'Bert saved a fortune on his rent by holding up his own walls'Unfamiliar as I am with the long winded nonsense orientated cyber warble, something really got my teapot in a tumble when viewing an apartment on Saturday morning. Fed up with playing camp mum in my current living arrangements, I have decided after five years in my much loved apartment I will start to look for my own space early next year. Now before you send me emails asking for $10,000 to be wired to a Nigerian bank account because you think I am rich, I have two things to say, the money has been transferred and I am renting not buying. Like a fart in a hurricane my dreams of owning have been gobbled up by over inflated house prices, so I think if I wait to be able to afford my own home I will one day go on a stabbing rampage with a Bic Pen because someone did not do the dishes on the right side of the spring equinox. Co habituating is done for me.
Also I think I want to savour the hunt for my first home. Not like I am anywhere near a functional relationship at this point so I think that this is something I can do well, career has been firmly ticked…now for the home. Anyway I prefer perfect real estate, than the perfect boyfriend. At least a house won’t be looking over your shoulder at another tenant.
So on Saturday I decided with a spring in my step to investigate what is available now, so I have a better idea of what to expect at the year’s end. After seeing pages of online ads of available houses my buzz was noticeably limpid. Who in their right mind would live in a sub basement apartment with teal green walls, bare concrete floor, bars on the windows and friendly neighborhood rapist living in the small storage cupboard for $450 p/w. So after two days I found the ONE apartment that looked interesting and shuffled off to Surry Hills to view.
I was interested in this property cause it sounded delightful, open plan, one bedroom, views and over the road from one of my best friends. When I got there I first had to battle around 60 people to get into the ‘apartment', (Note I put commas around ‘apartment’ (there I did it again, whhheeeee this is fun)) think dorm room for a gymnast. The bathroom was bigger than the lounge, the balcony was gargantuan but considering I would be living inside I did not see this as a plus and the nail in the coffin, apart from the apartment was the size of the aforementioned coffin, was their was ladder to the bedroom. A shaky tin ladder, that reminded me of my youth balancing on the top trying to sick a knitting needle in the electricity substation.
The idea of my cambering up and down this like a monkey was not attractive, visitor seductions and late night toilet trips would just not work. How can you sexily climb a ladder to a loft bed, you can’t. I am sure there where rubber burns on the floor from where I stopped and did a 180 to get the hell out of there. I had to go steady my nerves with a brain cell kicking extra shot latte after that.
How did this happen? When did an upwardly mobile, successful, humble and predatory singleton find it hard to get a good apartment? OK I may be throwing the baby out with the bath water, I have only seen one apartment…but come on! Will I need to hook up with some piece to be able to afford an apartment which does not look like a property owned by that jolly obese man in Seven.
So I went all Dusty Springfield and asked the tranny hooker/spiritual guru by my current home to ‘Say a little prayer’ that when summer comes so will the perfect apartment for me. She spat in my face…which means wait and see.
Also I think I want to savour the hunt for my first home. Not like I am anywhere near a functional relationship at this point so I think that this is something I can do well, career has been firmly ticked…now for the home. Anyway I prefer perfect real estate, than the perfect boyfriend. At least a house won’t be looking over your shoulder at another tenant.
So on Saturday I decided with a spring in my step to investigate what is available now, so I have a better idea of what to expect at the year’s end. After seeing pages of online ads of available houses my buzz was noticeably limpid. Who in their right mind would live in a sub basement apartment with teal green walls, bare concrete floor, bars on the windows and friendly neighborhood rapist living in the small storage cupboard for $450 p/w. So after two days I found the ONE apartment that looked interesting and shuffled off to Surry Hills to view.
I was interested in this property cause it sounded delightful, open plan, one bedroom, views and over the road from one of my best friends. When I got there I first had to battle around 60 people to get into the ‘apartment', (Note I put commas around ‘apartment’ (there I did it again, whhheeeee this is fun)) think dorm room for a gymnast. The bathroom was bigger than the lounge, the balcony was gargantuan but considering I would be living inside I did not see this as a plus and the nail in the coffin, apart from the apartment was the size of the aforementioned coffin, was their was ladder to the bedroom. A shaky tin ladder, that reminded me of my youth balancing on the top trying to sick a knitting needle in the electricity substation.
The idea of my cambering up and down this like a monkey was not attractive, visitor seductions and late night toilet trips would just not work. How can you sexily climb a ladder to a loft bed, you can’t. I am sure there where rubber burns on the floor from where I stopped and did a 180 to get the hell out of there. I had to go steady my nerves with a brain cell kicking extra shot latte after that.
How did this happen? When did an upwardly mobile, successful, humble and predatory singleton find it hard to get a good apartment? OK I may be throwing the baby out with the bath water, I have only seen one apartment…but come on! Will I need to hook up with some piece to be able to afford an apartment which does not look like a property owned by that jolly obese man in Seven.
So I went all Dusty Springfield and asked the tranny hooker/spiritual guru by my current home to ‘Say a little prayer’ that when summer comes so will the perfect apartment for me. She spat in my face…which means wait and see.
