Ah, apartment living.
I remember when I was little, my mom used to talk about living in an apartment in her 20s, and I always thought it sounded so fun and glamorous. Growing up watching Melrose Place only made me more determined that someday, I too would call one of these fabulous complexes home. (Hopefully though, one of my neighbors would not try to burn the place down like Kimberly from MP did. Oh, and remember when she pulled off her wig to reveal her giant scar?! But, I digress.)
When I first moved out of my parents’ house, I lived with my friend Elaine in a two-bedroom place in the Eagle Rock complex Northeast Wichita. This was where I first discovered that, in a first floor apartment, one gets to experience the joys of hearing all the goings-on of upstairs neighbors. My favorite part was when they would vacuum at 8 a.m. on a Saturday. Also at this complex, Elaine and I lived next door to two college boys who liked to play pranks. We woke up one day to find a shopping cart on our patio. So, we did what most normal girls would do – put it back on their patio, filled with leftover Peeps from Easter. Obviously.
In December 2006, I moved a little further east with another friend, to the Quarters at Caimbridge, a slightly more upscale set of apartments. We had a code to get in the gate (although one time my roommate forgot it and just hopped the fence to get home), our own garage and a much nicer work-out center. However, our neighbors there were even stranger than before. One day, my roommate stayed home sick and, while trying to rest, was serenaded by the vocal stylings of Elvis Presley and the sound of loud, ahem, sexual relations at 9 a.m. “You ain’t nothin’ but a houndog,” indeed.
Finally, in May 2007, I moved to my current place. I love the layout and the location, but it is not without its trials. My upstairs neighbor plays heart-wrenching Japanese love songs at all hours (I think she is perpetually going through a break-up). I had a package stolen from the front office on the day of its delivery, only to have it mysteriously turn up on my doorstep three days later.
My favorite story from this complex, though, involves my former next door neighbor, who moved out a couple months ago. I never said more than “hello” to the guy, but, for some reason, on the day he moved out, he left a $100 gift card to Sumo clipped to my door, along with a note saying. “Best wishes, from Apt. #****.” I guess he felt bad for the time when the cops mistakenly banged on my door instead of his at 3 a.m., looking for him after he committed a hit and run.
By this point, my dreams of glamorous apartment living have been pretty much obliterated and my kooky experiences are far removed from the beautiful people and intrigue of Melrose Place. I have come to appreciate the little joys associated with my living situation, like no trash bill, a (mostly) helpful maintenance staff and access to the pool in the summer. So, I’ll stick with my little one-bedroom palace for now and, if we ever happen to end up as neighbors, try to keep your felonies and noises to yourself. Gift cards, however, are always welcome.
Ah, apartment living.
When I was little, my mom used to talk about living in an apartment in her 20s and I always thought it sounded so fun and glamorous. Growing up watching Melrose Place only made me more determined that someday, I too would call one of these fabulous complexes home. (Hopefully though, one of my neighbors would not try to burn the place down like Kimberly from MP did. Oh, and remember when she pulled off her wig to reveal her giant scar?! But… I digress.)
When I first moved out of my parents’ house, I lived with my friend Elaine in a two-bedroom place in the Eagle Rock complex in Northeast Wichita. This was where I first discovered that, in a first floor apartment, one gets to hear all the goings-on of upstairs neighbors. My favorite part was when they would vacuum at 8 a.m. on a Saturday. We also happened to live next door to two college boys who liked to play pranks. We woke up one day to find a shopping cart on our patio. So, we did what most normal girls would do – put it back on their patio, filled with leftover Peeps from Easter. Obviously.
In December 2006, I moved a little further east with another friend, to the Quarters at Cambridge, a slightly more upscale set of apartments. We had a code to get in the gate (although one time my roommate forgot it and just hopped the fence to get home), our own garage and a much nicer work-out center. However, our neighbors there were even stranger than before. One day, my roommate stayed home sick and, while trying to rest, was serenaded by the vocal stylings of Elvis Presley and the sound of loud, ahem, sexual relations at 9 a.m. “You ain’t nothin’ but a houndog,” indeed.
Finally, in May 2007, I moved to my current place. I love the layout and the location, but it is not without its trials. My upstairs neighbor plays heart-wrenching Japanese love songs at all hours (I think she is perpetually going through a break-up). I had a package stolen from the front office on the day of its delivery, only to have it mysteriously turn up on my doorstep three days later.
My favorite story from my current apartment complex involves my former next door neighbor, who moved out a few months ago. I never said more than “hello” to the guy, but, for some reason, on the day he moved out, he left a $100 gift card to Sumo clipped to my door, along with a note saying. “Best wishes, from Apt. #****.” I guess he felt bad for the time when the cops mistakenly banged on my door instead of his at 3 a.m., looking for him after he committed a hit and run.
By this point, my dreams of glamorous apartment living have been pretty much obliterated and my kooky experiences are far removed from the beautiful people and intrigue of Melrose Place. I have come to appreciate the little joys associated with my living situation, like the lack of a trash bill, a (mostly) helpful maintenance staff and access to the pool in the summer. So, I’ll stick with my little one-bedroom palace for now and, if we ever happen to end up as neighbors, try to keep your felonies and noises to yourself. Gift cards, however, are always welcome.
(image credit)
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Are there any 1BR with W/D hook ups that are budget friendly (in other words, dirt cheap)? I’ve found one. I want more options! Suggestions anyone?
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