six states, beat it

I had a good laugh with my girlfriend this morning after trying to open the curtains and being met with much resistance.   After detaching each curtain from its respective patio door, much in the same manner one might peel off an old sticker, I discovered the culprit:  icicles.  The curtains had been stuck in a lumpy wall of ice that, apparently, had made its home inside of our apartment.  While this may not seem very humorous on its own, the sad state of our apartment caused it to be quite the laughing matter.  Even funnier than its state is the fact that we could call the maintenance men anytime and they would undoubtedly come resolve any or all of our problems.
  
To clarify, let me relay the running list of our apartment's malfunctions:

The heater has always set off the smoke alarm. Luckily, the air conditioning, which runs through the same unit, has always worked flawlessly.  As of late, the whole unit seems to be dead, providing not so much as the whir of effort.  The dishwasher no longer washes; instead, it wets the dishes and leaves them soaking in a puddle of their own filth, entirely unable to drain.  The sliding shower door makes an unbearable screech which, all cliches aside, sounds alarmingly like nails on a chalkboard.  We live in a loft-style apartment, which means our ceilings are over 20ft high, and, of course, the lightbulbs are out.  The door handle on the overhead microwave fell off some time ago as I tried to reheat a plate of leftovers, and later, while hand washing the dishes, its untouched plastic vent fell off and hit my head, giving my always daydreaming mind quite the startle.

Now, I feel I should mention that we have taken certain steps to remedy the situation which do not involve any maintenance people.  For example, I held my girlfriend's feet down against the desk as she dangled off the upper level of our open loft to screw one measly lightbulb into the only socket she could reach.  It later burnt out, and we repeated the scenario, except the second time we used a CFL (I hear they last longer) and I refrained from holding her feet, as according to her wishes.  I'm pretty sure she's mastered loft-dangling as an art now, supplying proof that practice does, indeed, make perfect.

As far as heat goes, we've borrowed a small space heater, to which the cat has taken a definite liking, as have we, especially after receiving our latest power statement.  We've implemented a scissor-opening method to be used on the microwave in the case of any necessary reheating, which means the scissors are always easy to find, if not in clear view.  I've begun saying a small prayer prior to opening or closing the shower door, a technique I'm not sure my girlfriend uses, but I still perform nevertheless.  In addition to my spritual life, my memory has also improved, as I have not accidently left anything outside of the shower since the sliding door began wreaking havoc on our ears.

Then today; the icicles.   We had a hearty laugh together as we realized that our apartment now resembled the great outdoors, still knowing that we wouldn't call anyone about the problem.  We picked up the electronic cords lying in the path of danger and moved on with our lives, the way we always do when something attempts to threaten our existence.

And if only for those few moments of laughter, the inconveniences of an apartment gone wrong are well worth it.  Besides, I'm the self-proclaimed best dish washer in six states, and as of now, I can see no better path to acquiring such a title.

Can you?