And The Trombones Go "Waaaaaaaaaaah Waaaaaaaaaah"

It's official: I hate my kitchen.

What began as an iffy living situation -- six months, max -- has turned into our longest lease on a rental residence yet since Scott and I began dating back in 1867, I mean, 2003.

February 12 marked one year in this special little apartment and lately - this winter and most recently -- I cannot bear to be in a tiny ass kitchen. Thus, no excellent posts on here about what we had for dinner. Guess what we had tonight? Mediocre mushroom/spinach quesadillas. They were so dull you should pronounce them just like Napoleon's grandma:

Sad, sad, sad.

I don't need to have a dream kitchen (y'all know how I feel about stainless steel appliances)- but here are two things that are essential: counter space and ventilation. And when I say ventilation, I really mean blessed air conditioning. I'm already starting to panic that we'll still be here this summer and I don't think I can sweat through another season in this f@*%$*# "kitchen.

OK. Serenity now, por favor.


  1. I've seen your kitchen....I feel your pain.
    We'll get you out of there one way or another!!

  2. GET out!! You can join us here in the District... :)

  3. I feel your pain. About the summer heat. No counter space. OH, and I don't even have a pantry, nor pantry shelf. Seriously, I need a new functional kitchen.


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