Ryan and I stumbled on an apartment complex quite literally 2 blocks away from where we are now. Now, I'm picky. Not like "won't see it if it's more than 5 years old" picky, but I appreciate no horribly ugly carpet and a nice kitchen. This just happened to be all renovated and walk-in closet, balcony having. A real classy joint considering the first apartment we looked at months ago opened up to the bedroom (yes, so you can have absolutely no time to hide when an intruder breaks in during the middle of the night to rape and pillage).
So there had to be a catch, right? Well, there was. No pets.
Hopeful Kitten was just as taken aback as I was.
Now normally that's a deal breaker, but this apartment was my own personal third bowl of porridge. So I did was every crafty girl would do: turned to my doctor. A simple plea to my doctor to write me a note saying I need a pet to help with my anxiety and BAM, done. Pet policy averted. Kids, it pays to be anxious.
So we move in on Saturday, and I am absolutely not prepared. I haven't packed. I haven't rounded up people to help me move. I need a Uhaul. I don't have a couch yet.
But I do have everything I need to make a bomb ass kitchen, and isn't that all a girl really needs?
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