I didn’t feel well enough to go to knitting tonight, but I had to Get Out Of The House before I went mad. Also the baby wanted frozen yogurt.
So I went to Larchmont, which is not terribly far from where we live and has lots of little shops including a Pinkberry. Now, I don’t really care for Pinkberry. If I want frozen yogurt with toppings, I go to Menchie’s. But I was not about to drive to Studio City for a fucking yogurt, so I went to Pinkberry and it was absolutely fine.
The problem was that once I had the damn yogurt I didn’t know what to do with myself. So I just walked down the other side of the street looking in closed shop windows. And I’ll be honest, it was kind of boring.
Then I got to the real estate office. They always have these ridiculous mansions for like $3 million in the window, and I love giggling at them. Today, though, most of the listings in the window were for condos. BORING. Finally I found a house. Not quite a mansion (three bedrooms, 1.75 baths, office, bonus room, etc.) but a decent house. Just under a million. And what’s this? It’s a fixer. “Bring your architect!” it proudly advertised.
Let me recap: A FIXER UPPER FOR JUST UNDER A MILLION DOLLARS.
I swear, the instant we have enough money to pay off our more crippling debts, we are so out of here. Canyon Country, here we come.