I hate my house. Ok, that’s a little tough. I don’t hate it. I just don’t want to live in a show box anymore. Sure is nice, and I have totally interior designed the shit out of it. I’m really good at interior decorating. We have nice neighbours. I like the park down the street. The high walls, the abundance of natural light. Proximity to the beach, shops and, well shops. The distance to work (if I’m home I am NOT just popping in to do a quick job). I love the colour scheme, the nice finishing touches like anti slam doors, and chrome tap wear. My central kitchen, my sex mirror.
Scratch that. I love where I live. I love my house. But I do want to move. I want to upgrade. Move even closer to the beach. I want
3, 4, 5 bedrooms and I want my Cosmo lifestyle. I want to live Laguna Beach. Those bitches are so lucky.
So Daniel and I are always talking about movin’ on up in the property market. We discuss where we want to move to. Daniel wants to move closer to the city (frowns) but I want to move closer to the beach(smiles). Daniel wants to move south of the river (vomit). I want to stay north (not vomit). It’s warmer up here. It’s not that I don’t like south of the river, it just that I prefer to be away from it. The only shame is that my parents and friends live south. I’m sure they will see the light and migrate north.
One thing I do dislike about my house is these stupid white tiles. Worst decision ever. It is so hard to keep white tiles clean. How does mum do it. It was so much easier to keep the house clean when you do have to do it. Maybe I can convince Daniel to let mum move in. Maybe I can convince Mum to move it. I think the latter would be harder. She wasn’t really keen on living with me for the first 21 years of my life…