What's that Smell?
Last night I discovered that the answer to "Oh God, what's that terrible smell?" is "the dead mouse in your dresser." It is a dresser drawer which I don't think that I'd opened in a couple of days, which makes me wonder how long that tiny little smelly thing had been in there. I will soak everything that was in that drawer in bleach, just in case. I understand that mice pee on everything. I lived in the Bunker for almost ten years, and I only encountered a mouse once, when the cats were a couple of years old. I have been in the Fallback Position for two months and we have already had an invasion of ants and a dead rodent. This is not the Potrero Hill vacation I had in mind.
J and I have looked at lofts. Well, mostly we have looked at loft listings. Incidentally, if you are advertising a "single-level" loft with "two enclosed bedrooms" and eight-foot ceilings, you do not have a loft, you have a two-bedroom apartment. Additionally, I would like for you to die in a fire. Rents have dropped precipitously, but most of the lofts on the market are either big white boxes, devoid of character, or else they are too small. J and I have discovered that we would prefer not to live in less then thirteen hundred square feet. Indeed, that appears to be the minimum size of a place that would fit all of our furniture and still feel expansive. I have a list of demands: we must return to SOMA (or possibly the Mission, but only the bits that are close to my precious SOMA), we must have parking, the building must allow cats, there must be enough room for all of our furniture, there must be laundry on the premises (I am profoundly spoiled by these last few months of not having to cart my laundry down the street -- the other night, I did laundry at 1 am! Bliss!), there must be a gas stove, and there must be brick or concrete or timbers or some kind of sign that we are not living in a big white box. I would consider it a bonus if there was closet space, or if there was some kind of outside space where I might put some plants, or if the unit let a little more light in than our Bunker did. I would prefer it if the landlord gave us permission to paint the walls, though I will paint the walls whether I have permission or not, because white walls are an abomination unto interior design. I would be especially pleased if the unit did not house mice or ants.
J and I have looked at lofts. Well, mostly we have looked at loft listings. Incidentally, if you are advertising a "single-level" loft with "two enclosed bedrooms" and eight-foot ceilings, you do not have a loft, you have a two-bedroom apartment. Additionally, I would like for you to die in a fire. Rents have dropped precipitously, but most of the lofts on the market are either big white boxes, devoid of character, or else they are too small. J and I have discovered that we would prefer not to live in less then thirteen hundred square feet. Indeed, that appears to be the minimum size of a place that would fit all of our furniture and still feel expansive. I have a list of demands: we must return to SOMA (or possibly the Mission, but only the bits that are close to my precious SOMA), we must have parking, the building must allow cats, there must be enough room for all of our furniture, there must be laundry on the premises (I am profoundly spoiled by these last few months of not having to cart my laundry down the street -- the other night, I did laundry at 1 am! Bliss!), there must be a gas stove, and there must be brick or concrete or timbers or some kind of sign that we are not living in a big white box. I would consider it a bonus if there was closet space, or if there was some kind of outside space where I might put some plants, or if the unit let a little more light in than our Bunker did. I would prefer it if the landlord gave us permission to paint the walls, though I will paint the walls whether I have permission or not, because white walls are an abomination unto interior design. I would be especially pleased if the unit did not house mice or ants.