Condo is not spelled with an “m”
Allen bought a condo. Well, by the time Allen is fifty-six, he’ll have bought a condo. Right now, some nice people at a bank are just letting him squat on their property.
The nice two bedroom unit is now furnished with (nearly) all of his worldly goods as well as one or two of the otherworldly ones. The new place could probably host about twenty people comfortably and sleep about ten (depending on heights and relations). Sounds like a party to me.
I went down the day after Thanksgiving to help make this all possible. We rented a fourteen foot U-Haul (driven by yours truly – I was a real long distance hauler that day – drivin’ my rig from state to state, sleepin’ in rest stops, pissin’ in bottles, eatin’ burger king, peerin’ down the tops of women in convertibles and jerkin’ off to the Celine Dion station all day long) and made two trips from Poway to South Escondido (apparently, unless you specify the quadrant, people think you live in the boonies). Many of you may know just how good at parallel parking I am. You should have seen me in the truck.
Following a hard day’s work of manual labor, we hit up the Shakespeare Pub in or around downtown San Diego. Black and Tan and Shepherd’s Pie.
A day well spent.
