Thursday, November 30, 2006

Prairie chic is a way of dress, not a way of life.

Dear Landlord:

Here at Casa del Brain Spam, we are pretty easy-going folks. We acknowledge the fact that we are students, making our way in a big, exciting, and expensive city. And so we tolerate the cramped living quarters -- it gives Roomie and me a chance to bond anyway. True friendship is knowing the size of each other's pores, after all.

And sure, there's a terrible draft that comes into my bedroom. But you know, that'll be good training for when I decide to ditch this school business and make a reality my life-long dream of being a spelunker off the coast of Antarctica (I hear someone buried a trunk full of MAC lipgloss down there!). Besides, the constant chill acts as a reminder: drink more, more often. Boozy warmth limbers up frozen fingers long enough to type and blog.

Being of such sunny dispositions, we even try to look on the bright side. "The bathroom!" we say. "It is much bigger than any of our friends' bathrooms. Lots of essential storage space, with excellent lighting for examining those pores. Clearly the bathroom is a winner!"

Well, dear landlord, we are sunny no more. Because the electricity in the bathroom has unceremoniously and inexplicably decided to stop flowing. No more excellent lighting. No lighting at all, actually.

While the idea of showering and doing one's make-up by candelight may seem rusticly romantic, I can assure you that it is not. It is, in fact, complete shit.


Goosebump-limbed hugs,



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