Ya. Seriously.
It's now 10:00pm on a Saturday night, and after enjoying the first truly sunny day of 2011 outside, in my favorite locale, 'The Junction/High Park'. I just spent the last few hours poking around my various bank accounts and freaking out. Optimistic people call what I was doing, "financial planning".
This is the kitchen. The bulldog does not belong to me. Yes, I forgot to photograph the front of the house. I'll get to that.
That got me to remembering that there have been requests for pictures, and also a lot of "WTF?! Why?" questions. So this post should answer both the public's need to know the square footage of the debt I will be plowing money into for the next 30 years, and the reason I decided to yoke myself to the beautiful city of Toronto and it's divisive property tax rate.
One side of the living dining room. I am not a good photographer. You don't have to tell me.
First a hilarious little story:
Today I went for drinks at Axis, up the street from my apartment. My friend and I were sitting on the patio and struck up a conversation with the couple next to us. Turns out the lady owned a house not far from my new place, so I told her I had just purchased nearby. She asked where and I began describing the main intersection.
After a minute her boyfriend cuts in and says you didn't just buy 42 P..? (I am not listing my address for obvious internet safety reasons, and also because I don't yet own the property.) I replied: "Oh my god yes. Why? What's wrong with it? Is it bed bugged? Oh shit, tell me, tell me please..!" Because owning property makes you crazy like that. He replied: "No, no nothing like that." Then he whispered, "I used to date the woman who owns the house."
That's right. I had the pleasure of meeting a random stranger who has performed coitus in my new house.
mir (@) mirverburg.net
