the name of Roterie just a little over a month, she decided, as she always did after 30 days or so, we needed a move. Swift and orderly. She found the town of Transit in a newspaper ad for an apartment to rent on the Tuesday of our third week in Roterie. Transit was quite the parallel to the village of Roterie. Unlike the quaint warm woods and cabins, Transit was a never sleeping, hustle and bustle filled metropolis riddled with skyscrapers and questionable character. One day, when the conformity was reaching a breaking point for her, she up and called the contact number listed in the newspaper clipping. The receiver of the call picked up after eight long rings, this annoyed my Aunt to no end. “This better be fucking important!” anxiously answered the landlord. “Excuse Me?”, my mother said in her annoying fake phone voice. “Oh sorry lady, the neighbor kids have been harassing me all fucking day with nonsense phony phone calls!” My Aunt, once again in that obnoxious tone said “No need to worry, I have a boy of my own, I know how rowdy children can be.” Two things about this were extremely irritating to me, for one, she did not “have” me, her sister did. She was always trying to take credit where credit was not due. Second, she uses words that a fifties housewife would use, like “rowdy”. My Aunt was not born in the twenties and had never even fathomed the thought of marriage. “I’m calling about the apartment, can we move in right away?”
10753 Siber Avenue is a place that always seems to be in need of redecorating. It is also a place that I unfortunately call home. When I was 10 my Aunt decided that it was time for a change, she was like that, if something started to feel comfortable, or at all routine, it was in need of a swift and orderly change. So when we had been living in a small village by the name of Roterie just a little over a month, she decided, as she always did after 30 days or so, we needed a move. Swift and orderly. She found the town of Transit in a newspaper ad for an apartment to rent on the Tuesday of our third week in Roterie. Transit was quite the parallel to the village of Roterie. Unlike the quaint warm woods and cabins, Transit was a never sleeping, hustle and bustle filled metropolis riddled with skyscrapers and questionable character. One day, when the conformity was reaching a breaking point for her, she up and called the contact number listed in the newspaper clipping. The receiver of the call picked up after eight long rings, this annoyed my Aunt to no end. “This better be fucking important!” anxiously answered the landlord. “Excuse Me?”, my mother said in her annoying fake phone voice. “Oh sorry lady, the neighbor kids have been harassing me all fucking day with nonsense phony phone calls!” My Aunt, once again in that obnoxious tone said “No need to worry, I have a boy of my own, I know how rowdy children can be.” Two things about this were extremely irritating to me, for one, she did not “have” me, her sister did. She was always trying to take credit where credit was not due. Second, she uses words that a fifties housewife would use, like “rowdy”. My Aunt was not born in the twenties and had never even fathomed the thought of marriage. “I’m calling about the apartment, can we move in right away?”
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