I Hate My Apartment

It's nice, right? Can't even tell from these lovely pictures that there is no refrigerator, the A/C condensor (hiding behind that quaint little partial fence) needs to be replaced, and that the kitchen is currently painted an unthinkable shade of puked-up corn yellow. Here! Take my hundreds of thousands of dollars! No refrigerator? No problem! Ridiculously high HOA fee that comes along with rules prohibiting being barefoot in your own front yard before six in the morning? Sign us up! Oh, the A/C needs to be replaced? Hooray - more money we get to spend! (Need I remind you that I live in South Florida? The land where it reaches 90 degrees in October.) And yet, the stupid heartless bankers are still reluctant to give us the damn keys. I don't understand why. Oh, wait. It must be the hundreds of people banging at the door begging to live in a puke yellow kitchen with no regrigerator and broken A/C.

The point of this whole rant? The idea of getting to live in this, and paint the kitchen a not so horrible color, and possible sweat to death with no cold drinks for the first three months or so, has turned me against my apartment. The spacious two bedroom with vaulted ceilings that I once adored I now despise. Simply because it is not this house.