No Name
I’m neither proud or happy about where I live. When I was a little girl I didn’t play trailer house, I just played house. I mean, if you would have told me that one day I’d be living in a crappy trailer park I would have had a nervous breakdown. Seriously. But here I am living every little girl’s dream.
So how’d I end up here? That’s a long story, so I’ll just give you the Cliff Notes version. My boyfriend Will wasn’t happy living in Minneapolis anymore and was dealing with his mom having cancer and a job he didn’t really like. So, me being the super supportive girl that I am, told him that if he wanted to I’d be open to moving. I know, what was I thinking, right? Anyway, he found a great new job and the next thing I know we’re moving to some podunk little mountain town. Never mind the fact that I didn’t have a job lined up.
Now we just needed a place to live. Yeah, that was a giant headache. Apparently, there wasn’t any short-term housing available because of all the oil exploration going on and all the greasy oil contractors have rented everything. So, the only thing left was in No Name Trailer Park. No kidding, that’s what the place is called. How appropriate, right?
I remember the first time I saw the place. I can’t remember the last time I cried that hard. Now, I’m not normally a snob, but Jesus this place was a dump. There wasn’t a trailer that looked hospitable and there were junked cars and garbage everywhere. I mean it looked like a tornado just tore through the place.
Will promised it’d only be temporary. Yeah, that was over a year ago.
So here I am, living in a craphole trailer park. Lucky me!
