You Move Me, Baby.
It's that time of year. No, not Spring, happy pants. Time to move!
This is why I have fewer friends than once upon a time--I've *moved* them all away...your friends just don't want to carry your goddamned couch around year after year. And, well, breaking up is hard to do, but it's much easier than lifting all of those books--why do you have so many books??--up two flights of stairs...
My rent has gone up, and I was already pretty dour at spending close to $1,000/month to live in a place that's street level with all the yackers walking by and gawking into my windows (I understand this is basic human nature, but I really do feel like they should be dropping treats into my apartment/aquarium if they're going to put me on display).
Oh, and I'm on a hill, so all the motorcyclists rev their engines all big and testosterone-y like, to get the maximum amount of annoyance out of me. Oh, and the leaf blowers at 7 am--the urban rooster which cries F You! every Saturday morning at my place.
But don't forget about the neighbor upstairs who has, on occasion, called me a "stank ho" (and if you're going to be called a ho, you might as well go for the gusto--be a robust whore, I say--a stank whore!), and procedes to slam the door in my face everytime she's walking into the complex in front of me and then jumps up and down (maybe picking up her couch and slamming it down?) on her floor (which, in a strange coincidence, doubles as my ceiling! I'm sure she's just unaware of that fact).
Oh, but finally, I flipping hate the city I live in, so I'm pretty dour about paying rent anyway.I mean, the reason rent's so high here is that people pay the "sunshine tax"--they love the weather and the beach, and blah blah blah. I don't. I'm Scottish/Irish/German and probably have a bit of vampire in there somehwere--I don't lay in the sun, I get exposed--generally involuntarily. I don't like spending all my time outdoors hiking biking sunning swimming surfing (by the way, all the boys in SoCal really do seem to want *activity partners* in the true sense of the word). But I'm getting taxed as though I do. But really, my PhD program is holding me captive in SoCal. And I just learned I'm not going on the job market this year, so that's two more years of captivity, and then I'm out into the wild!!!
But until then, I refuse to pay $1000/month to live in the den of annoyance, in the pit of despair, in the neighborhood of hell.
Sooo, I'm moving.
Again.
But there's a twist. I have a dog. And the whole nation of landlords apparently hates dogs much more than crack addicts. really. Sooo, every ad I peruse, I stifle the rage building in my throat when I see, "NO DOGS!!!", as though simple lower case and a period just wouldn't get it across... "SO MUCH NOT DOG WE'D RATHER BURN OUR APARTMENT DOWN TO THE GROUND THAN LET YOUR DOG NEAR IT!!!"
Okay. I get it. I don't get why cats--whose piss you can't get out of carpet to save your (or my dog's) life--are better tenants than dogs, but so be it.
I've been researching a while, and I've noticed that apartments which do allow dogs charge about $150/month premium for the possibility (of course, I think that if you don't have a dog, you shouldn't be allowed to live in a complex that allows them--it should be like, section 9 or canine citizen's housing).
So, to save money, I decided to try that whole living-with-someone-you're-not-banging thing again. And the thought fills me with dread. Yes, Sartre, Hell is other people at breakfast--especially if they didn't give you head the night before. I have trouble with weekend long dates (long stories, readers), but months--months--of pleasantries and polite chit-chat and what do you want to watch on the t.v.? and oh, is that what she said to you? i can't believe it and when the f* are you going to wash your dishes? --just sounds like a me-specific form of torture.
But, I have no choice. Apparently, grad school is not the lucrative industry it once was...so I routinely do not eat the last week of every month (which, sure, on the bright side, poverty really is the best diet). This is *not* cool.
Whining is so depressing.
So is moving.
In with others, no less.
Sigh.
Yours if the rent is right,
Slickaphonic
This is why I have fewer friends than once upon a time--I've *moved* them all away...your friends just don't want to carry your goddamned couch around year after year. And, well, breaking up is hard to do, but it's much easier than lifting all of those books--why do you have so many books??--up two flights of stairs...
My rent has gone up, and I was already pretty dour at spending close to $1,000/month to live in a place that's street level with all the yackers walking by and gawking into my windows (I understand this is basic human nature, but I really do feel like they should be dropping treats into my apartment/aquarium if they're going to put me on display).
Oh, and I'm on a hill, so all the motorcyclists rev their engines all big and testosterone-y like, to get the maximum amount of annoyance out of me. Oh, and the leaf blowers at 7 am--the urban rooster which cries F You! every Saturday morning at my place.
But don't forget about the neighbor upstairs who has, on occasion, called me a "stank ho" (and if you're going to be called a ho, you might as well go for the gusto--be a robust whore, I say--a stank whore!), and procedes to slam the door in my face everytime she's walking into the complex in front of me and then jumps up and down (maybe picking up her couch and slamming it down?) on her floor (which, in a strange coincidence, doubles as my ceiling! I'm sure she's just unaware of that fact).
Oh, but finally, I flipping hate the city I live in, so I'm pretty dour about paying rent anyway.I mean, the reason rent's so high here is that people pay the "sunshine tax"--they love the weather and the beach, and blah blah blah. I don't. I'm Scottish/Irish/German and probably have a bit of vampire in there somehwere--I don't lay in the sun, I get exposed--generally involuntarily. I don't like spending all my time outdoors hiking biking sunning swimming surfing (by the way, all the boys in SoCal really do seem to want *activity partners* in the true sense of the word). But I'm getting taxed as though I do. But really, my PhD program is holding me captive in SoCal. And I just learned I'm not going on the job market this year, so that's two more years of captivity, and then I'm out into the wild!!!
But until then, I refuse to pay $1000/month to live in the den of annoyance, in the pit of despair, in the neighborhood of hell.
Sooo, I'm moving.
Again.
But there's a twist. I have a dog. And the whole nation of landlords apparently hates dogs much more than crack addicts. really. Sooo, every ad I peruse, I stifle the rage building in my throat when I see, "NO DOGS!!!", as though simple lower case and a period just wouldn't get it across... "SO MUCH NOT DOG WE'D RATHER BURN OUR APARTMENT DOWN TO THE GROUND THAN LET YOUR DOG NEAR IT!!!"
Okay. I get it. I don't get why cats--whose piss you can't get out of carpet to save your (or my dog's) life--are better tenants than dogs, but so be it.
I've been researching a while, and I've noticed that apartments which do allow dogs charge about $150/month premium for the possibility (of course, I think that if you don't have a dog, you shouldn't be allowed to live in a complex that allows them--it should be like, section 9 or canine citizen's housing).
So, to save money, I decided to try that whole living-with-someone-you're-not-banging thing again. And the thought fills me with dread. Yes, Sartre, Hell is other people at breakfast--especially if they didn't give you head the night before. I have trouble with weekend long dates (long stories, readers), but months--months--of pleasantries and polite chit-chat and what do you want to watch on the t.v.? and oh, is that what she said to you? i can't believe it and when the f* are you going to wash your dishes? --just sounds like a me-specific form of torture.
But, I have no choice. Apparently, grad school is not the lucrative industry it once was...so I routinely do not eat the last week of every month (which, sure, on the bright side, poverty really is the best diet). This is *not* cool.
Whining is so depressing.
So is moving.
In with others, no less.
Sigh.
Yours if the rent is right,
Slickaphonic
posted by slickaphonic at 9:35 PM
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