Finding a Home

As we make our way back into town from the campground, past oil refineries in Chalmette and the Domino Sugar refinery we thank someone it's raining, because Aaron has the day off and can help me look for an apartment.  Dropped Roscoe at Camp Bow Wow (it was doggy sno cone day), and start knocking through our list.  We stopped by one apartment on our list that looked like it was being moved into, so we asked the guy what was up.  Turns out he just moved into the apartment a

nd hates it and hates his new landlord even more, his name was Russell.  Russell, a professional drummer, ended up allowing us to view the apartment, telling us about his crazy situation (he had just reunited with an unknown son, and his son, his son's wife, and his granddaughter had been living with him ever since until an abrupt departure by his new family left Russell alone again).  Very interesting dude, and he just let us right in, told us cool bars and restaurants, and all in all, we made our first friend.

By two o'clock we had hit all the houses.  We stopped at McDonalds for the wifi and dollar menu and, boom, found a place near the French Quarter.  Within ten minutes we were meeting our soon to be new landlord to check out the place.  House, check.  We were so excited, we were finally able to take a breath, we didn't know where we were going to sleep that night so we decided to stay at the Motel 6 again for our last homeless night.  Before that though we finally had the time to walk around the Quarter.  We finally knew we had a little money, time, and sanity to spend because we finally knew what our rent was.  We strolled upon the famous Cafe Du Monde and couldn't resist some take-out cafe au lait and beignets.  Our next stop was just yards away on a bench looking over the Mighty Miss, and dining on this incredible treat.  This was it.  We came here for more, for water, for history and culture, for excitement.  We were a go on all fronts.  

The next evening we moved into our new place.  Describing this apartment as a fixer upper might be an understatement.  It's definitely not like an apartment I've ever lived in before.  The house is a shotgun double, our apartment is just a one bedroom, and the other is a large almost three bedroom with an upstairs that a girl named Bree lives in.  If you don't know, a shotgun is a house that just shoots straight back.  Ours has three rooms, the first is the living room, then the bedroom, then the kitchen with the bathroom off of it.  I literally mean off of it, the door that was there was so fucked up we have it outside now as a stab door (more on that later), and a curtain now separates the two rooms.  Not that we care, my boyfriend always poops with the door open, he says it feels too confining otherwise. Now you just have to risk smelling poo along with the sucrose twang of caramelizing onions, or whatever is on the menu for that day, and out the menu the next.  

This was not necessarily the problem, the problem was the maybe one thousand cucarachas, in sight, mostly in the kitchen, and the mouse crap.  We later found out the couple that lived here before us were drunks, common theme everyone!  I like to garden, my gardens are fully organic, I also like to buy local, and fuck corporate, thoughtless produce isles, and fast food.  I went straight to Walmart and threw down over a hundred bucks on poison.  This was war.  Regular rules don't apply in war.