color me jealous.

Last Saturday, I discovered a complex in my neighborhood that I’d sell my neighbor’s cat to live in (I’m not at the love-level of wanting to sell my own pet yet). Of course, I love my duplex—it’s quaint, ancient, and adorable, like a porcelain doll tea party. But I’m talking about a complex—more rooms equal more awesome. The red brick, two-story building didn’t exactly scream, “Safe! Clean! Bring your mom over for Thanksgiving dinner!” The lower-level windows were wide open, showcasing treasures like colored glass jars, a faded Talking Heads poster, and a papier-mâchéd mannequin. There was also a poster of a suited wise guy, pointing his finger at me, asking the bold-print question, “Do YOU work for yourself?” The artsy Austinesqueness of this place has a lot more appeal than I would’ve previously guessed. I’ve since walked by three times, which I’ll admit is a bit excessive. Today, I strolled by so slowly that two pugs felt it necessary to “run me off” by sticking their punched faces into the holes of the brick porch design and yapping...I think they’re on to me.

I’m not ready to leave my digs (note the casual usage of an out-dated word, like “rad.” Can someone please bring that back? Thanks). But, a move is inevitable when August hits. For now, I’ll just continue to casually stalk this complex. It’s full right now, but maybe one of the tenants will get creeped-out when he or she spots me swooning on the street corner like Charlie outside the Chocolate Factory. It's bound to happen. Afterall, I have two and a half months.