Ok, I never spell check it.
I just want you all to know that I'm being stalked by sharks. Don't anyone tell them where I live.
Speaking of where I live - where you aware that I am attempting to buy a parking space. When I bought my little condo in the sky (2nd floor) so many months ago, we were told there were no extra spaces (10 units:9 spaces...ratios.). We would have to park always and forever on the street outside the anti-undesirables gate. And that was ok. Annoying, but ok.
Then a couple of weeks ago, I got a call that the developer of the, well...development, realized he'd never sold one of the spots and would I want to buy it.
Yes. Yes I would.
Soon I will be parting with an inconveniently-sized (though I low-balled like a champ) amount of money at an inconvenient time (we're heading off to Europe in a couple of weeks) so that I may own a rectangle of concrete on the inside of the anti-undesirables gate. And once the deed is done, I shall do a jolly jig inside the nest of my rectangle. And then in a celebratory manner, we'll bbq meats within its confines. And then...well, we'll park Brendan's car in it. And it will be good.
Jigs and bbqs aside, all the back and forth and paperwork and third-party nonsense for a transaction such as this feels...silly. Like...wearing shoes on the beach silly. Or dead president masks to brunch, that kind of silly. You know what I mean.
In other news, I don't think break dancing really counts. As dancing, I mean. Just saying.
