After nine long and expensive months, I am pleased to say we now have a clean title on our apartment. Also, as an added bonus, THEY (ya know, the MAN and his goons) can no longer seize my apartment if the guy across the hall defaults on his mortgage. Who would have ever thought it would be so expensive and exhausting to just stay in the same apartment?
Yes, it’s a long story. Its extra annoying when coupled with the tale of how the guy buying our apartment was laid off the day before our move. But now, nine long months later, we can start afresh and try it all over again.
All, the fuck, over again.
Call me Persephone (I get tired of Kooky), but I’m not real excited about finding a new real estate agent, remembering to put the discarded condom wrappers in the trash, hiding in the hallway while an endless parade of strangers pokes at my belongings, storing my pajamas somewhere other than next to the toilet, or trying to arrange the book shelves so the seven different copies of The Joy Of Sex aren’t visible. All that could drastically cut into a girl’s hectic schedule of writing, lurking, painting, and Twilight watching.
Plus, if I was serious about putting this place back on the market, I’d probably have to face things like this:
Yup. That’s in my fridge at this very moment. Coincidentally, I bought that cabbage less than a month after the whole guess-we-aren’t-moving-after-all debacle. I think she’s holding up surprisingly well. Obviously the same can’t be said for those limes…or rather the organic matter formerly known as limes (PS Purple Rain might be the best album of ALL TIME).
It’s cool. It’s all in the name of research. Last week, one of my old containers of yogurt actually exploded inside the fridge. It takes dedication to sacrifice so much fridge space to my scientific experiments, people. I’m going to have my own movie some day, just like good ‘ol Charlie D.
I don’t limit my hobby of growing things just to my fridge either. I’ve got an entirely new species of mold developing underneath the rubber fish suction cupped to the bottom of my shower. I’ve grown particularly attached to the black little bugger near the soap dish. I call him Ron. He often sings harmony during our shower sing-a-thons. With our latest “Les Mis” kick, he’s proven a fantastic Javier to my Jean Val Jean. I’m know I need to murder him in cold blood (or rather, warm water) before putting the apartment on the market. I just don’t think I’m ready.
Rocco thinks I’m taking this whole only-cleaning-with-vinegar-and-baking-soda thing a little too far. He even ran out and bought a bottle of some bleach based tile cleaner. Fortunately I was able to intercede before the mold-icide. There’s still a lot of tension in the house. Rocco’s been gunning for poor Ron for months.
I had originally decided that my love for Ron was too great, that I should give it a little more time and see where this love affair goes before flushing it all down the drain (get it, get it?!?!). But out of the blue I got a message from Jessica over at Left Over Candy. (She’s got a way of making you sing, skip, and weep all at once. You should probably make sure you’re well hydrated before you visit her site.) “So I was stalking your blog yesterday and read something about you liking Maplewood. That’s where my 90 year old grandmother lives. She’s selling her house when she moves up to MA, which will be within a year, give or take a few months. I’ll keep you posted if you’d like!”
So then I started looking at real estate listings again and day dreaming about all my pottery equipment wasting away in my parents’ garage in Virginia. Ron started fussing about always having to be the bad guy and trying to sing the Val Jean parts. I lost an earring down the bathroom sink. (To be fair, that could probably happen in any apartment but it didn’t exactly make me write love ballads about this one.) Now I’m starting to wonder if it’s time to throw away last summers cabbage and nuke the mold.
You’re right. I should probably do those last two things whether I put this joint on the market or not. Don’t tell Ron, k? You’ll just scare him. I want to make it as quick and painless as possible.