Daffnee

My landlady threatened to change my locks today because I couldn't prove that I lived here. Thankfully I must have seemed pitiful and desolate because she accepted the photos of me on the wall as adequate proof of my good intentions. She still took my driver's license until my lessor sends a copy of hers from Sweden, though. And all this happened 20 minutes before I was due to be having lunch with a partner at an old man's club. Thank god for taxis and 7-11s.

I'm not sure why it always takes me a ridiculous amount of time to settle in -- I literally spent the first two days in DC rearranging furniture, buying new household goods and cleaning until I was high from bleach fumes. Somehow having to get 6 quarters for each load of laundry seems offensive to me, and I still haven't gotten over the creepy motel-esque hallways. The lack of a rug bothered me enough that I took 3 hours to go to Target in the middle of nowhere (i.e. north-eastern DC) to get the rug that is now the pride and joy of my existence. I even got a little Dirt Devil hand vacuum with which to keep said rug clean and scented candles.

Maybe it'll take another few more days before I stop freaking out like Martha Stewart on amphetemines, but it's slowly getting there. And after that phase is over, please call me to schedule a time during which you can ooh and aah at my rug.