Boo. Hiss.

We broke up with our current broker. She was a lovely person but I suspect she lied to us about a couple of things, she outright told us she was lying to the owners about other things, and those freaking Hungarian sisters were making us crazy. We weren't allowed to talk to them about how the doorknobs didn't work (you know, the ones that we would use to get out of the apartment in the event of a fire), or whether we could cover the skylight that lead to the roof deck that just happened to be situated directly over the toilet (!), or whether they could bang around the painted-closed heater knobs so we could have working climate control during the winter.

The Mom of the Hungarians looked at my paystubs and said they "don't add up" to the salary I put on our application. This would be a valid argument except for the fact that they totally add up to the penny. Gross and net: two separate things. I am privy to this knowledge because I am the child of an accountant. This is ancient wisdom that was passed down through the generations. I can't expect everyone to know our arcane secrets of finance.

My cell is at my house and I am a huge wuss so I broke up with her over email. Commence tomato throwing. I don't feel good about it either.

And, as he will post later, Gui could not have been more right. I future modded the hell out of this apartment. I furnished and painted the whole thing in my head. I imagined living there for years and years in quirky tilty giant apartment bliss. I became more physically fit than Lance Armstrong from running up and down those stairs.

I am a moron.

Elevator. Dishwasher. Cleanliness. Windows. No Hungarian Overlords. Less obfuscation. No more future mods.

Mourn. :(