At 10am, we waited in an alley, between a 7-Eleven and a Shell gas station, outside a freshly painted duplex/townhouse. Eighty-five degrees, the rumble of an air-conditioner, and the smell of exhaust... if only the property manager had bothered to show. Instead, at five minutes after ten, I called her cell phone. I listened to her say in a chipper voice, "If you're calling about the Seattle property, yeah, it's already rented. Leave a message!" Thanks for callin' sweetheart. Thanks for being so professional. There's nothing I wanted to do more this morning, than to wait in an alley for a delinquent be-atch.
I won't lie to you. There was anxiety. From the photos, we figured the place was perfect. After a disappointing yesterday, we wanted this to be the one. We'd driven around the neighborhood. Lots of cute shops, restaurants, schools. And here we were, in an alley, kicking our shoes into the pavement. We went to a coffeehouse and I bought a mocha. Jer turned on his laptop and we checked craigslist. And there it was. Two bedrooms, 2 bath, cats ok, d/w, w/d, f/p, down the street. I called.
The owner saw us right away.
And through the picture window, we saw the entire Seattle skyline.
It's a condo, and it's on the water.
Three hours later, I wrote the check and we signed the paperwork.
In other news, our hotel room is below a family of crackheads. Possibly elephant crackheads, who like to hop up and down, and periodically bang their heads against the walls. I hate them. They've kept me from sleeping for two nights and they've already started up again, however, I think I've mastered the fine art of lounging with an arm over my ear, and the other ear pressed firmly into the mattress, so perhaps I won't wake up every two hours to hear yet another symphony of pounding.
Oh dear God, I hate them. Maybe I'll get lucky and they'll overdose.
One of the places we saw had a wet bar in the basement. And the wet bar was painted fantastic colors, blue and orange and pink and green, with green vinyl seats along the wall. If only we were the orgy type, then this place would have been perfect. Its downfall was its -- how you say -- unfortunate location and prominently featured security system.
Another place was a one-bedroom house with a converted attic that was advertised as a "cozy" 3 bedroom. The ad also said it had a dishwasher, which it did, if you count rolling in the portable from the porch everytime you want to do a load as a dishwasher.
And then there was the place where the floors sloped. It was also advertised as a 3 bedroom, but not so much, since there were only 2 bedrooms and a family room that didn't have a door. It was down the street from a hollowed out Big K. The parking lot was empty and sad, like my water bottle, after two days of eighty plus temperatures.
I am so clever.
But seriously Mr.-Global-Warming-Isn't-Real, where is all the rain? We were promised rain!
In one month, assuming everything finishes falling into place, I could be sitting in my living room, watching the lights of the Seattle skyline. Right now, I'm watching "Medium" starring Patricia Arquette, and letting the laptop burn my legs through a thin, white pillow. And I am most decidedly not thinking about the abuse that this poor comforter has suffered at the hands and orifices of a thousand strangers. And maybe I'm drinking a beer, because it will help me sleep through the slings and arrows of the crackheads above. Oh the indignities we suffer for our dreams.
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