four four two two

Apartment hunting is HARD! I guess this is obvious, especially in San Francisco, where the housing market is insanely competitive and ridiculously expensive. Today Nora and I took three different buses, wound up in a super cut (definitely not Noe Valley, as advertised in the apartment's craigslist post), trudged up an enormous hill, and hid from the heat beneath a willow tree for half an hour before realizing that the landlord definitely wasn't showing up. Going to see an apartment--especially one whose post doesn't have photos--is kind of like going on a blind date. Other bad dates of ours have included the incredible-sounding two-bedroom near Dolores Park that looked, in every way (lack of doors between rooms, brown egg-colored walls, stained carpeting), exactly like a sketchy motel; the edwardian in the Mission that, according to the real estate agent, "could probably be converted into a two bedroom if you, like, put a twin bed in the walk-in closet"; and the perfect spot, the kind of yellow-walled, pretty-gardened guy you dream about, which was snapped up before we could even submit an application.

Still, it's hard to get down about the process. Looking at each place feels like trying on different personalities--personalities with Victorian ceilings, or tiered vegetable gardens, or clawfoot tubs. I picture myself sitting on lime green stoops and looking out of rounded Painted Lady windows, getting sleepy Monday morning coffee at corner shops with witty names and homemade scones. Mmm. I kind of just want to make my own apartment, combine all of my favorite qualities in the ideal do-it-yourself project: a taped-together paper doll with a pointed roof of a head, windowed octagonal arms, five fingers of steps and skin the color of a mango.

It was foggy today. The view from my office:

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