Love In An Elevator: living it up while I'm going down

When I first moved into my apartment around 6 months ago, I was a bit aprehensive. Even though I was dazzled by the view of the ocean, the pool on the roofdeck and the location, location, location of downtown Vancouver, there was something a bit...off-putting.

One was the fact that I owned the place. Now this was exciting and I realize how lucky I am to have snapped up property. But its not so much that you own a place...rather, it owns you.

I pay a mortgage instead of rent, which is great. But while you can plead with a landlord about late payments and so on, you can't do so with the bank. In fact, any late payment, even by a few hours, will hurt your credit rating and get the bank thinking about repossesion. Therefore, I always have to make sure I have enough money in my account every two weeks when the payments come out. It's a bit stressful knowing there is no leeway.

Also, because I live in an apartment I am a slave to apartment living and all that it entails. You all know I have a crazy bitch of an apartment manager. You all know I pay very high maintence fees each month. What I don't get is why I'm paying $322 a month for fees when it's winter and the pool isn't being fixed or used. And that the elevators are fucking screwed.

Elevators are scary enough to begin with. I have nightmares about plummeting elevators on a monthly basis. But if you have ever been in mine you'll know they have to be replaced. Not only are they painfully slow but they have gotten slower. I waited 10 minutes the other day for one. TEN MINUTES! Sometimes you can hear it opening and closing on each floor with no one getting on or off. Sometimes you press up and it takes you down. Sometimes the door opens halfway between floors and then gets stuck so you have to contemplate jumping to your possible death or calling the fire department. Sometimes the doors don't open, so you have to contemplate climbing through the roof and then falling to your possible death or calling the fire department.

And now, the button for the lobby in one of the elevators doesn't work, so you have to wait for the other one. Which won't happen since you are already in one and it doesn't understand why you can't use it.

Now, if there is no maintence being done on the pool...and obviously no maintenence done on the elevators (which I think for a 12-storey building is more important than a pool), then why am I forking over such an obscene amount each month? Is it for paint supplies because you painted the outside of my door an ugly poo color the other day? Or is it spent on the buzzer that never seems to work?

The thing is, I would talk to the apartment manager about it but I can't. The conversation would go a little something like this:

Me: "You need to fix the elevators"
Her: "Who are you? You live here? You need fixing, not elevators! Hoochie!"

I've heard other people in the building complain about her and the elevators...maybe I can start a rebellion? Build up a mutiny and thrust that wench right off of the ship..or perhaps down the elevator shaft? But the sad fact is, I pay the fees that I signed on to pay and it's possible that no amount of complaining will do anything about. It's times like this that owning your own place can feel like a ball and chain.

The other thing though, on a more positive note, was that I was bit taken aback by my apartment's size. It is a one room apt, studio, bachelorette pad, whatever you want to call it. Though I had rented a studio before, I was a bit concerned about buying one. Would I find it too small? What if I wanted a roomate or a boyfriend to move in with me (good luck with that), wouldn't it be too cramped?

The answers of course are yes and yes. But despite the fact that it is tiny (though bigger than some one bedroom apartments I have seen), it is also perfectly me (and no, I'm not tiny).

The reason is, ever since I was little, I would spend ages in my room. I never ventured out to family areas or living rooms or kitchens. In fact I cherished my solitude so much, I wanted the kitchen in my bedroom. Well, now the kitchen is in my bedroom...and so is my living room and dining room. In fact, it's basically like I have one ginormous bedroom which suits me just fine.

Sure it gets cluttered and my storage closet is overflowing and I'm running out of cupboard space and I wish I had more walls for my pictures and it's hard to fit two people in the bathroom (but it can be done!). But at least it's not one of those studios that has a kitchen slash bathroom. No one wants to pee and cook at the same time.

I also just bought a flat-screen TV over the weekend which amps up the cool factor just a wee bit.

The TV isn't that big, but neither is my apartment and for just me, myself and I, it suits me just fine.