Time Flies When You’re Living with Boys
Three years ago today, I moved to Hoboken.
Three years may not seem like a long time to some of you, but it’s an eternity to me. I can’t seem to keep up with ANYTHING for three years. Not a job. Not a boyfriend. Not a favorite food. For me, staying put for three years — and happily, might I add — is quite a feat.
(I guess technically I did make it through three and a half years at Ithaca, but barely. That’s a story for another day.)
Greg helped me move into the apartment on a sweltering Saturday in June of 2010. I didn’t have furniture and I didn’t have a bed, but I had a room to call my own and, right away, it felt like home.
Frank moved in two years later and the rest is history.
If walls could talk, ours would probably tell you that we’ve scarred them for life. Ohhh, the things that they’ve seen.
They’ve seen laughter. They’ve seen tears. Many tears. They’ve seen joyous reunions. They’ve seen explosive fights, complete with slamming doors and shouting matches. They’ve seen love and they’ve seen heartbreak. They’ve seen a Christmas tree remain standing for 15 months. They’ve seen debauchery on every level — including nudity, extreme intoxication, and near death experiences.
They’ve seen dozens of Sunday night family dinners. They’ve seen celebrations, big mistakes, and me standing on the kitchen counter shouting at our television during hockey games.
They’ve seen us turn our living room into a bedroom.
They’ve seen Greg eat an entire BOX of pasta in one sitting. They’ve seen Frank complete his transformation from robot to human. They’ve seen more dance parties than you can even begin to imagine.
They’ve seen this:
If that isn’t enough to scar a person for life, I don’t know what is.
The past three years have been, without a doubt, the best years of my life. It’s true what they say; time flies when you’re having fun
and living with boys.
Thanks for the memories, Club 522. I can’t wait to see what the future has in store.