I’m in love with our new apartment.
I’m not allowed to post photos, because, Steven reminds me, it’s show-offy. I guess it’s show-offy to even reveal the reason he said not to. If I’d just said, “Steven won’t let me post pictures,” and left it at that, it could mean we live in a dump and he doesn’t want anyone to see the pizza boxes and crack vials. But i didn’t leave it at that. So I’ve already boasted too much.
But how exciting is it that I love our new place?
Oh, that’s right — not exciting at all. Not to read about, anyway. It lacks conflict, which makes it a total non-story.
To counteract the boasting, and add some drama, I’ll tell you my major complaints:
1) The dogs upstairs. They do two things.
A) They walk around at night over our bedroom. Not a big deal, but unsettling, because the ceilings in this building are thick, concrete slabs. We don’t hear anything else from upstairs or next door, ever. Just the dog toenails, which, from the sound, are as long as an LA chola’s. They could be Lee Press-Ons. They click as loudly and vigorously as a 1950s secretary from Queens typing.
B) They bark through the bathroom vent. All the apartments in this line have the bathroom in the same location, which means, if they’re barking above my bathroom, they’re hanging out in the bathroom. What are dogs doing hanging out in the bathroom? I know them bitches ain’t filing their nails. And they only seem to bark when I take a shower. It makes me think they’re watching me through the vent, too. We all know dogs are perverts, especially the ones with long nails.
2) The static-y toilet seat.
I’ve never seen a toilet seat with so much electric energy. It collects dust and hair like a balloon. Have you ever noticed that about balloons? It beats me why people give them to their kids to play with. Why not give the kid a dirty mop? Or our toilet seat? Here kid, it’s on a string. Go play.
3) The fridge.
The door to our Sub Zero fridge sticks. Oh my god, that sentence just made me the most insufferable person in the world. I should delete-delete-delete, but it’s such a perfect, platonic ideal of a humblebrag that that removing it would be almost as criminal as chopping down a 400-year-old oak tree or killing a baby seal. You should know that the Sub Zero came with the apartment, and it’s an older model, and it’s now totally streaky from when I tried to clean it. The door seal is so strong that when we try to open it, the whole fridge moves and nobody gets a snack. Does that make me less despicable?
4) The bacon.
We have central air – which is considered a plus, always mentioned on a real estate listing if it’s offered. But it means that you don’t get to run the air conditioning until the building switches from heat to A/C in the late spring. I’m used to sleeping with the air conditioning on, and rely on it for white noise. I can’t sleep in silence. Luckily, I have an awesome white noise app on my iphone that plays at least 7 different kinds of rain. My go-to is the sound of rain on a tent. (Go figure – I hate camping.) So, all good, except that Steven insists it sounds like bacon frying in the pan. He hates it. And every night since we moved in, I’ve made him fall asleep to it. The last thing he says before he turns over is always some variation on “Oh goody. The cozy pitter patter of bacon fat.”
That’s all I have to complain about, which I guess is pretty good, if disappointing in the dramatic tension department. Sorry, I’m showing off again. What complaints do you have about your home? Tell me in the comments. Or boast how large you livin’. Or, just tell me I’m not the only one with a static-y toilet seat.