It’s a good thing that I don’t have any work this week, since I now have a date by which I must vacate my current home – January 3, 2011.
So, instead of earning a living, I’ve been burning gas by driving around town looking at apartments from sunrise to sunset.
My main problem seems to be landlords’ creative interpretation of the English language.
An apartment with such small rooms that I can stand in the middle of said room, stretch out my arms and touch opposite walls? Not fucking spacious.
Two burner hot-plate and the sink’s in the bathroom? Not a fucking gourmet kitchen.
Right across the street from the freeway? Not fucking quiet.
Nobody’s been killed in the building so far this week? Not fucking safe.
Built in 1899 and not had any maintenance since then? Not fucking quaint.
Parking in an unsecured lot six blocks away? Not fucking convenient. Not by a long shot.
Illegal garage conversion in a paved-over backyard that’s the domain of two angry (or friendly – who can tell?) pit bulls who are ‘just kidding’ when they bite? So not a fucking ‘spa-like setting’, dude.
Don’t even get me started on ‘cozy’.
Dammit, can’t I just see one honest ad? “Hey, this place sucks balls, but it’s cheap so what are you gonna do, deadbeat?”
This needs to be over soon, especially since today the construction workers knocked a very expensive rice cooker off a shelf and broke it. Of course, the landlord’s not going to pay for it, since it’s apparently my fault that the construction workers, while very nice guys, are clumsy.
I need a vacation.