I’ll have the tap water, please. And can I see your dollar menu?

I am about to become very, very house-poor. And I can’t think of a better reason to live on toothpicks and water for the next year! I signed the contracts last night for a two-bedroom, two-bathroom, one-washer, one-dryer, one-balcony, 1,131-square-foot Barbie dream palace complete with heated indoor parking and (if I read the developer’s marketing documents correctly) armies of hunky supermodels wandering the halls in skimpy towels. Which means from now until I take possession (sometime in late September/early October) I’m going to spend every waking hour dreaming about bathroom tiles and cupboard handles and where I’m going to put the piano. (Sorry, Mr. Job. The celery-vs-thistle paint-color debate is far too complicated to risk spending my valuable thinking time on things like client projects. I’m sure you understand.)

I’d say I’m movin’ on up, but technically I’m dropping about 20 floors and 800 numbers on the Chicago grid system. Which also puts me south of Foster and in grave violation of the Truth In Blogging Act. But if I just say NoFo stands for Not North of Foster, everything should slide though on a technicality.

So far my only complaint about my new condo is the trashy-cheap tub (built-in Lucite handles!) in the master bathroom. Unfortunately, the developer installed the tubs before the walls went up, so the damn thing is probably in for good. Let the record show, though, that I’m not a fan. Lucite is for Lusers.

But! To get to that tub, you have to walk through a roomy master bedroom and then a WALK-THROUGH CLOSET. Which is the architectural equivalent of Nick Lachey in a Speedo singing the Sweeney Todd libretto while beating the shit out of Mel Gibson. There really is no higher form of earthly paradise than a WALK-THROUGH CLOSET. Which is why we always render it in caps. And there’s a weird little vertical panhandle between the master bedroom and the WALK-THROUGH CLOSET that could easily hold a desk and a filing cabinet and a cushy chair. Presto! I just added an office to my unit, raising the value by at least $7 and some change. Check it out:

(Oh—and see that thing at the top left that says "BEDROOM" without an "M" in front of it? That means people can come visit and not have to sleep on my couch like itinerant bar mitzvah clowns. See that thing to the right of the bedroom that says "BATH" without an "M" in front of it? That means people can come visit and we don't have to be all up in each other's business when we're doing our business. Everybody wins!)

And while I love my current place and I will miss its coziness and spectacular view and (ahem) world-class decorating scheme, I’m ready for more space and more places to poop. And my own washer and dryer in case that pooping doesn’t happen quite where it should. But only in case.

Speaking of my current place (not my poop), if you want a fabulous one-bedroom with a spectacular view in a well-maintained highrise (with a pool and a weight room and a sundeck and tennis courts) only a block from the lake, drop me a line. I promise to clean up the poop before I show it to you.