A step up by going down

I have a problem with moving. And by that I mean I move constantly. I've mentioned this before, probably when I moved the last time, in 2009, to this place. I keep finding a reason to pack 'er up and hit the dusty trail. Usually it's neighbour related, combined with some other issue.

For example, in the Village, they raised my rent, and I had a showdown with a neighbour in the laundry room. Guy was commandeering all four washes and four dryers for himself, and was planning on four more loads. Wouldn't let me use one. That's not why I moved, really, but it was awkward running into him on the elevator. More so because I lived on the second floor and had no business taking the elevator.

In Parkdale my neighbours were trash. C-word screaming, delinquent teenage daughter raising, smoking in the halls trash. And I just started working at home and didn't have enough space.

In Christie Pitts, The neighbour downstairs smoked in the house, and we shared air vents. So we were smelling it whenever we were home. The Dude, trying to quit the cancer sticks, was being driven out of his mind. Plus it was too cold, and then too hot, and too expensive.

Where we are now, there's the opera singer. It's also got temperature issues and the ladies downstairs act like they own the whole building, and yet neglect the duties that come with it, such as taking out the garbage.

What's all this got to do with anything? Well, they've moving out in the spring, presumably back to Australia, as they're selling off all their belongings. We've been offered dibs on their place. Why both move downstairs? Well, there's a few large bonuses.

1. The temperature is normal downstairs. When it says 21 C, it's really 21 degrees. Upstairs it's 17, but down there it's all gravy.

2. They have a yard. We have a deck that is too small for more than three people, but they have a real, honest-to-God yard. A yard in Toronto is like the promised land. We could plant vegetables and have people out for a barbeque. You can tell it jazzes me because I made two religious allusions and I'm sort of a heathen.

3. Two bedrooms. There's a bathroom, kitchen, bedroom and living room on the ground floor, and in the basement there's another living space and a bedroom. I could finally have a proper office. We'd have more space for our at-home work.

4. There's a door going to the laundry room. No more going outside in January in -14 weather. Actually, I beg the Dude to do that for me, but I wouldn't have to anymore.

5. A real kitchen. We're making do in a box of a half-assed attempt at a kitchen, where the room gets so cold the butter may as well be in the fridge, and there's no space to contain non-perishables or small appliances. There's storage, and space and counters downstairs. We could live like real people.

6. The bedroom is bigger. Things are a little squeezed in this place. It'd be nice to have more room, as the Dude's stuff is kind of everywhere 'cause it's got nowhere else to go.

And the cost? $200 more a month, $100 more a piece. Sounds like a no-brainer, doesn't it? Yes and no. By the time we move in and till the wedding, we'll have paid $1,400 more in rent. It's not like we can't use that right now. Also, we'd pay 20% more in utilities, which will be an extra $50 every two months. Again, not helpful when you're trying to save.

Ah, life. I'm a "bargain shopper" as it were. I don't buy into extravagance. Even when I spoil myself, I look for deals and scale back. I'm the same with my home life. I've never splurged on an apartment. This is barely a splurge either, this downstairs place, it's just better.

And the move would be ridiculous. Just call a buddy or two and move things downstairs at our leisure. Done. No truck, no loads of boxes, no deadlines, no driving around the city or worrying about stuff breaking.

This probably isn't the time to be frugal. This could be a chance at a life-changing upgrade.

Phantom of the Opera

So, the chronicle of the neighbours continues. I don't seem to have the best of luck in this department, but these people are particularly difficult.

But it's gone to new dimensions lately, as the sisters' mother has moved in from Australia for about five months. She's pleasant enough, but she sings opera. Every day. While I'm working. The Dude has his own issues with them. They're leaving their dog's feces baking on the front porch, as though it's their personal space rather than a common area, and it's making him nuts.

We've talked to them about our issues, left them notes, talked to the landlord. It's gotten to a point where it just seems a hopeless business to try and ask for courtesy. They're going to do what they're going to do. So today, after quite awhile of listening to opera music I had no interest in hearing, I recorded it for posterity and my own personal amusement.

Off the topic of the downstairs neighbours from down under, the Dude is away for the weekend (this is not related to him losing his mind over the neighbours and their dog's poo). I always miss him when he's gone, but I think the quiet will be good for me. I haven't had any real time alone in awhile. I like keeping the TV off, listening to bad music, and passing wind guilt free. I went to yoga, I'll probably go to the neighbourhood cinema, and maybe watch the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice, all five glorious hours of it.

And no doubt I'll be treated to a free opera revue. When I was younger this would have felt like a lame weekend. Now? Bring it on. Maybe throw in a nap, too.

Central Air

The Dude and I suffered through the first wave of heat minus air conditioning. Why? Our neighbours. It became painfully clear through the winter that having say over the central air was somehow in direct proportion to who pays what, not who needs what.

They pay 70%, we pay 30%. That's the lease agreement. So in the winter we managed about 18 degrees Celsius on a good day, and sometimes as low as 14 on a bad day. Why? Because for some reason they'd turn off the heat before leaving the house, even though they were aware I work at home and would be here. Eventually we caught on to them. But yet they'd still do it.

So we had to get a space heater. In order to save literally a few bucks on the gas bill, they had to pay a whopping electric bill since we kept that bad boy plugged in all the time. Fuck man, we were cold.

So when summer rolled around early in its blazing glory and we mentioned the A/C, well, we were informed it gets very cold for them when it's turned on. Ah. And since we can't turn it on without their cooperation, the windows needing to be shut and all that, well, we were screwed. No cool air for us.

Then the extreme heat warning came into effect. Humidity, smog, high temperature, all working together to make life no longer worth living. So I talked to the more reasonable neighbour as soon as she got home from work (also just in from the overwhelming heat) and the A/C went on. Life was good. It would take awhile to cool the place down, but it was on. Even cheap people have their limits.

But then around 11:30 that night we realized we were sweltering. It came on so slowly that it was a hazy realization. Heat, after all, can make you think slow and feel stupid. I crept down to check the central air controls.

The cooling was off. The fan was on, but the cooling was off. Heat rises. They were blowing their hot air up into our apartment. Our windows were closed.

Sometimes you're so mad and so flabbergasted you don't know what to do with yourself. First I laughed and cried in a little ball. Then I wrote what I hoped was a polite letter explaining just what they had done to us. I pleaded for my health, which can't sustain this constant level of heat and humidity, which I can't leave. I asked for an open dialogue about turning the controls on and off. I explained the temperature rises up to 35 degrees in here without the A/C. So far so good.

But it's unsettling living in these uncertain ways with your neighbours.

Smokey's been hanging out by the air vents, sucking up the cool air, just like Jerry used to hang out in the heat vents in the winter. Poor old bastard.

Can't Take The Heat

Happiness is an organized closet. Actually, happiness is when your living room is no longer cluttered in junk because the closet is organized. Total bliss is when your boyfriend does it himself and you reap the benefits. Eventually I'm going to post some pictures of the place all finished and junk. It really feels like an honest-to-peaches home.

Unfortunately, as I mentioned before, there is a heat issue with the downstairs neighbours. There's always something. We thought it was going to be smooth sailing with these sisters at first. They introduced themselves right away, were friendly, and we were charmed by their pleasant Australian accents.

But then it turned out they don't like turning on the heat. We couldn't understand it at first. I thought perhaps it was just warmer down there. The Dude thought perhaps they were cheap. Well, the Dude was right. I was a little right; it is warmer downstairs, but they keep turning off the heat because they're trying to cut down the bill.

This would be a decent energy-saving idea if it weren't for the fact I work at home and shivering at a desk in a 14-degree apartment is not going to fly with me. So the heat goes on.

We're trying to be reasonable about saving money on the bill. We've planned to insulate a door, shrink-wrap an old window in the hall, and live with 18 degrees instead of a more comfortable 20. But that still has not seemed to ease their minds downstairs.

One sister knocked on the door the other day and told Dude they wanted to cap how much they would pay and have us pay the rest. Our lease agreement says we are to pay 30% of the utility bill, as we occupy roughly 30% of the building. So we're not going to be subsidizing their share of the utility bill.

It's just so awkward. They're from a much warmer country than Canada. One sister said the gas bill was outrageous. We looked at it, and, well... seemed pretty standard for a Toronto winter. Heating bills get high in this city in December, January, February, and turning off the heat at any time in -15 degree weather is so not going to happen. How do you politely get the point across to your new and otherwise pleasant neighbours that if they can't afford their bills, that's not really your problem?

I know that for them they had a sweet deal being able to turn off the heat while everyone was gone at work. But that deal was, you know, a deal. Now the "sale" is over and it's not up to us to make sure they can still afford the gas. We moved in knowing we can afford it. I feel kind of like we're being controlled by another household's budget. I hope this gets resolved.

In happier news, my bee costume arrived. And I was right, I don't look sexy, I look cute. But that being the story of my 5'2" baby-faced life, I'll take it.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, I'm a bumble bee
Cutest little bee that you ever did see,
I like to make my own honey
Buzz, buzz, buzz, I'm a bumble bee

(And a total kid, deep down inside)