Tuesday May 29, 2007

Oh, friends, if you want to hear a three-hour story of apartment-hunting drama, I have a heartbreaking tale for you.  It's got a crazy paranoid cat lady, a rotted-through bathroom floor, two (!) manipulative Chinese exchange students, an elevator that reeks of death, approximately five hours spent on craigslist hitting "refresh" on the Temporary/Sublet page, countless free cups of coffee from Sendiks, a very loose definition of "through the summer" (hint:  that phrase DOES NOT MEAN THROUGH AUGUST 1st, fuckwads!) and three up-to-the-signing-of-the-papers apartments that fell through.
But, inexplicably, somehow Noah is not homeless as of this Friday morning.  Today, two days before his lease ends, he was able to pin down a sublet on his block, in his current lovely neighborhood, that will allow my cat, me, and all my stuff to live with Noah for two months over the summer.  Hallelujah.  This miraculous turn of events will let me stop playing one of my favorite games, the Freak Out Incessantly and Worry game. 
Noah describes this place as having both a front and back porch, flowers, and assorted nice things, which all beats the apartment I'm living in currently.  What's this?
This abomination is the "front door" of my apartment building.  No, that's not plywood braced against the top- that's PAPER.
Note the total fucking lack of anything that might be considered a "door" or a "lock"; remind me again why I bothered paying my last month's rent?
This weekend, I got to meet Noah's best friend, Pauli.  Pauli was in from San Diego for the weekend, so we finally got to meet up and consume insane quantities of cheesecake and mimosas and green tea ice cream.  I really enjoy her, but I did have a massively stupid moment when she and Noah were talking foreign policy (Israel?  In the 70's?  I think?) and she tried to include me.  I'm sure my face made some Cletus-the-slack-jawed-yokel look as I tried to form a coherent sentence.  I was aghast at my inability to put forth any sort of contribution to the conversation.  I, um, work in a restaurant and in the arts... and I like popsicles... and am totally not going to leave her with any accurate impression of my intelligence.  Fuck.

Sadly, it was a cannoli-free weekend.  If there's one pastry that Milwaukee does right, it's the cannoli, but everyone left down for Memorial Day, taking with them my chance to scarf down cups of sweetened mascarpone studded with pistachios.  Next time, Milwaukee, you'd better be meeting me at the city limits with pastry treats.

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