The Reign of the Magic Nickels…

Is over. Either that or they don't work in loading zones. One way or the other, I had to buy a candy bar to get change in front of the Wookiee's house this morning when his caregiver was out doing laundry, AGAIN.

He's not really a Wookiee. He is actually a regular guy with a tiny apartment.

Since I'm going to have to find a new apartment in the coming months, I've been taking noticed of the living arrangements of others. I go into huge houses in Calistoga where the patient's name is both on my order form and on the cases of wine from his vineyard. I also go into places where the street address is followed by ", space 149." As in, my trailer sits in space 149 in Hidden Acres Trailer Villa.

Going into numerous trailer parks (where it seems that much of Santa Rosa, Petaluma, Rohnert Park, and Napa goes to die), I've started comparing trailers to my apartment, and my future apartment.

Trailers have heat. My apartment has a gas fireplace attached to our thermostat. The fireplace has a plaque under the fake logs which reads "not for heating. Ornamental use only."

Trailers listed for rent are $300 a month or so less than studio apartments.

Doublewides are generally much nicer than my apartment in their furnishings, carpeting, and facilities.

Trailer parks often have pools. (This one is mostly just an odd observation. I don't generally take my shirt off, and swimming with a shirt on seems lame. (Not to go too deep into the parenthetical, but this is why I have a year-round farmer tan.))

Unfortunately, when all is said and done, trailers are in trailer parks. I imagine it's very hard to take a girl home to a trailer unless she has a mullet, and mullets are so very unattractive.