Weekend Update: Apartments Nine, Ten, Love's Labor Lost, And Eleven

And we continue. I rode my trusty stead, Calvin (I name all vehicles. Even other people's vehicles), over to Capital Hill to meet an estate agent who, I would later learn, was riding the short bus. But first things first. Apartment Nine: Big rooms, nice layout, new carpet. The catch? Besides the kitchen, that appeared to have been recently shipped in from 1971 when it caught on fire, the new carpet felt as if it had been laid over old floorboards, so it worked kind of like one of those moon bounce things at the fair. Which could be fun, but I can't imagine my couch and coffee table sitting nicely on the inflated, yet oddly sagging, surface of our new living room.

Apartment Ten was analogous to meeting someone you think you are interested in at a bar, but then realizing you have just had too much vodka, and you are not interested. Also, he is the size of a breadbox. This apartment had all the right indicators. He was in the right place (standing alone at the bar). He was unoccupied so we could move in right away (alone, with out visible partner or boyfriend to muck things up). He seemed to have nice accessories, belt (gas range), good shoes (hardwood floors), pants that fit his butt correctly (bars on the windows- I'm a realist here peoples). But then you realized that he was 3'8" and everyone would laugh if you took him to a gay cowboy bar to two step to bad Alan Jackson songs (I would never do this. But just saying.). I could never live in an apartment with J that was that small. We would, after an extended period of exaggerated sighs, icy stares, and not hanging up the bathroom towels, begin poisoning each other, or some other wretched fate. If hell is other people, then people too close up in your business, even people you love, is the seventh circle.

Then I took a break to go see Love's Labor Lost in the amphitheater at Rock Creek Park. I will say, it spoke to me. But since my every thought recently is taken up by an ironically huge amount of mental space that looking at tiny apartments occupies, I caught myself thinking:

"I wonder how much it would be to rent the set from the King of Navarre's scenes? Couldn't be too much. I mean, really, it's made of paste board and I doubt it has more than three walls. Surely the back is open so the cast and crew can have quick access. That should knock a couple hundred dollars off the rent, minimum. Hmmmmm."

Apartment 11 was a low ceilinged hole with an efficiency kitchen, that was maybe 250 sq feet. Really people, THAT DOESN'T QUALIFY AS A ONE BEDROOM APARTMENT. EVER. That is all.

Le Sigh.