732 Square Feet...Of Nut House

People are asking (with smirks on their knowing faces), "how's apartment life going so far?" Oy vey, misery loves company, so let's update.

We are four weeks into this summer renovation adventure, and Team Stancil is starting to show some signs of wear. We've had to replace a broken lock on the front door, fix the handle on our patio gate, someone was supposed to come last week and change the air conditioner filter and they haven't shown up yet, and quite frankly, there are moments/hours/days when it kind of feels like the walls of this little palace are closing in on us.

We have been enjoying the wonderful amenities like the laundry center where it costs $5 to do one small load of clothes, the valet trash service that picks up your trash can every night except Saturday and Sunday (i.e. the nights you have the most trash), and the beautiful salt water swimming pool. Okay, that last one is actually not too bad, considering we haven't contracted any infectious diseases and the people watching has been decent as well.

Our air conditioner isn't a window unit, but you'd never know it by the sound. When that thing kicks on with a roar, we have to talk loudly to be heard over it and turn up the volume on the television until the monster mercifully decides to rest. And speaking of rest, the A/C cools every square foot of our little pied a terre except for the bedroom. We have tried everything to remedy the situation, and yet we both still wake up every night sweaty, stuffy, and having hot flashes. Sweet dreams are most certainly not made of this.

Another bonus are the lovely neighbors we have in such close proximity. Who needs privacy when you can enjoy a tiny, ever-yapping dog just one wall away? I lovingly refer to that unit as Barkingham Palace. I'd also like to commend the guy who lives in the apartment directly behind us, also known as Game On, for his commitment to video gaming. Every night after dinner without fail, he starts up some kind of game involving explosions and gun fire, and doesn't stop until bedtime. Heck, there have even been occasions during the wee morning twilight when this committed fellow plays that game for a couple of thunderous hours. Pursue your passions, buddy. Never mind that it sounds like riding in the trunk of a car on top of a subwoofer in here in my apartment. Do your thing. And right upstairs, we have the Bathisons, nicknamed because of their very obvious love of baths (three, sometimes four, a day) and running water. The Bathisons are either the cleanest or the dirtiest people in the city of Charlotte, I haven't decided which.

The hubby and I are getting back to our newly married days of sharing a bathroom together. There's really nothing quite like sharing a bathroom with someone of the opposite sex. Each of us is somewhat mystified by the other's potions, products, and processes. Every time I go in that little room, I feel like I learn something new about man hygiene. What a delightful learning experience! I hope I forget all of these findings once I am safely back in my own home, sweet home. And if I never brush my teeth over a sink full of stubble remnants again, it will not be counted as a loss.

Perhaps the most dramatic development has been the poor dog. Thursday night, he began shaking his head and scratching his ear in a way that all veteran dog owners know typically signals an ear infection. I took him to the vet Friday afternoon (followed by a trip to Chick-fil-a to buy an eight-count nugget for his trouble, naturally), and the pooch's ears actually looked pretty good. A little inflamed, the vet said, probably a byproduct of allergies or...wait for it: his new environment.

We gave him two doses of a hydrocortisone ear drop solution and by Saturday morning, chaos ensued. My 13-year old blind bichon frise could still hear, but he apparently had no idea what direction the sound was coming from. He wandered all 732 square feet making loops, like a teenager doing doughnuts in a sports car or something. Up was down, down was up, right was left...I'm sure you get the idea. Afraid to leave the poor disoriented little fur ball, we spent our weekend alternating between Amazon Instant Video and Netflix. I hear the weather was beautiful--maybe post some pictures online so I can see it if you have the time, 'kay? Thanks.

By Monday morning, I was frantic to get this disoriented dog some relief. We've been back for another vet visit and now he's taking a steroid that will hopefully help get his allergies under control. The good news is that the medicine does seem to be helping. The not-so-good news is that in the meantime, our glorious 732 square feet now includes a pet hopped up on prednisone, which increases thirst and bathroom frequency. What I'm saying is my dog is now a water drinking, urinating machine who cannot find his water bowl or a way outdoors to relieve himself. Nurse Susie to the rescue. This too shall pass, right?

Back at the homestead, the renovations are progressing somewhat on time (surprisingly) and somewhat over budget (not surprisingly). God-willing, we will be back to what we consider normal in just six "short" weeks. But until then, fire up the air conditioner, turn up the television, and let's invite Game On and the Bathisons over to enjoy all this space we have. I know that when it's over, I'm going to miss banging my elbows on the walls of that tiny shower (Every. Single. Night.), waking up in a flop sweat, and pretty much always being shoulder to shoulder with Clint no matter where in this tiny place we happen to be. Time flies when you're having (732 square feet of) fun.