I have been an apartment dweller for almost a quarter century, and I did not pursue home ownership until the market went nuts. I have lived in bad neighbors and neighborhoods that were worse. From Newport News, Virginia, to Hampton, Virginia, to Lake Worth, Florida, to West Palm Beach, to Washington, DC, and finally to "luxury living" in Rockville, Maryland.
My family would always call me impulsive, but that is because I don't share every detail of my life. I investigate before I plunge into something, and then I tell them what is going on. But let me be clear, if my parents were still alive, what I began yesterday and hope to pursue by July 1, 2011, would kill them.
I have always been an oddball. My mother never heard me say, "But everyone else is doing it." She would always say, "Why can't you be like everyone else." I knew this about myself ever since I brought the green crayon to first grade class after reading about the boy with the purple crayon, and everyone else brought red or purple crayons.
My longest apartment stay was 12.5 years in the sometimes gang-infested neighborhood of Mount Pleasant in Northwest Washington, DC. I had neighbors upstairs who fought constantly, and my friends urged me to move before one of them shot a bullet through the floor into my bedroom. The problem was the rent was dirt cheap, and the location was convenient.
But even I got sick of it, so I moved to what they call luxury living in a multi-use development called Rockville Town Square. Unfortunately, this became the straw. If you have never lived in a multi-use development, don't. Every f--king weekend is a g--dam festival or parade. There is constant noise from the rooftop nightclub or Mommy on the Square night, or concerts, etc. And in luxury living, no one, and I mean no one looks at you or says hello. I know three of my neighbors.
In Mount Pleasant and in Florida, even Newport News and Hampton, I knew everyone.
With home prices soaring out the roof, and my exhaustion with living in spaces previously occupied by someone else, I wanted new construction, no attachment to anyone else's home and peace and quiet. A mobile home emerged as the answer. I had considered this for a long time, since 2002, and after much investigation, yesterday I took the first step to owning my own home. On July 1, I plan to become Poor Gay Jewish Trash (PGJT). I grew up PGJT, so this will not be a stretch.
What I plan to share with you over the course of the next year -- or decade, are my adventures as a Gay Jew in a Mobile Home Community.
First lesson: Mobile Home Community is the preferred term, and I was determined not to move into a Trailer Park. When you see what I found, you will be surprised -- and somewhat curious -- and maybe a little appalled. But I have never cared what other people think about me.
I hope you follow my adventures.