Welcome to my Swingin’ Bachelor Pad

I love my house. Well, okay, it’s actually a duplex, but still, it has been my home for the last three months and three days, and I absolutely fucking adore it.

The street I live on is ridiculously overpopulated, duplexes and apartment buildings disguised and described by the property management companies as “townhomes” and “condos” in order to dupe stupid college kids into blowing Daddy’s money. There are so goddamned many of them crammed into such a ridiculously small space, I am sometimes a little disgusted. And then, I spend an afternoon sitting in the sun in my yard, reading a book good enough to make me oblivious to the sounds of fledgling douchebags blowing contrived machismo across the neighborhood with every blast of good ol’ American horsepower from their little-penis-hiding sportscars and jacked-up pick up trucks.

The Swingin’ Bachelor Pad (SBP) owes a lot of its allure to its placement. A wooded ridge in back, a garage in front to block direct sight of the street, and set just far enough into the ridge to remove it from the neighbors on both sides. There are trees out in front and along the sides that are flowering in gorgeous pinks and whites and yellows. Just yesterday I spent several hours digging and rooting and leveling a sorry ass hillside into a very nice garden plot. Flowery colorful shit was planted. There’s a bird feeder and soon will be a hummingbird feeder. The finches and pheasants and robins are now used to my presence, and are comfortable coming to feed on my scattered birdseed while I sit watching them from just a few feet away. This is probably the only time you’ll hear me extolling upon the wonders of flowery, foofy shit.

I absolutely fucking love it.

~ by malfunctioningmartha on May 10, 2009.