24 May 2007

Apartment 1 and 2

And, it begins. I was pleasantly surprised with Apartment 1. It wasn't on fire. No one stole my bicycle, Faustino. Shut up. I'll name my bike what ever I please. So, as you can see, my standards are pretty low. This apartment had more closets that our current one (so that I have space to store the massive amount of crap that I seem to collect), also lots of light, good mouldings, and a big kitchen with nice windows. Neighborhood? Well, compared to where we currently live it seemed pretty nice, but so would Beirut. It's next to something called Big Bear Cafe, which could be either a nice cafe, or a leather bar for gay men. Either is OK, really. Gay bars are good neighbors. They clean up and their clientele, while prone to have sex in the alley, never steal your car.

The second apartment appeared, from it's craigslist ad, to be great. When I arrived, the limits of 185 words on craigslist became painfully apparent. It was a long, low basement room with assorted sump pumps installed to keep the water out and a psychedelic paint job that I was, according to the owner who lives upstairs, "welcome to change, man, but I like it so you'll pay for the paint." No, friend, I won't. I will not pay to paint your dungeon. And what am I supposed to do with a working fireplace in the basement? Use it to dry my sodden possessions after the sump pump fails? Or to asphyxiate guests with as it sucks the oxygen out of my underground tomb? But it does have a washer dryer, so that is one point in it's favor; at least I will asphyxiate in front of a romantic fire while wearing clean socks.