Our first year of marriage, Steve and I lived in Fairview Heights, IL. Of course, you don’t know where that is.
It’s just over the river east of St. Louis. We lived there in the ghetto, far away from our friends, and talked every day about moving back to Omaha. But now that we’re back in Omaha, I have some fond memories of good ol’ Fairview Heights. I wrote a blog (back when my only blog was on myspace – back when I actually had a myspace) once from my apartment there at Park Terrace
about how one day I would look back on my days at Fairview Heights with a smile. Today, I’m doing that.
I do miss Longacre Park. It was right across the street from our apartment. I would run there every evening after work: four laps around the 1.5 mile running trail. I would walk in the mornings – two laps to wake me up. I was the skinniest I’ve ever been post-childbirth.
We loved Penn Station East Coast subs. Anytime Steve called me to ask what I wanted for dinner, we were both thinking the same thing. There are only three things I wouldn’t do right now for one of those chicken cordon bleu subs, and all three are very illegal. It’s very rare to find a sub shop w/hot subs and fries. OK, by rare I mean impossible. Impossible until Penn Station.
Every Friday night after going out to eat, we would stop at Dierberg’s to pick up Steve’s weekend booze. The alcohol was cheap there. They even gave out shots of tequila in the aisle there once. Hey, we lived in the armpit of Illinois-we had to have something.
Steve’s job was always having parties. Renting out an area of Busch stadium for a Cardinals game or causing a ruckus at Smoky Bones…whatever the party – it was sure to be exciting. And no one was to leave sober. That was a rule. (and no, these guys in the picture are not from Steve’s old job – just some yahoos from Google images).
I really don’t care, but Steve was glad to eat Chick-fil-a once in awhile. I think waffle fries are overrated.
I worked at a call center. Although the job wasn’t all that glamorous, I was good at it. Really good. I could get pretty much anyone off the phone w/in three minutes.
When we first moved to Fairview Heights, I was annoyed that there was no nearby Banana Republic, and Steve was equally annoyed that there wasn’t a Chipotle. Before we left, they had built both within two miles of our apartment. But it wasn’t enough incentive to stay. Omaha was calling our names.