Before I moved to Seattle, I had never given the library system much thought. Which, I think, is the sign of a sufficiently functioning system. If there was a book or movie I wanted, I could go to my local branch and find it, or simply look it up in the catalog, have it sent to my local branch, and enjoy. Heck, I could even renew materials if I needed to, and have them for weeks, even months on end. Free of charge!

At my first visit to the Seattle Public Library’s online catalog, however, I was confronted with a simple fact and its repercussions: Seattleites read. A brief search through the library’s catalog reveals that there is a waiting list a mile long for practically any item. Upon discovering this, I was as indignant as a tourist slapped in the face with a fish at Pike Place. So Seattleites read. Can’t they accommodate by getting more books? But apparently the budget is in crisis or something. Bah!

So startled was I by the unavailability of library materials that I actually did a live chat with a librarian. (How nice of them to provide a convenient chat box in the catalog so I can complain!)

Me: Surely these hold numbers are not correct. Can there really be 1,593 holds on a movie that hasn’t been released to DVD yet?

Librarian: Yes.

Me: Ok. Well.

I decided to place a hold on something and just see how long it took to get the item. I still haven’t gotten it. But I’m getting closer! Only 1,023 patrons before me!

I will not be deterred. I have actually gotten my hands on some library items in reasonable time, and I continue to place holds on items that I want. In fact, I immediately place a hold on something that I even think I might want, as I can always cancel the hold later. And just think how happy the person behind me in the queue will be when they see they have moved up! I bet it will make their day. Won’t that be great?

Actually, I do keep an eye on the status of my holds, checking the numbers like an anxious gambler clutching a crumpled lotto ticket. I think the library, as long as they are resigned to the current lending situation, could at least make the queue experience more fun by treating it like a game. Now, library holdings are not something to be taken lightly. It’s serious business, I know. But wouldn’t it be more fun if it seemed a little more competitive?

Patrons jockeying for better hold queue positions could sign up for notifications when they reach certain milestones.

Congratulations, you just moved up 12 queue positions!

Or perhaps…

Good news! You will receive this item 23.4 times faster than patron number 592!

And when your item finally becomes available, they could send you an e-card with confetti and music that says

Your wait is over!

Hooray for you!

Maybe if they did that, it would justify the sense of accomplishment I get when I see that I am number 21 in the queue and some poor soul is at the end of the line, number 573.

Booyah!

Now off to the library to pick up a book that just became available.  (Mrs. Wonderful FTW!)

]]> http://www.mrandmrswonderful.com/2010/03/book-lottery/feed/ 1 http://www.mrandmrswonderful.com/2010/02/church-search/ http://www.mrandmrswonderful.com/2010/02/church-search/#comments Thu, 25 Feb 2010 03:51:21 +0000 MrsWonderful http://www.mrandmrswonderful.com/?p=379 Continue reading →]]> Last weekend Matt and I tried out a new church in Seattle. If you’re like me and you’ve done any sort of church search, it always comes with just a little bit of dread.

As much as the church is supposed to be grace-filled and welcoming, churches are families. (That’s why congregations are often called “church family.”) You have a rough idea of how service is supposed to go, but just like every family, there are unspoken rules. And you don’t know what they are until you break them. And if you break them you will go to hell.

Well, not quite. But it can feel like it.

We decided to try a Methodist church, partly because it was familiar, and partly because it was a change from where we had been going. I went to a Methodist church when I was a kid, and I have never felt quite as at home at church as I have at that one. Maybe it’s because I was born into it. Or maybe it’s because I was a kid when I went there, and what church doesn’t dote upon children? Regardless, I had a really hard time feeling like I fit in at the next church we went to, and at all subsequent churches I never felt like I had become an essential part of the church family—like I would be missed if I left.

This was particularly true at the last church we went to, which was a big, slick, and evangelical. Matt and I both tried to connect there, but it just didn’t work. At one point, I did feel like I was gaining ground, becoming truly part of the church, but then they changed formats and I lost any ground I had gained.

Having thriving youth and young adult groups is fantastic, but perhaps infusing church leadership with nothing but youthful dreams and schemes isn’t the best way to form a rich faith community. It was tumultuous. In thinking about what we want out of a church, Matt and I realized that we want something a little more stable and a little less commercial (for lack of a better word). We didn’t want to be ignored, forgotten, or left behind at church again.

We went to a Methodist church, which had a service that was much more traditional than I had experienced in a while. There were no projection screens with video of singers raising their hands and furrowing their brows. No coffee shop in the lobby. No church store. Just people who greeted us, introduced themselves by name, and handed us a program. Hymnals in every pew. Yes, pews (!) instead of stadium seating. Scripture reading several paragraphs long, printed right in the program, instead of served up in easily swallowed bits on screen.

Old school? Yes, and refreshing.

But what came as the most surprise to us was the message, titled “Embrace Your Sexuality.” It’s part of a healthy relationships sermon series. And, for once, I heard a church sermon about sexuality that wasn’t the restrictive or prescriptive message I was used to: “Woe to you if you have sex before marriage! But if you’re married, you’d better jump in the sack! (And that means you, wives.)”

I’m not going to re-hash everything he said here, because it wouldn’t do the message justice. But in general, the pastor talked about how the church often embraces two kinds of love and refuses to acknowledge the sacredness of the third. The two it readily embraces are the Greek philia and agape love. That is, the familial, brotherly love and the self-sacrificial love. But the other kind of love, the eros love, is what encompasses romance and sexuality. He talked about how the church often creates this notion that sexuality and spirituality are separate, that sexuality is to be repressed for spirituality to be heightened. Instead, he said, we should recognize our sexuality as an incorporated part of our spiritual self.

On top of this refreshing message, I noticed half way through the service that the couple in front of us was gay. I don’t know why it took me so long to register this, because I was sitting directly behind a man with his arm around another man. But as soon as I realized it, I smiled. I was excited and joyful to be in a house of worship where this kind of acceptance is possible.

It struck me how backwards it is that just a few miles away there is a mega church that is progressive in every sense except its beliefs, and these men would not be welcome there, even if they were greeted with smiles. Yet there, in this traditional service, with hymns and scripture reading, they fit right in.

I think we’re gonna like it there.

Weekend plans were minimal. I was hosting a girls’ night at the apartment Saturday night, and Sunday morning we would try out a new (to us) church. The rest we would improvise.

When I mentioned on Facebook a while back that Matt and I had learned how to make baked chimichangas, my friend Courtney proposed that we have a girls’ night and have chimichangas and margaritas. Sounded like a great time to me, so everyone pitched in for our Mexican-food fiesta.

Matt helped make the chimichangas and then left to get pizza and catch a movie with one of his friends.  We popped in a movie and ate from the generous spread. The margaritas only had a teensy bit of tequila in them to ensure safe travel home. Unfortunately, the girls’ couldn’t stay very long because of the hour-long drive back from Seattle.

After all of my friends had gone, I guessed that Matt would still be gone for a couple hours. Bored and somewhat lonely, I wasn’t quite sure what to do. The stillness of the apartment was somewhat eerie. A book couldn’t keep my focus. I wasn’t tired enough to sleep.

I made another margarita. Then I turned on the XBOX and pulled out Fable II.

Matt finished Fable II probably a month ago. While he was playing it, he could hardly be pulled away. When he proudly proclaimed that he had finally bought the castle, I just patted him on the head and said, “That’s nice, dear.”

By the time Matt rolled in the door sometime shortly after midnight, he found me there on the couch, squinting at the screen. If you had asked him before he came home what he thought his wife would  be doing, he probably would have guessed that I was doing aerobics naked before he would have ventured that I was drunk and playing Fable II.

That was only the first time I surprised my husband last weekend.

The next day, after attending church downtown, we decided to take advantage of the weather and walk around Seattle. We strolled along the waterfront and got some fish and chips at Ivar’s. We ate in the undercover area and watched as harebrained tourists nearly lost fingers to the seagulls they were feeding.

Matt and I were just finishing our meal when a man burst in to the eating area.

“Excuse me ladies and gentlemen,” he shouted a little too loudly. “Someone just took my sister’s and my duffle bag. It had everything in it, our ferry passes, our wallets–everything. The ferry tickets are fourteen dollars each.” After a silence he added, ” I have money at home, I swear I’ll pay it forward.”

Maybe it was the way he stuttered when he said “sister,” or maybe it was the way he announced it to everyone a little more loudly than necessary, but I didn’t feel like giving any money to this man. I don’t think anyone else there was really eager to give him their cash either, because no one moved as they wrestled inwardly with their consciences.

“I only have a $20,” I muttered to Matt, insinuating that I wasn’t going to cough up any cash for this man. To my dismay, Matt pulled out his wallet to look at what bills he had.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Muttered the man, even though Matt had said nothing to him and had not even pulled out a bill yet. The man remained a few feet away, and didn’t turn to face Matt, just glanced at his wallet out of the corner of his eye, while keeping an eye on the man across the room who had also pulled out his wallet. I knew Matt was going to give the man something, but I hoped it would be minimal. One five dollar bill would do. But Matt, more generous than I, handed the man two fives. I inwardly cringed.

The man took everyone’s money, which I’m guessing ended up being much more than the $28 he said he needed, and breezed back through the doors and down the sidewalk.

Matt and I ditched our trash and began walking down the street.  I noticed the man ahead of us, heading toward the ferry terminal, but it didn’t look like there was a woman with him. Matt and I watched suspiciously.

When he reached the ferry terminal and turned left, away from the water, we really started to doubt his story.  “Let’s follow him!” I proposed.

In his red jacket and black cargo pants, he wasn’t difficult to miss. We followed him across the street and a couple blocks up, and Matt saw him slip into a dive bar.

Dirty. Rotten. Liar.

We walked to the entrance of the bar and tried to inconspicuously peek in the windows.

“We should go in there and ask him to buy us a drink,” I scoffed.

If we hadn’t just eaten and it hadn’t been 12:30 in the afternoon, I would have. But I was wary of entering the establishment without more of a plan.

We stood outside and debated what to do. Matt was ready to leave, thinking that there was nothing else we could do. Neither of us really wanted to go in. But by now I was seething with indignation. I would not give up that easily!

As Matt started walking away, I followed. But I looked back. And then I looked back again. On the third time I looked back, I caught Matt’s attention. “There he is!”

He came strolling out of the bar and headed in the opposite direction to us. We immediately turned and followed.

He continued walking up the hill and turned the corner, his pace more leisurely now that he had gotten his fix. He stopped occasionally and picked pennies and cigarette butts from the ground. Matt and I hung half a block behind. When he stopped, we chatted and admired our surroundings. When he moved, we moved.

He stopped at the window of a corner bookstore. I looked directly at him as we turned and looked at the books in the opposite window. We could see him on the other side, just staring at the books and smoking a dirty cigarette butt. When we could fake conversation no longer, we walked down the hill a ways and out of sight. I checked periodically to see if I could spot the top of his head. When he had moved on, we came around the corner and followed.

He was completely aimless. We had to slow down or stop several times to keep a distance. He stopped again to smoke and stare in another store window. We again crossed the street and stood around the corner until he moved. When he made his way up the hill, we crossed the street ran up the hill, ducking behind the parked cars.

“So what are we going to do? Push him into traffic?” Matt asked.

“No, I just want to make him nervous.” I said.

It became clear that he had noticed us. He started looking over his shoulder as he walked. And he examined us at intersections as we waited to cross. He started waiting to cross the street until right before the light changed from white man to red hand.

By now we were near the main library branch, and I asked Matt if he wanted to keep following this guy or go to the library. Well, as it turns out, we could do both. At first I thought he was going past the library, but then, turning once again to see us still following, he crossed the street and backtracked, disappearing into the libary. I saw him through the glass wall after he entered, and it looked like he was heading for the escalator up to the third floor.

When Matt and I made it inside, we ran up the escalator and were faced with another entrance.

“I bet he went out this way,” said Matt.

We pushed through the spinning door and ran to the end of the block and looked up and down the street. No sign of him. We didn’t go to the other end of the block and look that way. We returned to the library. Now that we had lost him, he could be anywhere.

At this point, I had enjoyed the little adventure, but we were surrounded by books. BOOKS! I could no longer focus on the manhunt. Matt and I walked up and down all of the stories of the library, but saw no sign of the con-man. And then I looked at books.

At the end of the day, I was still upset that we had been conned. But, on the other hand, Mr. Wonderful and I shared a priceless adventure together. And, even though he knows me better than almost anybody, I was still able to surprise him.

This weekend Matt got to see a side of me that doesn’t come out very often. The side that isn’t afraid to act out of character.

Although I loved our wedding, I came across this article about a groom who surprised his bride with a wedding (yes, you read that right), and I was absolutely jealous. To me, there is nothing more romantic than a well-planned surprise.  And when that surprise also happens to be your wedding? Hello, Romeo.

This is quite possibly definitely the most romantic wedding story I’ve ever heard. I’m willing to bet there is a plethora of women out there who are wondering if this man has brothers. And there is probably an equal number of brides elbowing their grooms.

Not.

But hopefully we’ll have less.

Truthfully, we learned a lot. Les and Leslie Parrott not only spoke about general relationship dynamics and personality traits, they gave examples of concrete exercises couples could use to strengthen communication and understanding. We’ll share more about what we learned in detail, but let’s concentrate on one thing at a time.

The Parrotts kicked off the “Becoming Soul Mates” seminar by dispelling the common myths about marriage.

The number one marriage myth that couples believe going into marriage is “We expect the same things.” The Parrott’s explained that in every marriage, couples enter the relationship with unspoken rules and unconscious roles. Unspoken rules are your assumed “code of conduct.” If your spouse were to violate an unspoken rule, your reaction would be “We don’t do it that way.” Unconscious roles are the expectations husbands and wives place on each other’s behavior, based on their idea of what a husband or wife should do. If a wife doesn’t perform the duties a husband expects, it can leave him feeling unloved (and vice versa).

The tricky thing about unspoken rules and unconscious roles is that it’s almost impossible to know what they are until they are violated. And when they are violated, we usually have a very strong reaction, because they are deeply rooted in family tradition.

For example, what happens when you marry someone who adamantly believes the Christmas tree should be adorned with white lights, while you consider it sacrilege to have a tree that isn’t strung with colored lights? Or what happens when you grew up in a home with a handyman father, and suddenly you’re living with a man who doesn’t know the difference between a flat and a Phillips head screwdriver? (Ok, I’m not sure a man like that really exists, but what if?)

These issues may seem small to an outsider, but to someone who has deeply-rooted expectations for their partner’s behavior, these trespasses are upsetting.

Of course, it’s hard to consciously think of expectations that rest in the subconscious, but I don’t think Matt and I have many unspoken rules or subconscious roles. For the most part, we take each other as we are and try not to project expectations based on family history. We want to find what works for us.

But there are certainly some unspoken rules that have been revealed.

Such as the “passenger is co-pilot” rule. When driving somewhere I’ve never been, or when lost, I expect Matt to be able to keep an eye out for signs, read a map, locate where we are and where we’re going, and give timely directions. I try not to need the help, but it puts me at ease to know that if something were to happen, I’ve got a partner by my side who is aware and can help me solve problems. This concern never crossed Matt’s mind, however. He’s happy to spend the length of the trip in conversation, and doesn’t think about whether we missed our exit or were supposed to turn right or left. He rests that responsibility in my hands and pays attention to me instead of the road.

I vaguely remember a car ride when I was lost and exasperated and told Matt (nicely, I’m sure ) that I needed him to pay attention and help me. He apologized and said he guessed he was just more concerned about talking to me. It was then that I realized he wasn’t being neglectful, he just didn’t know what I expected of him. He was being attentive, just not in the way that I needed at the time. Although I was still stressed because we were lost, my frustration with him dissipated when I realized that I have what a lot of women want: a man who wants to communicate with me.

I’m sure we’ll encounter more unspoken rules and unconscious roles as our marriage progresses, but hopefully we’ll be able to recognize them, discuss them, and respect each other’s needs and differences.

Part of the weekend was spent putting together some of the final details for the wedding, including helping decorate the church. We’re using a lot of their Christmas decorations in addition to our own decorations. They were kind and cooperative enough to allow us to have some input and didn’t make us feel like we were imposing at all.

After decorating the church, Matt and I made a dash to IKEA and Target to get some necessary furniture for when I move in. After a long, stressful process of trying to put together furniture that was packaged with some wrong parts, I now have a desk for my computer (with extra space for Matt to draw, of course), and an etagere in the bathroom to store all my girly stuff.

I also spent some time organizing the place so that there is room for my belongings. Never underestimate how much space you can save with good organization!

I can’t wait to move in after the wedding and settle into our new home. I’m excited about living in Seattle with my husband, and I’m looking forward to the days to come.

No, really. I am thankful for the new place and all of its quirkiness. Ok, maybe I’m not so thankful that the toilet tank wobbles precariously, or that I hold my breath every time I flush the toilet because the flush is so weak it looks like it might clog from a single sheet of toilet paper. But besides that…

The place is great. I do kind of love that you can tell it was built by the Army Corps of Engineers. (The cabinets are metal and have tons of hooks and hangers and slots to adjust the shelves. ) The hardwood floors are gorgeous. The windows are large and let in a lot of light in the evening. The blinds actually close when you turn the wand. (You had to “rake” them to close them at Matt’s studio.) And perhaps best of all: the location. OH MY GOODNESS. I think we hit the jackpot.

For me, one of the most dismaying things about moving to Seattle was the lack of grass and space around the buildings. Sure, there’s a park here and there, but mostly everything seems so scrunched up that you can hardly breathe. Our apartments were the first ones we came across where there was actually grass all around. Not a half mile away. Not even down the block. All the way around! And get this: there is a PARK ACROSS THE STREET. Including a GARDEN. I might faint from happiness.

I truly can’t imagine a better location for Matt and I to start out.  We are  itching to start decorating the apartment, which seems so empty with only the furniture from Matt’s studio. We definitely need to go to IKEA soon to get some essentials. A couch and a dresser are at the top of the list. We’ll also need to get another bookshelf to house all of my books. And a coffee table would be great, since we plan on having guests over as much as we can.

In only two months it will be time for me to settle into Seattle. Here’s to a new life…

The first thing Matt told me about the place was all of the grass surrounding the buildings. GRASS! Can you believe it? Grass surrounding an apartment building in Seattle! A building that accepts dogs! It’s an oasis in the desert for dog owners.

The office was closed by the time Matt made it there, so he made an appointment for the next weekend.  We went up on Friday to view the place.

Did I mention that there was grass? Because there was plenty of it. The apartments actually are actually five three-story brick buildings. There is a generous amount of space for grass and walkways between the buildings, and the plentiful trees and shrubbery add to the feeling of privacy. It was the sort of place I could see myself walking the dogs around.

They had a first-floor unit available and we took a look. We were pleased to see the hardwood floors and big, bright windows as soon as we walked into the unit. The kitchen had enough room for us both to move around, and just the right amount of cupboard space. No dishwasher, but a nice deep sink to wash dishes in. The bedroom fit a full-size bed comfortably and had enough closet space for the both of us. The bathroom wasn’t very large, but it was a lot more reasonable than the pink tiled one in the last unit we visited. Overall, this was the best unit we had seen, especially for the price.

We decided to go ahead and turn in our applications and put a deposit down. Since then, however, things have not exactly gone smoothly.

Matt was quite shocked to receive a call a few hours later that said he had gotten a negative review from his landlord. We were both exceedingly puzzled, because this was impossible. We had taken a lot of care to talk in-person with his landlord about our plans, and he was completely understanding. He has always been extremely friendly  and talkative with us, and often quick chats with him stretch out into long, meandering conversations.

Matt explained his confusion to the person on the phone, who was the apartment manager, not RSS. He suggested Matt call his landlord to get it cleared up. Matt immediately called his landlord and explained that they claimed he had given a negative review, which somewhat puzzled his landlord as well. His landlord said that the woman who called caught him off-guard because she didn’t even introduce herself or explain why she was calling, she just asked what he knew about Matt. He told her that Matt’s lease was up in January, but that he would be moving out in October, and I guess that’s all RSS took the time to hear and interpreted it as a negative review. They didn’t take the time to learn more about the situation. Matt relayed this information to the property manager at the new apartments and he said he would have RSS give Matt’s landlord another call.

It took over a week to get a response from RSS. They were off on Labor Day and couldn’t get a hold of Matt’s landlord because he works elsewhere during the day. (You would think they would have people working nights for this kind of situation.) Finally, they got that all sorted out, but we weren’t approved yet.

THEN they decided to try to verify Matt’s employment. (Really?! They don’t do that first?) He gave them a handful of phone numbers for all of his bosses and HR, but apparently they only want to talk to HR, so they tried to get in touch with someone in HR who was unavailable due to orientations.

Hopefully today they’ll be able to get in contact with someone and this will be over!

I won’t be moving in until after the wedding in December, and Matt’s current lease isn’t up until January, but we decided to start looking sooner for various reasons. One of them being the weather. Moving is hassle enough without having to dodge raindrops and dash  in and out of buildings while carrying heavy boxes and furniture. Another reason is that Matt is done with the commute. DONE. Perhaps the bus commute wouldn’t be so bad if his hours were a bit shorter and more predictable, but he never knows when he will get off of work, and lately he has been staying late. The last thing he needs at the end of a long day is to wait in the dark at a bus stop to ride a stinky, crowded bus for an hour or more.

The best solution for us is to move straight into the heart of the city, where Matt can be close enough to work to have some commuting options. Also, working closer to home alleviates the worry that late work nights will leave him stranded in Seattle overnight. He likes his job, but he would rather not have to convert his desk into a sleeping alcove and use his shoe as a pillow.

Though we want to be relatively close to Matt’s work, we also want to be in a good neighborhood, so we concentrated on Upper Queen Anne and Ballard. We’ve been scouring Craigslist for rentals available in these locations. A couple weeks ago, I found a posting for a one-bedroom upstairs unit of a house in Queen Anne. The pictures were small, but the place looked cute, like it might have some character. Matt sent an e-mail to the landlord and set up an appointment to view the apartment.

You know those dogs that look the same coming and going? This house was like that. It had an entry that looked more like a back door. I knew immediately that Matt was not impressed and was already starting to back away, but I was determined to give the house a fair shot, seeing as we put in all the effort to drive up there and find the place.

Matt called up the landlord, whose name we cannot pronounce, and let him know we were there. He came jogging around the side of the home with wet splotches on his pants, which I hoped were from some home improvement project it appeared he had been working on at the other side of the house. Matt and I both got a creepy vibe from the guy right away.

He didn’t help our opinion of him by proceeding to lead us up the stairs and knock on the current resident’s door, who was in the process of cleaning the apartment and moving out. We had the appointment for half a week, and he was just notifying the tenant as we stood at the door? How courteous.

As we entered the apar–er, disaster area, the current tenant expressed that the place is “really is nice when it’s all clean!” Matt and I were greeted with two cats trying to escape the apartment as we entered (a sign?) and scattered wood shavings on the floor that had somehow escaped from the nearby guinea pig cage. (Really, how do shavings from one guinea pig get ALL OVER THE FLOOR? And why do you have cats AND a rodent? Wait, perhaps this explains the shavings…) The tenant’s sister had come to help her move, and I stepped over her broom on my way to the kitchen.

The kitchen was walled off and impossibly narrow. I walked to the end of the kitchen, opened the dingy, filmy cupboards, to find a hodge podge collection of food that clearly indicated  no cooking was ever done in this kitchen. I turned around and faced Matt, and we both raised our eyebrows so high they hit the ceiling. Which wasn’t difficult, seeing as the roof was slanted in the kitchen, making it seem even more like Willy Wanka’s shrinking room…minus the delicious sweets at the end. (But there was a half-empty bag of stale marshmallows, if you were tempted.)

At this point, we had seen all we needed to see, but out of courtesy, we couldn’t flee the building and run down the street. We continued to the bathroom.

If there was a contest for the pinkest, smallest bathroom in the world, this bathroom would be an award-winner. Pink tile on the floor and walls. Pink sink. Pink toilet. Pink shower. Oh, and maximum occupancy of 1. Cruise ships have bigger bathrooms than this. The Comet sprinkled on everything was a nice touch, though.

When we emerged from the bathroom, the landlord waved to the “bedroom,” which we didn’t even bother taking a look at because, honestly, it was a CLOSET. Matt and I were offended that he even had the nerve to call it a bedroom to our faces. Heck, call it a “sleeping nook” if you want to, but you think you’re going to delude us into thinking that that cranny barely wide enough to fit a mattress is an actual room? No, sir.

We politely followed whats-his-name around as he showed us the rest of the house, and it didn’t get any better. Everything was sketchy. When the landlord asked us to honestly tell him what we thought, the look on Matt’s face was priceless. I knew he was thinking, “Dude, this place is a [dump],” and tried not to laugh (too much) as he tried to come up with a polite answer. I jumped in and said I didn’t think that the amount of stairs the place had would be good for my dogs (honest answer), and withheld the rest.

We left the place in a minor state of shock. We’ve GOT to find something better than that.

We took a stroll up and down Queen Anne Ave calling every apartment we came across, but no luck. Plenty of one-bedroom units available, but none of them took dogs. Is it possible to find a decent (real) one-bedroom dog-friendly apartment in Seattle? We will find out…