A week or so ago I relocated to a beautiful rowhouse in South Philadelphia. It’s great! Redone hardwood floors, massive ceilings, tons of rooms, a dug out (and finished!) basement… there’s even a heated walk-in closet right off the bathroom. This place is so classy that I will have no problem finding someone to love me and make my life feel rewarding again.

What isn’t great about this house is the goddamn transit strike that punched me in the throat like two days after I moved in. Thankfully it ended today, but I was leaving the house at 5:30AM every morning and not getting home until 9PM some nights. Not to mention that I had to walk through some questionable areas. The Dunkin Donuts on 16th street is crazy tempting after walking for two miles, despite the trans-fat content.

I’m a pretty hungry dude, so I spend a lot of time cooking. I looked at several dozen houses before settling. All those places had electric stoves. This one is gas. That means we win. You can come over for brunch and I’ll cook, like, some baked eggs with leeks and swiss chard and maybe a rosemary tea cake if you have a sweet tooth and everything will come out totally awesome. This stove will not let you down.

Four piece bathroom. It’s off the hook. I can potentially be taking a bath while a sexual partner is washing my disease off of him or her in the shower. And then another person could be brushing their teeth at the sink, and another person could be peeing using the toilet. That’s like four people in the bathroom right there. I could have bathroom parties. Look, I’ve already designed the invites!

Hmm. Let’s stop talking about this and move on with our lives.