get the fucking chalk! put me on the board!

The Tiny Wee Studio has become a heavily-trafficked area in the past two weeks. It started the day after I officially gave my landlord notice that I wasn't renewing my lease. In recent days, would-be renters have been tramping through my home one after another. It's prime season for July 1 move-ins, you see.

I really should get a commission from my landlord because I've been here to answer questions for a few of the interested parties. We've discussed noise level, heat, amenities, transportation, etc. No one has asked me about m-i-c-e yet so I haven't volunteered that information. If they do, perhaps I should direct them here. Or here. Or here. Or not.

I just showed the apartment to a young guy who brought his mother and his aunt. They were all just lovely. In fact, his mama and I share the same first name. They all loved the way I arranged my furniture in such a cramped space. It's a compliment I've received a lot in the past few weeks. I think I missed my calling small space decorating. In fact, one of the stupid-ass realtors was practically giving my furniture away. Items she thought were up for grabs: My Adult Bunk Bed, a full-size mirror and a three-door storage cabinet. Girlfriend wants a commission so bad, she's willing to offer up anything that isn't nailed down. Au contraire, beeyotch.

So I think the Tiny Wee Studio may have a new occupant. The guy called the super while still in my apartment and told him to draw up the papers. With any luck, he'll be offered a lease and I will no longer have to let all these greedy realtors and their clients into my home. On the positive side, my apartment has never been more spotless. I leave it in tip-top shape every day before leaving for work because God forbid perfect strangers think me a slob.

Although one day, much to my horror, I came home and discovered that I left my big ol' padded bra hanging from a hook on the bathroom door. Here's how I looked in that moment:

Oh, the shame.

But hey, it could have been worse... I could have accidentally left out my fun-filled goody bag from Babeland. However, after this experience, I tend to be a bit more careful about such things.

Mark my words: My father and Beebo Brinker shall never almost meet again.