I am moving this weekend. Not out of Denver, but out of the Highlands and off of Perry Street, the street I have lived on in two different states for a majority of my life.
When I was three-years-old my parents moved into a house on Perry Street in Dover, NJ, and they have been there ever since. When it came time to find my own place in Colorado 1.5 years ago, I thought it a cosmic alignment that the living situation I stumbled upon one Saturday night was located on Perry Street in Denver. With a few stints in between, I went from living on Perry Street in Dover to living on Perry Street in Denver…and yes, addressing mail to my parents 1,800 miles away sometimes got confusing.
My 1.5 years living on Perry Street in Denver has been an interesting and educational experience. It was the first place I ever signed a lease for, and it set the standard in my mind that I had finally moved out on my own and would be a complete failure if I regressed.
The five bedrooms in the house on Perry Street in Denver have individual leases, and my roommate situation always provided me with riveting conversation topics. There’s the fact that two of the rooms were rented out by 50-year-old men that spent a majority of their time in California for work, so even though they were rarely there, I technically had two, 50-year-old male roommates, one of which was a grandfather.
There was also this guy “Ed” that was already living in the house when I moved in, and for the eight months I lived with him, I strictly referred to him as “the weirdo.” Luckily he worked at night and I rarely saw him either, but by god, he was strange. Ed was a recluse with very poor social skills and I never once saw him make or prepare food in the kitchen. He did at least two loads of laundry per day and opened a new bar of soap for each shower he took. (We did not share a bathroom but I would see soap boxes in the garbage.) About a month before Ed moved out he started parking his car halfway around the block, and when I asked why he said it was because he thought someone was “out to get him.” If that wasn’t enough to creep me out, I had been told Ed collected guns, which I tried not to let bother me until the day he bragged to me that he got a biology lab microscope in the mail.
“What will you study under the microscope?” I asked.
“Ballistic settings,” he replied.
The very next day I called the landlord and burst into tears as I told him that he was renting to a serial killer and I was moving out. But as the stars would make it be, the weirdo ended up getting angry at the noise landscapers made and moved out on his own. I then stayed in the house on Perry Street for another year and acquired two female roommates, which made for a much more comfortable living situation, but no less interesting than the old men and the weirdo. Those are stories for another day.
But yes, the time has come for me to move out of the Highlands. I love and will miss the neighborhood, but it is not practical or convenient for me at this time. I am re-locating to a more central location in Denver, from where I will be able to bike to and from work AND be able to go out at night with friends without worrying how I will get home. I anticipate my new roommate situation to be equally as interesting as the last, but in a different way, because I’m moving in with a HEAD!
Jammer at our place!