#so i just use it as an office/storage room (bc i have no roommates so there's a spare room)

[yardsards]

thinking about the fact that my previous apartment had a door leading directly to the outdoors *in my bedroom*

[starbovnd]

moving is SO ASS i havent even started boxing up stuff at the apartment bc Ive been sick for a week (common cold /derogatory)

When my roomate and I initially got the apartment in July 2023, I never really moved any of my stuff in even though the 2nd bedroom was intended to be for me and my stuff, it just ended up being storage while we shared a bedroom (we were dating at that point, we broke up in Feb 2024 and just,, kept sharing the bedroom bc it was most comfortable to us both) so at this point, I'm just moving new stuff back to my parents place. Lowkey that's why I went to my parents place and cleaned out my room, because I didn't want to move all the new stuff I'd acquired in the last year into a dirty room.

THANKFULLY the ladies who work at the landlord office know I've been sick, and when my roommate signed the new lease, they didn't ask too many questions and just said "okay cool" basically B) so now my primary goals are:

-get over the cold -get boxes from gamestop bc they do distro everyday, ik they have boxes and my buddy who works there can deffo hook me up -move back to my parents place

[auburnfamilynews]

(Author’s note:  My best friend from Auburn lost his fight against cancer this past Saturday.  Even though I haven’t contributed anything new in a long, long time, I am reposting this old column from six years ago, which I also reposted on the occasion of his mother’s death two years ago.)

One spring afternoon in the mid-eighties, having previously seen the invitation painted on the cafeteria windows, I began walking from my class at Haley Center over to Foy Union to sign up for the College Bowl academic competition.  As I started toward Foy, I noticed a fellow of large stature (who naturally stood out from the crowd) about thirty feet in front of me walking in the same general direction.  Oblivious to me behind him, he crossed Thatch Avenue and headed for the back entrance to the cafeteria, the exact same route I was choosing.  I had the strange feeling I was following him, even though there was a long way to go and many different turns on my way.

The fellow in front entered the cafeteria and turned to go past the backed-up, stacked-up rows of used trays and dishes on the cafeteria conveyor belt, once again seemingly anticipating the direction I was heading.  He turned down the corridor leading to the elevator, again the same way I was headed.  By this time I think that fellow started to feel like somebody was stalking him for some reason.  We both got on the elevator together, both got off on the third floor, and both walked into the small former storage closet that housed the AU College Bowl team, both feeling a little awkward at having made this dance all the way through the bowels of Foy Union.

That’s how I met Bill Jones, the person I call my “best friend from Auburn” and one of the best friends ever in my life.  During our concurrent time on the Plains, we spent many, many days together on College Bowl road trips and at Auburn football games, and way, way too much time in front of the pinball machines and video games in the Foy Union game room.  When I couldn’t make it home all the way to Florida for nonbreak holidays such as Easter, Bill took me to his home in Montgomery, where I became the proud owners of a second set of parents. (I love you, Mr. and Mrs. Jones!)

Our college careers diverged somewhat: I went straight through and got two degrees in accounting at Auburn; Bill continued at AU and finished up a math degree a year later.  I went into accounting and Bill started in software development.  We both moved around different places in the Southeast, always staying in touch and sharing the triumphs and challenges of young single life.

Our social and political philosophies also diverged, I becoming more conservative than ever and Bill leaning much the other way.  Even our interest in and identification with Auburn (both the institution and the football program) would wax and wane, usually at completely different times.

But our lives also criss-crossed so many ways.  We were roommates for a while when I was between jobs (both of us just happened to end up in Atlanta at that time, for different reasons).  Later on, we were even groomsmen in each other’s weddings within the space of a month (not planned, just happened that way).  And through the years we always shared that bond of being Auburn men, no matter the extent to which we self-identified as such at any particular time.

Recently, I was out of work for a year and a half, all through Auburn’s 2010 National Championship run.  Bill and I had both ended up in Atlanta for a second time, again under totally separate circumstances.  So, we got together to watch almost every AU football game that season, with him keeping up my naturally pessimistic spirits during my mostly fruitless job search.  When we each got “snowed in” for the BCS Championship, we kept in touch the whole game via text messages and celebrated by phone after that kick went though the uprights.  We both observed that that season was the first time in a while that either of us had strongly felt a part of the Auburn Family.

Later, I was the one with the job, while Bill was “in transition,” as they say.  On top of that, Bill had a couple of health problems from which he is recovering.  Through all of these struggles, Bill maintains the positive (enough) attitude that has always marked him in his own challenges.

In 2013, I broke my fibula playing Rugby with guys a half and a third my age. (“That’s what you get,” said more than one acquaintance, including my beloved bride.)  With my right foot in a cast, I could not operate an automobile for the hour-and-a-half commute to my job.  Bill knew I needed face-time at the office and offered to take me into work two days a week just for gas money.  As Bill’s home was between my home and my office, he basically took on double the time of my own commute, plus, due to the timing of our ride, more time in the snarled Atlanta traffic than I usually spent (well, at least we had some good company).

With me and my crutches and him with his cane, I started to nickname us the “Gimp Brothers” (but then I remembered that scene from Pulp Fiction…).  I thought back to our salad days of yore when two young guys with a world of possibilities in front of them would ride around singing along to the car cassette player or would be hollering and cheering during amazing AU comebacks like the 1987 Iron Bowl and the 1990 FSU fumble-rooskie game.  Those two invincible guys back in the past could never picture the “sorry” state in which we now found ourselves—surprisingly still hanging out with each other but beat up physically (and a little bit mentally) by life.

(I must interrupt these reflections on my friend Bill to tell you of an even more wonderful blessing bestowed upon me.  My wife Eileen, a teacher, was SO looking forward to her week off for winter break in February.  These breaks in the school year are her own personal time to recharge and take care of things.  Bill could not transport me and my cast during the particular week Eileen was off.  Knowing how important getting into the office was to me, this woman effectively gave up her precious break and dragged me into work the whole week, many days killing time—HER time—during my workday on my office’s side of town.  Add to that the days she took off to cart me to work several other weeks, all the personal care she gave me during my time of limitation, and you see why I will always say I have the best wife in the whole world.)

Now, this column isn’t just a well-deserved paean to my friend nor is it a mere warm-and-fuzzy piece about our shared Auburn heritage.  No, this is a reflection on an amazing fact that I discovered the hard way (the only way I learn anything):  no matter who you are, life is just too freaking hard to make it well—really well—on your own.  If we are truly going to flourish the way God intends us to flourish, we all need the “human touch” of our friends and family.  In turn, we help our own loved ones flourish with their lives.

That doesn’t mean that we relate to everyone we know in the same way.  Sometimes, out of respect (of one kind or another), one must keep some distance from certain others; the important thing is that the folks who are currently apart must know that whenever one really needs the other, that temporary gulf will be bridged faster than Bo Jackson could hit the sideline and score.

Everyone meets great friends at whatever college they attend.  I’d like to think the friends we pick up at our time at Auburn are ones of a special type.  As diverse as we Auburn folks are, we already share many things in common that go beyond the eleven young men for whom we scream on autumn weekends—if not the Auburn Creed, specifically, then the values and outlook on life that the Creed represents.

So, people, I leave you with this: value the friends you have gained in your lifetime, especially those you found at Auburn.  If you haven’t spoken to one in a long time, pick up the freaking phone, burn some rollover minutes and call them up.  It doesn’t have to be for a reason.  Let’s face it, the clock only runs in one direction, and anything can happen at any time.  For the one thing I have learned from my forty-seven years of walking this earth is that, after all is said and done, the only thing you really have in this world is your friends and family—I mean, that’s all you have.

Michael Val

(who believes “in the human touch, which cultivates sympathy with my fellow men and mutual helpfulness and brings happiness for all.”)

The post “Old Friends, Old Friends” appeared first on Track 'Em Tigers, Auburn's oldest and most read independent blog.

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[bakafox]

nyshabrokeit

replied to your

post

:

naamahdarling: taoselmin: naamahdarling: ...

How are property taxes $200 pm??

Well, that is admittedly me rounding up a tiny bit? But basically it turns out all the money I had to spend to fix up this fixer upper jumped things up by a shitload, and this neighborhood, it also turns out, is becoming ‘prime real estate’? At any rate, when I bought it, it needed a new roof and a bunch of other work, but taxes were estimated at about 900-1000 a year and I was like “WHOO I CAN AFFORD THAT”

But now they’ve jumped to around 2K a year? But I still wouldn’t be able to sell this house for enough to afford to buy another place and pay movers to help me move, and also ahahaha I would have almost no help doing all that because while my family via the trust holds the title to this house, they don’t have time to help me research or anything whatsoever? I’m supposed to, with no experience and all my mental illness, just... do all the research and everything, which is how I wound up in this mess to begin with, because I didn’t realize that this neighborhood was being considered PRIME FOR REDEVELOPMENT and also didn’t think about how doing things like fixing the roof, the bathroom, the kitchen, and the yard so it wasn’t a dump’d jump the value by so damned much =/

I fucking love this house for all its wonky electrical and shit, it’s in a quiet, centralized neighborhood, low crime, I can get to all sorts of Nice Places in just a few minutes’ drive or an hour’s walk, but yeah it turns out all that convenience comes at a hell of a taxation price =/

I HAVE called tax offices and asked if there’s breaks for people with disability, but so far the answer has been ‘no’. And I also don’t know how it effects things that my name isn’t on the house title- it’s owned by the trust. Just the trust is running out of money and I’m supposed to- (have been from day one)- pay all the taxes in exchange for them insuring it and me not having to pay rent.

Basically I found a fixer-upper for under 90K in a neighborhood where non-fixer uppers sell for like $120-180K and didn’t ‘think ahead and research’ enough.

But this house still isn’t, itself, likely to sell for more than $100K and also I’m jsut so tired I don’t want to fuck around and mess with moving again, I just... want to quietly live here.

I have been assured by my therapist that I could probably get roommates here who even for 1 room and ‘kitchen and bathroom access’ would be THRILLED to pay $300 a month to the trust in rent, bc this neighborhood is so cool, but... holy fucksticks living with strangers??! That I’ll have to vet/arrange everything with all on my own? I’ve had two Terrible ROommage situations before and I just dk how I could handle one again with no backup/without my mom to help me kick them out when they steal my shit and whatnot.

(Also it means having to rent a storage unit for some of my shit or really do more pitching of things like fam photos and heirlooms and stuff, and I’m just not ready/in shape for this yet.)

Maybe my anxiety is making a mountain out of a molehill? IDK, I barely get anything done in terms of research/fixing stuff done every week thanks to major exec dysfunction problems. But I feel like I’m just royally fucked.

I do have a very good friend who at some point might stay with me at least temporarily once his life has some stuff happen- but this house admittedly is probably a little too small for both of us to permanently reside in without an outbuilding or additional room put on, because we both need office/crafting space, and also because he has a lot more cat s to add to my three- but also, there’s absolutely no telling when he’ll be able to come here, it hinges on a lot of shit.

But he’s the friend that p much saved my life when I got kicked out of the house in TX after mom went into her coma, so... I really want there to be room for him, rather than having to do random roommates crap, too.

And maybe together we could figure out how to ‘trade’ this house in for one more suited to both of us, if he wants to be permanent roommates, too, but I have to be able to hold onto this place at least until then, which might be a few years from now- or could happen way sooner than expected.

(Zillow, flawed as it is to use as only notable pricing thing, lists my house as being worth about $130K if I were to try selling it. And, ahaha, again, I bought it for just under 90K, though it’s now had a good amount sunk into it to where in total it has cost me about $105-110K with all the remodeling and repairs.)

[auburnfamilynews]

(Author’s note:  My best friend from Auburn lost his mother last week.  I am reposting this old column from four years ago.)

One spring afternoon in the mid-Eighties, having previously seen the invitation painted on the cafeteria windows, I began walking from my class at Haley Center over to Foy Union to sign up for the College Bowl academic competition.  As I started toward Foy, I noticed a fellow of large stature (who naturally stood out from the crowd) about thirty feet in front of me walking in the same general direction.  Oblivious to me behind him, he crossed Thatch Avenue and headed for the back entrance to the cafeteria, the same exact route I was choosing.  I had the strange feeling I was following him, even though there was a long way to go and many different turns on my way.

The fellow in front entered the cafeteria, and turned to go past the backed-up, stacked-up rows of used trays and dishes on the cafeteria conveyor belt, once again seemingly anticipating the direction I was heading.  He turned down the corridor leading to the elevator, again the same way I was headed.  By this time I think that fellow started to feel like somebody was stalking him for some reason.  We both got on the elevator together, both got off on the third floor, and both walked into the small former storage closet that housed the AU College Bowl team, both feeling a little awkward at having made this dance all the way through the bowels of Foy Union.

That’s how I met Bill Jones, the person I call my “best friend from Auburn” and one of the best friends ever in my life.  During our concurrent time on the Plains, we spent many, many days together on College Bowl road trips and at Auburn football games, and way, way too much time in front of the pinball machines and video games in the Foy Union game room.  When I couldn’t make it home all the way to Florida for non-break holidays like Easter, Bill took me to his home back in Montgomery, where I became the proud owners of a second set of parents (I love you, Mr. and Mrs. Jones!).

Our college careers diverged somewhat: I went straight through and got two degrees in accounting at Auburn; Bill continued at AU and finished up a math degree a year later.  I went into accounting and Bill started in software development.  We both moved around different places in the Southeast, always staying in touch and sharing the triumphs and challenges of young single life.

Our social and political philosophies also diverged, I becoming more conservative than ever and Bill leaning much the other way.  Even our interest in and identification with Auburn (both the institution and the football program) would wax and wane, usually at completely different times.

But our lives also criss-crossed so many ways.  We were roommates for a while when I was between jobs (both of us just happened to end up in Atlanta at that time, for different reasons).  Later on, we were even groomsmen in each other’s weddings within the space of a month (not planned, it just happened that way).  And through the years we always shared that bond of being Auburn men, no matter what the extent we self-identified as such at any particular time.

Recently, I was out of work for a year and a half, all through Auburn’s 2010 National Championship run.  Bill and I had both ended up in Atlanta for a second time, again under totally separate circumstances.  So, we got together to watch almost every AU football game that season, with him keeping up my naturally pessimistic spirits during my mostly fruitless job search.  When we each got “snowed in” for the BCS Championship, we kept in touch the whole game via text messages, and celebrated by phone after that kick went though the uprights.  We both observed that that season was the first time in a while that either of us had strongly felt a part of the Auburn Family.

Later, I was the one with the job, while Bill was “in transition” as they say.  On top of that, Bill had a couple of health problems from which he is recovering.  Through all of these struggles, Bill maintains the positive (enough) attitude that has always marked him in his own challenges.

In 2013, I broke my fibula playing Rugby with guys a half and a third my age (“That’s what you get,” said more than one acquaintance, including my beloved bride).  With my right foot in a cast, I could not operate an automobile for the hour-and-a-half commute to my job.  Bill knew I needed face-time at the office, and offered to take me into work two days a week just for gas money.  As Bill’s home was between my home and my office, he basically took on double the time of my own commute, plus, due to the timing of our ride, more time in the snarled Atlanta traffic than I usually spent (well, at least we had some good company).

With me and my crutches and him with his cane, I started to nickname us the “Gimp Brothers” (but then I remembered that scene from Pulp Fiction…).  I thought back to our salad days of yore, when two young guys with a world of possibilities in front of them would ride around singing along with the car cassette player, or would be hollering and cheering during amazing AU comebacks like the 1987 Iron Bowl and the 1990 FSU fumble-rooskie game.  Those two invincible guys back in the past could never picture the “sorry” state in which we now found ourselves—surprisingly still hanging out with each other, but beat up physically (and a little bit mentally) by life.

(I must interrupt these reflections on my friend Bill to tell you of an even more wonderful blessing bestowed upon me.  My wife Eileen, a teacher, was SO looking forward to her week off for winter break in February.  These breaks in the school year are her own personal time to recharge and take care of things.  Bill could not transport me and my cast during the particular week Eileen was off.  Knowing how important getting into the office was to me, this woman effectively gave up her precious break and dragged me into work the whole week, many days killing time—HER time—during my workday on my office’s side of town.  Add to that the days she took off to cart me in several other weeks, and all the personal care she gave me during my time of limitation, and you see why I will always say I have the best wife in the whole world.)

Now, this column isn’t just a well-deserved paean to my friend, nor is it is a mere warm-and-fuzzy piece about our shared Auburn heritage.  No, this is a reflection on an amazing fact that I discovered the hard way (the only way I learn anything):  no matter who you are, life is just too freaking hard to make it well—really well—on your own.  If we are truly going to flourish the way God intends us to flourish, we all need the “human touch” of our friends and family.  In turn, we help our own loved ones flourish with their lives.

That doesn’t mean that we relate to everyone we know in the same way.  Sometimes, out of respect (of one kind or another), one must keep some distance from certain others; the important thing is that the folks who are currently apart must know that whenever either one really needs the other, that temporary gulf will be bridged faster than Bo Jackson could hit the sideline and score.

Everyone meets great friends at whatever college they attend.  I’d like to think the friends we pick up at our time at Auburn are ones of a special type.  As diverse as we Auburn folks are, we already share many things in common that go beyond the eleven young men for whom we scream on autumn weekends—if not the Auburn Creed specifically, then the values and outlook on life that the Creed represents.

So, people, I leave you with this: value the friends you have gained in your lifetime, especially those you found at Auburn.  If you haven’t spoken to one in a long time, pick up the freaking phone, burn some rollover minutes and call them up.  It doesn’t have to be for a reason.  Let’s face it, the clock only runs in one direction, and anything can happen at any time.  For the one thing I have learned from my forty-seven years of walking this earth is that, after all is said and done, the only thing you really have in this world is your friends and family—I mean, that’s all you have.

Michael Val

(who who believes “in the human touch, which cultivates sympathy with my fellow men and mutual helpfulness and brings happiness for all”)

The post Old Friends, Old Friends appeared first on Track 'Em Tigers, Auburn's oldest and most read independent blog.

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