Monday, June 2, 2014

Payton moves out

Payton's six week stay with us has ended.

He was a good house guest.  He would volunteer to do things like take out the garbage and put dishes in the dishwasher, and was always quiet when someone was sleeping.  His stay lasted longer than what our plan was, but it was by no means unpleasant.  It was enjoyable having him around.  But, hanging out with the old guys isn't exactly a ton of excitement.  I work full time, and that's not a whole lot of entertainment for a teenager.

I was reminded as Payton's time here wore on that being 18 years old is a long way back in my rear view mirror.  I turned 18 in 1984.  I worked three jobs then (grocery store cashier, mobile dj, and parent's cleaning business) and I struggled like many people to figure out what I was going to do with my life.  I went to college for one semester and failed all but one class.  That ended my attempt at college.  Fortunately, I accidentally found my current career path.  You can plan yourself stupid but much of life's sequence isn't predictable.  I think back 30 years ago and realize that what has happened in that span of time and what I had set goals for are miles apart.  But, it has worked out better than I could have planned.

Payton has moved into his own place over on the side of town I used to live.  It's a place called "Open Inn".  I didn't go today but Anthony said it's a cute little apartment and he has it all to himself.  I joked with Anthony tonight that the joy Payton will soon realize living in his own place alone is that he can masturbate in the living room whenever he wants.  Don't knock it 'til you try it.

I remember my first apartment.  I was 19 years old and just moved to Denver, Colorado.  I couldn't tell you the exact addresses of most of the places I've lived, but I remember that one:  5590 W. Warren Ave.  (Side note:  I looked it up on Google Street View about a month ago and it looks exactly the same as when I lived there in the mid 1980's).  I had that apartment about six months.  The first night I was there alone I slept naked.  It was one of the most thrilling moments of my life (and there was no sexual anything that went with it, just slept naked).  I had never done that before and when you get your own place for the first time, you do stuff like that.  At least I did.

Hopefully years from now Payton will look back on his stay here and think we were nice people for helping him out.  Or, that it was not the worst experience of his life.  I'm shooting for the second one.

Payton's last dinner with us before he moved out
involved devouring two wieners and a refreshing drink.
Sounds like a date I've had.