Blue Yon Belly

And, well…OK. I’ll tell you the truth. When we first moved in here, I hated this apartment. A lot of things about this move–indeed, our lives–were a logistical nightmare and I couldn’t see the forest for the trees. It was a logistical nightmare that seemed to gather speed and snowball on an almost daily basis until it culminated in the moment when I realized there was no cutlery drawer in the kitchen and I wanted to use a dozen drawerless butter knives to kill somebody. And really, a murderous rampage with the butter knives wouldn’t have been that messy because, since there’s no linen closet here, all the towels that were spilling out of garbage bags and strewn about the floor were just waiting to helpfully sop up a mess for me.

You see, (part of) what happened was that Kieran and I didn’t pick our apartment. Right around the time that Kieran and I were beginning to realize that the always (incredibly) expensive Vancouver has become retardedly so* and our options were to a) live in the asshole of hell** b) not live in Vancouver c) have some kind of incredible stroke of luck, we got a call from my uncle. My uncle’s retiring in two years and he and my aunt will be wintering in Vancouver! They were buying a condo downtown and would we be interested in renting it from them for the next two years at a rate that we could afford? Um, let me think about that for a sec–OK! So it was Option C that ended up choosing us, and us that ended up not choosing our home. Because, obviously, when your generous uncle offers to rent you an apartment in a really nice neighourbood at almost half the rate of what he could get from someone who could actually afford to live in this part of town, you just internalize your need for control over certain details (like cupboard space and linen closets) and thank your lucky stars. And your uncle.

Then, as we neared my uncle’s/our possession date, a bunch of really stressful and unpleasant things happened and our temporary living arrangement came to an abrupt and unforeseen end and we ended up homeless for a brief stretch, shuffling between a hostel, my brother’s living room floor, and an assortment of couches and spare bedrooms across the Lower Mainland. Then I returned to Alberta for our stuff and orchestrated the Worst Move in History and we found ourselves all but buried in boxes in our new apartment, feeling…shell-shocked and numb. Did I mention that the Holidays is a really bad time for both homelessness and moving? Because you have to, like, do stuff for the Holidays. Organize things. Which is hard when you’re packing up your suitcase for the fourth time in a week and have to put all your organizational energy into making sure you have somewhere to sleep the next day. And when THAT’S all over and you’re just exhausted, it’s time for all the family events and Holiday parties and work parties when what you want to do is crouch in a corner of your new apartment, eyeing the towers of boxes and rocking back and forth while eating your hair.

So when there was nowhere to put my cutlery? Well, obviously, the Universe hated me.

Of course, for every problem there is a solution, which for us, because we were burnt out and just needed things to be nice and peaceful as quickly as possible, amounted to throwing money at everything that didn’t work. And there were a lot of things that didn’t work. Because, while this apartment is actually bigger than our last place, it is so dramatically different. Everything is…on a different plane of existence and lots of our stuff just didn’t have anywhere to go. And every time we came up with a solution to one problem, it created another problem. For example, to amend the cupboard/drawer problem, we bought a pretty antique buffet for the dining room, which in turn displaced our bookshelf because the bookshelf doesn’t fit on any other walls. So then we had to go furniture shopping AGAIN to buy two skinny bookshelves. And so on. As a result, the whole unpacking ordeal seemed to take forever. And regardless of how it seemed, it took much, much longer than we anticipated.

Of course, what you didn’t know is that when I said “so dramatically different,” I meant “so very pretty.” And that the different plane of existence? Is a very pretty plane. With floor to ceiling windows. And a view of False Creek. A pretty, pretty view that includes the Granville Island ferry and sometimes, at night, boats that are all lit up with Holiday lights! And…I LOVE MY APARTMENT. I love it! I L-O-V-E LOVE it! Never have I done such a complete 180. And next post? I’m gonna post pictures and rave some more so that you can love it too! Whee!

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*Dear City of Vancouver: Ever wonder why there’s an ever-growing population of people living in tents in the middle of downtown? YEAH. That would be because even two educated professionals with no children can’t afford to live here. Ever hear of afforable housing? Rent control? No? Well…DUH. (Jerks.)

**Again, two words: AFFORDABLE HOUSING.