Apartment S

Can apartment buildings have community businesses in Sims 2 Apartment Life?
I have all the expansion and stuff packs for Sims 2. I know you cannot have a home (out of your apartment that is) business in the game, but is it possible for an apartment building to have a community business in it as well, such as a restaurant or clothing store that your sim(s) living in the apartment(s) can eat/shop at?

Get the answers...

When a CO alarm goes off, how do you know when it's a false alarm and when it's actually detecting a problem?
I have two CO alarms in my apartment, for I have a large apartment in NYC. Anyway, the CO alarms keep going off. They've been going off continuously for about an hour, and after I shut them off, after five minutes they come back on. As it was going off, the light under "Alarm: Head To Cleam Air" was flashing, but it usually does that, and we've brushed it off and lived to the next day. I went to the superintendent of my building with a neighbor because I'm home alone, and he said that it was probably a malfunction, for the CO alarms usually go off in my apartment(s) about once every two weeks. We've already had both of them replaced several times due to malfunctions. I was just wondering, though: how can I be sure that the alarms are actually detecting carbon monoxide, and how do I know when it's just a malfunction, or is there no way to know when one of the two is occuring?

Get the answers...

Who else thinks it's annoying listening to other people having sex?
I mean in apartment complexes, the apartments aren't sound proof (at least not in USA) and you can hear EVERYTHING that goes on in your neighbors' apartment/s. Anyone think apartment complexes in USA need to be sound proofed?

Get the answers...

The Wrong Switch.. my short story (plz rate)?
i want comments or ratings on this short story i wrote... it's meant to be 2 things an intervention in Anna Krien's story (Turning off the lights- found here http://www.annakrien.com/fiction1.html) it speaks of a family... the dad's got dementia at 40 and is sent to a nursing home. before this, he worked at a school, and every afternoon at 3pm, he would go from class to class and turn off the lights..... the mum would bring guys home after the dad was put in a nursing home the son starts to sleep at ppl's houses until he gets to highschool and then leaves home for uni the mum dies before the dad does - it alludes she died in hospital... this is my intervention, please let me know what you think.. and answer this most important question: as you read, do you feel like it's worth continuing reading to the end of the story to find out wat happens? or does it bore you from time to time? thanks.... it's called The Wrong Switch: The bob cut and daggy skin wasn?t at all attractive. In the midst of spring warmth, she wore a pale pink suit. Propped up on her chair, she looked bored. Like she was waiting for someone who was running very late. She looked tense. That look of wanting to blurt something out. I sat on the table opposite her. To my luck, she was the first sight I had to see after moving to this suburb. Her hair was a dull brown. Her eye lids sagged. Blue eye shadow, pointy shoes. Wrinkly legs crossed. Her face wasn?t any better. I wanted to puke. Where did she think she was? It?s a suburban caf� and she?s dressed up like that. Her lips were painted red. Too thin, I felt. She?d be in her mid-forties, at least. Screaming Anna Bligh, but with a pointier nose. I looked across the road at my new apartment?s building. I smiled. A brief moment flew over me. If only then I knew, that lady I saw was to change my life incredibly. Or maybe that I was to change hers. Or then again, maybe her son?s. I bumped into her on the way out of my apartment building the next morning. I wanted to wash my skin. Having only one son, my body is toned and young ? so I wanted to believe. ?Juliette?, she told me with her chin up. I shuddered, smiled. I would see her at the caf� regularly non?stop talking with ?Juliette II?. I sometimes miss my old suburb. The house. My son. My husband. No innocence though. I?d pick up guys from casinos or work and take them home. It was always a two way street. They?d get into me. And I'd get into their wallets. Until I had done enough and moved to this suburb. I saw him just outside my apartment. I didn?t know who he was, but I wasn?t going to let him go. Slyly, I greeted him before entering my apartment, ?Hey there, young man.? He turned and looked at me with a frustrated sigh. ?You look lost; want to come in for some tea?? He didn?t say a word, just followed me in. What went on after that shouldn?t have happened. So I came to know after Juliette barged into my apartment screaming. Screaming Anna Bligh. An Anna Bligh screaming. I smiled at the thought. It was sad though ? losing my friendship with Anna Bligh. The gossip queen that spread with word with her partner in crime ?Juliette II? about the prostitute, Helen, next door. The gossip advertised me in town. Or maybe Juliette?s son did. I had men knocking my door frequently. One night, I was mortified to see my purse empty. I wondered who had taken my money, and why they were so sexually driven and money?obsessed. Yet, I was that, after all. So I let it pass me as I clenched onto a male?s wallet, knowing that time will turn. It was a cool autumn evening. I looked out and felt the broken breeze caress my face. The bruised skies held glints of hope. I had called him. Now I await. The door knocked. ?Another one,? I thought. By that time, I was used to it. I was dressed up for my clients before they arrived. Sitting together by the window, he nuzzled my neck. An angry breeze choked my skin. I felt bewildered as the memory came back. A hug. A nuzzle. I felt breathless and in pain. His softness turned into a strangling force against my neck. Even the wind clouted my neck. I struggled under his weight. My body became numb and sick. The memory was so painful, that for once I praised his dementia. Because he had hugged me. Nuzzled my neck. And almost remembered. A young lad I had been with came knocking again, demanding for his wallet. I let him in and demanded for my money. He gave me back the money. And I gave him back a money?drought wallet. He left. Without checking it. Time had turned. I lacked something in my life. I wasn?t sure what, though. I thought of the two men I?ve loved. How they both screwed me over. One got dementia. The other made me ill. The third made my life miserable. But that?s what son?s do. He came in two days after I called. I wasn?t sure why he had a girl with him. I thought he wanted the girl involved with us that night. I drowned in embarrassment when I came to know he was my son PLEASE READ THE REST OF THE STORY HERE: http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20090508222325AAOrkGh&r=w (scroll down to the additional information to continue it)...

Get the answers...

The Wrong Switch - short story plz rate?
i want comments or ratings on this short story i wrote... it's meant to be 2 things an intervention in Anna Krien's story (Turning off the lights- found here http://www.annakrien.com/fiction1.html) it speaks of a family... the dad's got dementia at 40 and is sent to a nursing home. before this, he worked at a school, and every afternoon at 3pm, he would go from class to class and turn off the lights..... the mum would bring guys home after the dad was put in a nursing home the son starts to sleep at ppl's houses until he gets to highschool and then leaves home for uni the mum dies before the dad does - it alludes she died in hospital... this is my intervention, please let me know what you think.. and answer this most important question: as you read, do you feel like it's worth continuing reading to the end of the story to find out wat happens? or does it bore you from time to time? thanks.... it's called The Wrong Switch: The bob cut and daggy skin wasn?t at all attractive. In the midst of spring warmth, she wore a pale pink suit. Propped up on her chair, she looked bored. Like she was waiting for someone who was running very late. She looked tense. That look of wanting to blurt something out. I sat on the table opposite her. To my luck, she was the first sight I had to see after moving to this suburb. Her hair was a dull brown. Her eye lids sagged. Blue eye shadow, pointy shoes. Wrinkly legs crossed. Her face wasn?t any better. I wanted to puke. Where did she think she was? It?s a suburban caf� and she?s dressed up like that. Her lips were painted red. Too thin, I felt. She?d be in her mid-forties, at least. Screaming Anna Bligh, but with a pointier nose. I looked across the road at my new apartment?s building. I smiled. A brief moment flew over me. If only then I knew, that lady I saw was to change my life incredibly. Or maybe that I was to change hers. Or then again, maybe her son?s. I bumped into her on the way out of my apartment building the next morning. I wanted to wash my skin. Having only one son, my body is toned and young ? so I wanted to believe. ?Juliette?, she told me with her chin up. I shuddered, smiled. I would see her at the caf� regularly non?stop talking with ?Juliette II?. I sometimes miss my old suburb. The house. My son. My husband. No innocence though. I?d pick up guys from casinos or work and take them home. It was always a two way street. They?d get into me. And I'd get into their wallets. Until I had done enough and moved to this suburb. I saw him just outside my apartment. I didn?t know who he was, but I wasn?t going to let him go. Slyly, I greeted him before entering my apartment, ?Hey there, young man.? He turned and looked at me with a frustrated sigh. ?You look lost; want to come in for some tea?? He didn?t say a word, just followed me in. What went on after that shouldn?t have happened. So I came to know after Juliette barged into my apartment screaming. Screaming Anna Bligh. An Anna Bligh screaming. I smiled at the thought. It was sad though ? losing my friendship with Anna Bligh. The gossip queen that spread with word with her partner in crime ?Juliette II? about the prostitute, Helen, next door. The gossip advertised me in town. Or maybe Juliette?s son did. I had men knocking my door frequently. One night, I was mortified to see my purse empty. I wondered who had taken my money, and why they were so sexually driven and money?obsessed. Yet, I was that, after all. So I let it pass me as I clenched onto a male?s wallet, knowing that time will turn. It was a cool autumn evening. I looked out and felt the broken breeze caress my face. The bruised skies held glints of hope. I had called him. Now I await. The door knocked. ?Another one,? I thought. By that time, I was used to it. I was dressed up for my clients before they arrived. Sitting together by the window, he nuzzled my neck. An angry breeze choked my skin. I felt bewildered as the memory came back. A hug. A nuzzle. I felt breathless and in pain. His softness turned into a strangling force against my neck. Even the wind clouted my neck. I struggled under his weight. My body became numb and sick. The memory was so painful, that for once I praised his dementia. Because he had hugged me. Nuzzled my neck. And almost remembered. A young lad I had been with came knocking again, demanding for his wallet. I let him in and demanded for my money. He gave me back the money. And I gave him back a money?drought wallet. He left. Without checking it. Time had turned. I lacked something in my life. I wasn?t sure what, though. I thought of the two men I?ve loved. How they both screwed me over. One got dementia. The other made me ill. The third made my life miserable. But that?s what son?s do. He came in two days after I called. I wasn?t sure why he had a girl with him. I thought he wanted the girl involved with us that night. I drowned in embarrassment when I came to know he was my son http://au.answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=Am5LfR2mjyXp4wgCOLNVr2Tg5gt.;_ylv=3?qid=20090508214312AAoGf7Y It?s not right. To have your son see you like that. Or his girlfriend. Slut?of?a?mum she must have thought. It had been five years since I had last seen him. He looked? different. Time turned, indeed. But it turned too far back. The boy I once would yell at began yelling at me. I felt lifeless for the following week. Empty. Thoughts churned my mind for days on end. I found myself wiring the money I earned to my son?s university to pay off his fees. That way, in my mind, I freed myself. Healed the scar imprinted somewhere. I knew it was there. I just didn?t know where. ?Cancer may very well be sexually transmitted, ma?am?. He has a heavy Indian accent. He looks sleepy. He?s wrong. I don?t have cancer. I?m just ill. Driving past the old town, I stopped by the nursing home. I held my neck with one hand and looked on unconsciously. I didn?t know why I was there. But I knew I just had to be. I turned off the car and headed for the entrance. A young nurse led me to his room. Where he lay, smiling. He greeted me. ?Good morning, sir.? I sighed and broke down crying. He hugged me. Nuzzled my neck. As if he almost remembered me. I unbuttoned his shirt slowly. He looked enthusiastic and happy. Having missed his touch, I was zealous for his love?making. ?Shower time, is it then?? he would ask repetitively. I pushed him away and grunted. He stood there, blinking. Looking at me. Studying my body. I got up and wrapped my leg around his thigh, kissing him. It was tense. Non?moving, non?breathable, thick, heavy, solid air, surrounded us. He blinked once more. Smiled. Unresponsive. I placed my ear on his beating chest for a moment. Then pushed him away and jumped towards the light switch. Like a maniac, I flicked the switch several times, screaming at him to remember me. Remember our love?making. ?There, there, dear.? He approached me. Turned off the light. And kissed my forehead. I hugged him and let him nuzzle my neck once more. ?Take care of our baby boy,? I whispered. ?At your service, my Lady.? He was charming. His sparkling blue eyes were my new glint of hope. I pushed those stars aside and left the room in silence. Tears. ?You are at the very advanced stages, ma?am,? he would say time and again. He still looked sleepy. And I still believed I didn?t have cervical cancer. ?Chemotherapy, radiation therapy, or even surgery are your available options, ma?am.? ?Oh why won?t he stop it with the ?ma?am??? I thought. ?You look lost, ma?am, do you want to come in for some tea?? I asked the Sleepy One. I studied his face. Now he looked Indian, sleepy, and confused. ?I?ll take life support, thanks? I laughed. In my mind, I felt content. The image of me lying down on that bed, in that empty room. I would reach out and turn off the life support. Only to turn it back on as the plonk of my heavy, dead hand refuses to turn off the switch. It was the wrong switch after all.

Get the answers...