Okay. I am as moved-in as I can be, given that I have a: no dresser b: no hardware for my bookshelf (wtf, where is it?) c: no kitchen counter and d: no more energy, oh gosh, let me just lie here on my comfy comfy mattress and sleeeeeeeeep ( Read more... )

Roommate: achieved. He loved the apartment, literally turned to me after seeing the kitchen and asked, 'Where do I sign?' He is super-duper adorable, ultra-gay, and I think we're going to get along excellently. (When he saw my Big Box o' Movies, his eyes lit up and he didn't judge me at all for the girly crap I own, which is more than I can say of ( Read more... )

Oh man, so let me tell you about this move and how I have very nearly cried every single day this week, but how in the end everything has worked out ( Read more... )

Not to copy pippinmctaggart or anything, but: I GOT THE APARTMENT!!!

Now all I need is a real job. Dear Toronto: Please be good to me. I would really like not to have to move back in with my parents. Looooooove, Amy

I should also finish unpacking and repacking the boxes that have been sitting on the floor since my last move. Which, for the record, was in mid-

On Tuesday I found the perfect apartment. It's in an early-1900s building, close but not too close to downtown, a block away from Church St., with possibly the friendliest building managers and most adorable tenants (I kid you not, in the ten minutes I waited outside, I was greeted by two of the gayest little hipster boys in the world, and a man ( Read more... )