Sundays With Strangers


I never realized why people like big homes until I officially reached full capacity in my present apartment.  I now have literally zero space for storage, so I have to observe a strict “one in, one out” policy, like a horrible nightclub or something.  Having to throw out one of your old sweaters every time you buy a new one is like having to choose between your children;  it’s the closet equivalent of “Sophie’s Choice.”  It’s the worst.  Last time I bought a couple of books at the flea market, I came home, painstakingly chose the two that would have to go, took them to the curb while whispering apologies to them, and then ran back inside and drank a whole bottle of wine.

If you lived here, though, you’d never have to choose favorites.  It’s a two bedroom, yes, but that second bedroom is clearly a guest room/office/storage room … or the greatest walk-in closet ever.  The main part of the unit is a “loft-inspired,” well, loft.  With pristine white walls, twenty foot ceilings, and floor-to-ceiling windows,  all you need is a silver jumpsuit to fulfill your longstanding desire to role-play some weird pervy sci-fi “spacelord.”  The main living area has the twenty-foot ceilings;  I don’t know that the words “twenty-foot” really convey how high these celings are.  You could fly a kite in this room;  this room might have its own weather.  Also, those windows twenty feet up are going to pretty hard to clean;  unless you want half the light in the room to be filtered through a haze of smashed bugs and dirt, you’re either going to have to hire a window-washer, or try to duct-tape a bunch of mop handles together, end to end, to reach up there.  If you go for that latter method, make sure you take video and put it on Youtube, because seeing it all crash down on your head is good for at least a few hundred thousand hits.

Under the second-floor overhang is the gourmet kitchen, with stainless steel appliances, Silestone counters, and interior cabinet lighting, so when you sneak downstairs late at night to break your diet, the harsh light of the cabinet light clicking on will make you rethink, or at least not finish the entire thing of Oreos.  (Really, the move there is to put mirrors in the back of the cabinets so the first thing you see when the light clicks on, you see your double chin.)  Up the floating staircase is the huge master bedroom; there’s a lofty overlook where you can stand when your significant other comes home from work, and because of their angle from below, they’ll have no idea if you’re wearing pants or not.  Best bedroom ever.  The master bath features a glass-walled shower with one of those fancy rainfall showerheads, so you can start every morning with a little taste of what it’s like to be homeless.  Oh, and there’s also a balcony off the master bedroom (one of two outdoor spaces in this place) that’s perfect for pensive sunset-watching, or vomiting off of if that four-pound slice of pizza isn’t sitting well on top of those eleven Jager bombs.

Speaking of which, this place is just a couple blocks from U Street, which for four nights a week is hands down the best place to eat or drink in DC, and for the other three is like Wal-Mart on Black Friday, if everyone was drunk.  Which isn’t to say I wouldn’t live there;  I think any time in life that you can have a 4:3 ratio of horrible to awesome, you have to take it.

1443 Chapin Street NW #404
2 Bedrooms, 2 Baths

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