handicapped spot

There was this woman at the grocery store this morning. It was my second trip to the grocery store this week. Apparently, spending two-hundred and forty dollars at Fairway does not cover a week’s worth of meals and does not include staples like toilet paper, seltzer and whipped cream. (A special shout out to Hamish for sitting on the Kozy Shack and the grated cheese! Go honey! Easily replaced. I mean, where else do you put a three and a half year-old when there’s a one year-old in the passenger seat?)

throttle-him-threes

I showed the apartment fifteen minutes ago to a muscle-bound, hazel-eyed fireman and his girlfriend, impromptu. They were looking at a co-op down the street and happened into our courtyard, which Delores* thought was quite charming. It is. They saw our sign posted in the vestibule and called Bryan’s cell, who in turn called me at home. So I let Derek* and Delores in. They’d already gotten the scoop from our neighbor Lydia*, resident toothless-flip-flops-in-winter-wearing-motor-mouth, about our place and learned right away that we’re all insane. (If you’re thinking about buying our apartment, that last bit is a joke! We’re really quite sane! HAHAHA!)

it's official

Our apartment is officially for sale. Craziness. And wouldn't you know it? It has its own blog: http://coop4sale.blogspot.com/