Letters From Lyle

8 Mar

All of us feint and parry with new adulthood in different ways, and for some, that involves staying in the warm embrace of the parental household until the mid-20′s.  When you’re finally ready (or when Dad’s tired of you blacking out on his $700 Scotch) it is a momentous occasion, filled with peaks and valleys of emotion.  Our friend Lyle is currently beginning such a move, taking the carpool lane straight from his parent’s basement to his own place.  We asked him to write us with updates and reflections, like a Lewis & Clark of the YA set.  His dispatches are presented here, somewhat uncensored.  This is real.

Your New Life Does Not Come Furnished

Dear Dan,

Well my man, it’s been a pretty hectic couple of weeks.  I finally loaded up the last of my stuff into the Tacoma and made the final crosstown journey to the new pad.  It wasn’t too much work moving.  Dad put down the golf clubs on a Saturday morning to lend a hand, and Mom finally started speaking to me again after my move-out announcement had led to a couple weeks of silent treatment.  They were obviously pretty bummed out to see me go but had to happen, you dig?

Once I got the required Entertainment HQ set up (with the 60” HD monster connected to the PS3, which I got running on a 40Mbps connection that fucking blazes and lets me stream the newest releases before they even hit theaters), I realized that furniture did not come with the new place.  Both Panda and I had not expected this.  [Editor’s Note: Lyle is moving in with his girlfriend.  “Panda” is not a fake name we gave to protect her identity, but in fact a very real pet name that they use for each other.  Details are hazy, but we’ve been able to surmise that this stems from a pot brownie-fueled screening of Kung Fu Panda 2 that resulted in both of them no longer being welcome at the AMC Theaters in downtown Seattle.  We couldn’t make this up.]  This was a pretty stressful situation, so I put in an emergency call to Dad.  He told me to figure it out at Ikea.

Ikea wasn’t too great, to say the least.  To begin with, it had way too many people packed in there.  We were barely able to make it through the Swedish maze and found some couches, a bed frame, and other supplies that would fill out the new spot.  Then, I was under the impression that we would just tell the cashier what we wanted, pay for everything, and then some dudes would deliver the things right to our door.  Instead, I was given a rude surprise when we turned the corner and were faced with that godforsaken warehouse of heavy furniture parts.  I was pretty fried out at that point from the all the commotion of the day, and this last hiccup just kind of pushed me over the edge a bit.

I tried to suck it up for the both of us and gritted my teeth as we somehow got the 500 pounds [Ed.’s Note: Approximation] of Swedish shit onto our cart and moved to the checkout.  There must have been some beads of sweat or maybe a few tears of frustration that resulted from the cart loading, because when we started ringing everything up, the Winner behind the counter gave me a smart little smirk and asked if I needed any “special assistance.”  That was about everything I could take at that point, and I calmly asked if he would like some “special assistance with fucking yourself” and went for his register before Panda restrained me and told me to wait outside.  I pulled the car around and we loaded everything up, but it took me another couple hours before my face returned to its normal color.

So basically that little Ikea story is a good representation of the ish that has been busting my chops during the first two weeks of life on my own.  I’m hoping it will calm down a bit after we get moved in, but I gotta tell you, there’s been times when I’ve regretted leaving the mothership.  In the end though I know it was a long time coming, and I’m loving the new spot, so all the hassle is well worth it.  Now I’ve just got to sustain this excellence on my own and continue living the dream.  I’ll keep you updated, good sir.

FYI – My door is always open, and the Schlitz is always cold.

 

Warmest Regards,

Lyle Gans

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2 Responses to “Letters From Lyle”

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. Letters From Lyle « Dan Swanky's - April 7, 2012

    […] All of us feint and parry with new adulthood in different ways, and for some, that involves staying in the warm embrace of the parental household until the mid-20′s.  When you’re finally ready (or when Dad’s tired of you blacking out on his $700 Scotch) it is a momentous occasion, filled with peaks and valleys of emotion.  Our friend Lyle is currently beginning such a move, taking the carpool lane straight from his parent’s basement to his own place.  We asked him to write us with updates and reflections, like a Lewis & Clark of the YA set.  His dispatches are presented here, somewhat uncensored.  Earlier letters: One, Two. […]

  2. Letters From Lyle | Dan Swanky's - April 8, 2012

    […] All of us feint and parry with new adulthood in different ways, and for some, that involves staying in the warm embrace of the parental household until the mid-20′s.  When you’re finally ready (or when Dad’s tired of you blacking out on his $700 Scotch) it is a momentous occasion, filled with peaks and valleys of emotion.  Our friend Lyle is currently beginning such a move, taking the carpool lane straight from his parent’s basement to his own place.  We asked him to write us with updates and reflections, like a Lewis & Clark of the YA set.  His dispatches are presented here, somewhat uncensored.  Earlier letters: One, Two. […]

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