Tag Archives: Moving Out

Letters From Lyle

7 Apr

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.

[Note: The photo above is a dramatization and is not the actual Lyle and Panda.  They are much sexier.]

Separation Anxiety

Dear Dan,

Good sirs.  It has been one hot month since I broke the seal and ventured out into this big bad world we call adult independence.  I gotta say, it was a bit touch and go at first.  But I have warmed up quite a bit, and am now rocking the quarter-hundo young adult lifestyle at full-speed.  Like I was born to do it.

When it comes down to it, it’s the little pieces of freedom during the day that I am loving the most.  Y’know – like having a pants-free sandwich on the couch without getting that look of pure judgment from Dad.  Smoking my medicine without having to run the shower and then blow the smoke out through fabric softener sheets.  Pushing the levels up on my progressive House mixes and Untz Untz Untzing without Mom losing her shit.  Just doing me, when I damn well please.

But speaking of Mom – there has been a little bit of turbulence from the new lifestyle that I wasn’t totally expecting.  Namely with the mother.  There’s been what Panda [Ed.’s Note: Again, Lyle’s pet name for his girlfriend is Panda] has been calling ‘separation anxiety’ between me and Mom.

Basically, I’ve been stationed out of home base pretty much my whole life.  I went to college only 20 minutes away, and even though I lived at school, I’d usually stay at home a couple nights during the week to get some detox and chocolate milk.  And then when I graduated, I just slipped right back into my basement palace.  So being out of the house for good has been a bit of a shock for everyone.

Over here at HQ, my problems with the new separation kind of came to a head all at once two days ago.  Things had been simmering for awhile with Mom, and Panda had been getting the worst of it from both sides.  From my mother, it had been in the form of twice-daily phone calls to check in on me – if Panda answered the phone there would just be icy silence on the other end until I finally came and picked it up.  And this has also been paired with several unannounced ‘drop-ins’ by Mom – because she was usually armed with some General Tsao’s Chicken or my fresh drycleaning, I wasn’t complaining about these at all.  But Panda was never in a good mood after one of these visits, and this most recent drop-in happened to come right after I had mentioned that Panda’s chili didn’t have the same snap that I was used to.

Right after I had dropped that piece of info, the doorbell rang and Panda opened it to find my Mom standing there with some of my now-clean dress shirts.  To say shit hit the fan, my friends, is doing the verbal sparring that ensued between these two lovely women a disservice.  I kept my distance as they went back and forth about who really knows what’s best for me, and when it finally seemed as though all the venom had quieted down, I did my best to clear the air.

I told Mom that I would always be her Little Man, but that she was going to have to let me do some of my own things now.  And I told Panda that I loved both of them equally as much, and that there was room for two women in this heart.  By the end, we were all a bit wet-eyed, and all was good on both homefronts once again.  Growing up ain’t easy, you know?  But if I can survive stuff like this, I’ll be all good.  Until next time dudes.

 

Warmest Regards,

Lyle Gans

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

Letters From Lyle

24 Feb

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.

A Brand New Day For a Bold Young Man

 

Dear Dan,

Cheers to new beginnings, my friends. The only thing scarier than leaving the nest is perhaps never leaving the nest at all. But in less than a weeks’ time, I will embark on the epic journey of relocating all of my belongings to a place that, for the first time in my life, I can actually call my own.  [Editor’s note: read “my own” as Mr. Gans’ newest investment]

I already know what you all are thinking, “But Ly, why would you leave behind a life of zero bills, endless amenities and an IP address that has been tracked more times than Guppys.com?”

Don’t get me wrong, as much as I love coming home to a mother that has so ritualistically burrowed herself into my private life that she’s chosen my last four girlfriends, I think I’ll take my chances on the outside world. A world where empty Zima bottles will be lined up as far as the eye can see, and personal bleeze day will no longer be a figment of my imagination.  [Ed.’s note:  These have never been figments of his imagination, unless this is Inception and he’s everyone’s Leo]

Can I guarantee success and personal independence? No. But can I sleep in the same bed as my girlfriend without my dad in the other room asking both of us to keep clapping our hands so he knows it’s PG?   Hell yes. Chances are that I will succeed and never have to look back. And even if I don’t, ah, who cares… push a cat off a ledge and it will always land on its feet.  Life is all about taking chances and new opportunities.

Pandas are real, politics blow, and Dan Swanky’s rules.  I’m out this bitch.

 

Warmest Regards,

Lyle Gans