This is my dream house for a few reasons. One being that there are so many completely horrible yet fixable design decisions that have been made.
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Last weekend I ventured up to Bernal Heights to babysit the adorable son of a good friend. It was one of those treks that necessitated the Vespa, as buses or bikes aren't really adequate if you don't want to spend an hour traveling across the city.
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I've been traveling so much recently it seems rare that I actually get to fall asleep in my own bed. Between hotels and friends' guest rooms, I've mastered the art living out of a bag and relying on teeny tiny versions of my favorite beauty products.
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Tomorrow I leave for Chicago, and turns out I'm not the only Californian with my eye on the windy city. San Francisco starchitect Stanley Saitowitz of Natoma Architects just released some shiny renderings for The Chicago, a 64-story residential tower on a long-vacant site at Roosevelt and Michigan.
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Yep, I have my pick of all of the available real estate out there and this week I decide to downsize seven square feet. But when I saw Jordan Ferney's absolutely adorable little San Francisco apartment, I realized nothing gets me going like some creative space planning and smart style.
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I'm based in San Francisco, but often spend at least one week every month in Los Angeles for work. For extended trips, I've long given up on hotel stays, and instead opt for renting a house or apartment.
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Oh, be still my heart. I may talk a good game about living simply in a small space, but if we are being completely honest, it's really more my lack of a million dollars that is keeping me out of a gorgeous single-family home with its very own patch of grass.
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I know I'm usually a fairly modest girl when it comes to the type of real estate I dream about, and yes, last week I lambasted Kanye West and Kim Kardashian's obscene Bel Aire manse (but largess and luxury was the least of the its problems).
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Ok, no I couldn't. I can't even keep up the ruse for one sentence. But since I'm oddly house content this week, I figured why not throw myself a curve ball and see what would happen if I were forced to live in a hideous, 14,000-square-foot nouveau-Mediterranean monstrosity in Bel Air.
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Last night I cooked and served dinner for nine friends in my 500-square-foot San Francisco condo. As always, it was charming, cozy, and good times were had. But by 11pm, I really wished I had a dishwasher.
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