Why is it that you need to give an apartment back cleaner than when you got it? In order to properly move out and not incur horrendous move-out charges, I had to paint my apartment back to icky tan from the happy saturated colors I’d painted it when I first moved in. I suspected that it might take more than one coat to cover up what I’d done, particularly in the rich purple bedroom, but I doggedly set myself on the task. After I’d finished one wall and moved on to the next, I had occasion to glance up at the first wall and found it completely patchy, dark in some spots and light in another. “Jesus fucking fuckballs,” I muttered, and went over the dark spots with more paint, evening everything out. Later, I looked up again, and there were yet MORE dark patches in areas that I’d SWORN I’d gone over earlier. “SON OF A FUCKING GOATCUNT” I stalked over and painted these spots AGAIN. Only after the first completely demoralizing day did I realize that the paint dries darker than the can shade and it wasn’t a spotty painting job on my part but the paint drying unevenly. WELL WHAT DO YOU KNOW.
I took out some rage on the walls, anyway.
I’m glad I was able to leave my mark lingering under coats of paint forever or at least until this apartment slips down the cliff and onto the highway below (they still have not fixed the landslide issue from earlier in the year).
Now with the paint and some help from an amazing carpet cleaner called “Folex” (seriously, if they do not have a slogan, I would like to suggest “This shit is magic”), it looks like I never lived there–and this is two years of living with a dog who actively works at defiling as much surface area as possible when he yaks. Once again, this shit is magic. Well, it mostly looks like I never lived there. I decided paying $5 each to replace two oven burners was worth saving the agony of trying to scrub them clean–but other than that, it’s like new!
