27 03 2008

When I rented my first apartment with my Navy buddy Jared, we inadvertently choose the apartment for it’s “style.” As far as apartments went, it was pretty cool, and it was probably as big as the house I live in now. What we realized soon enough was that it was within walking distance to a billiards hall. And I mean really close, like across the street and through a Food Lion parking lot.

Food Lion is a grocery store, by the way. Not a lion that you can eat, as delicious as that may seem.

We often hung out at this pool hall, especially because if you went before 10pm it was all ages. Sadly, by the time either of us turned 21, we had moved on and no longer lived in that apartment.

Also, it was a little over a mile away to MY bar, which shall remain nameless because I forgot what it was called. Now a mile is hardly walking distance, especially if you live in California. However, a mile is a respectable drunk walking distance, as any military person will tell you.

When I moved to California, Corinne and I got our first apartment over on West Sierra Avenue. It was less then a mile’s walk to the bowling alley, as well as another bar which I have been to before that I wouldn’t mind going to again.

However, at this point in my life, I really didn’t have any “drinkin’ buddies,” so the close proximity to said watering holes was rather meaningless, lest I was to drink alone.

Not that I haven’t done that before.

Our second apartment in California was about .1 miles away from our first one, and in the direction towards the bars. Still, my lifestyle of drinking and pseudo-debauchery was already at an end at that point.

When we purchased our current home, one perk was that it was in the Tower District. However, like I said, my drinking days were already over.

When talking to some college classmates, who are all pretty much at their prime drinking and partying ages (21-25), they were envious of my home in the Tower District. All I could say was that I did live in Tower, but I never really hung out there (except at home, of course).

So where is the irony? I finally moved to a party-every-night zone, I am over 21, but I’m not able to go out and party due to a lack of partying friends, as well as the fact that I have grown up responsibilities and all that sort of stuff.

I’m not whining, I’m just pointing out a bit of irony. I’ve learned from experience that the only thing that comes out of partying every night is declining health, obesity (in some cases) and a few interesting stories.

So now that my partying days are over, I can enjoy my Michelob Ultra at home while I write a blog post about how my partying days are over.




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