Practicalmadness

When your first encounter with your new apartment lasted less than five minutes, and your second had the place gutted, ripped apart and undergoing rehabbing, on third glance one might be so glad just to have a floor that you don't initially notice the little things.

And in hindsight, I'm kind of glad that the workmen who cleaned and rehabbed our apartment decided to cover all the window locks with a half-gallon each of white Sherwin-Williams special recipe; I pity the robber who's gonna have to get through that, mostly because they have to be seriously mentally incorrect not to have broken the glass.

And not being able to close the bathroom door because somebody doesn't know the Spanish word for 'scrape'? That's fine, I guess, but now we get to watch each other wee, and just when you thought we couldn't get any closer (physically)...well, let's not go there. Suffice to say, it will all be moot when the fumes from our $1.95 gas oven (complete with two stove burners whose pilots have gone out) kill us in our sleep.

Or more likely, kills me and then kills Jenny when I drool on the Pergo(tm) flooring and she slips and falls to her death.

Still beats dying in our 65-year-old elevator.