Last summer, a young woman named Emma started working with me at Haskins Labs. Now, as we are both in search of housing, we've decided to look for an apartment to share. I mean, we're young, successful, financially secure, sane, drama-free, drug-free, personal-life free girls. Finding an apartment has
never been easier. Right?
Wrong.
Very,
very wrong.
To put it simply, if our apartment hunting experience, thus far, were a Made-For-TV-Movie starring one Ms. Sally Field, even my mother would have changed the channel before the opening credits were rolling.
As far as
how we would be as tenants, what landlord wouldn't be falling over themselves to have us living in their apartment. I mean, look at our credentials:
We're gainfully employed.
We're quiet.
We're smoke-free
We're drug-free
We're pet-less.
We're packed.
We're responsible.
We're nice.
We're clean.
(Lock it up, Arwyn. And Erin. And Morgan).
We're sane.
According to one sleazy Realtor, we're cute.
We're financially secure.
But still...
We're homeless.
Ok, not literally. I mean, I'm still crashing in a very kind family's guest suite for the time being while all my earthly possessions await their return to my use in their respective storage units around the great state of Connecticut. And Emma's at her parent's place.
But still. Cut a couple of girls some slack, will you?
Not that we haven't tried. I mean, really, REALLY tried. What, with every lunch break, weekend day, after-work time slot we can find we've been driving, searching, surfing, calling, writing, emailing, smoke-signaling any landlord, landlady, and Realtor from here to Hartford looking for an apartment with two things:
1. No previous crime scene history on premises.
2. Washer/Dryer.
Basically, we want to be safe and clean. The rest will take care of itself. So
why then are we met only with smarmy Realtors who couldn't be old enough to pee straight or a disgruntled octogenarian landlady who somehow has the idea stuck in her head that if you don't have four children or a fat trust fund, you're not going to be able to pay the bills.
I mean, she was a sweet old lady and everything, but, I'm sorry. DON'T tell us you'd love to have us as tenants, then change your mind because we're not a rich old married couple then re-change your mind IF I put the lease in my name ONLY...and than increase the move-in price from $2,200 to $3,300 just because we MIGHT get into a tiff and move out on you.
Paranoid much, you old bat?
OK, I
know it's not the octogenarian's fault that she's still hurt from being burned in the past by a cat-fight that probably started over who's dishes were in the sink longer. But I
refuse to go bankrupt just to make her feel like she can trust us. I'm sure she would have been a landlady, landwitch is more like--
---PLEASE EXCUSE THIS BLOG INTERRUPTION AS WE PAUSE FOR A SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT FROM THE GUILT FAIRY
::INCOMING EMAIL:::
___________________________________________________
___________________________________________________
FROM: The Guilt Fairy
theguiltfairy@goodthings.com
TO: Erica
thedavisgirl@guiltfree.com
SUBJECT: Did you miss me?!
Hiya, Erica!
I was just reading your email from last month. Remember? the one where you pretended to fire me? Gosh you are SO funny! I even showed your fake-email ("femail!" Ha!) to those dyslexic blind kids I was telling you about. You know the ones whose parents' left them at the doorstep of the run-down orphanage? Only, there wasn't enough room in the building, so I donated my life savings to add a wing
with a solar-powered computer lab, which is where I am writing from now on my energy efficient, earth-friendly laptop made from recycled non-toxic Crayola marker tubes...Oh one sec, the nice red-cross lady is almost done taking my 7th blood donation this year...ANYWAY, I heard about your little problem with the apartment hunt.
Tsk-Tsk. Darling? Why didn't you tell me?! My Aunt Ruth has this fan-TAS-tic place: Hardwood floors, two-bedrooms, gated community, full kitchen with all stainless steel appliances, Laundry room next to the jacuzzi suite bathroom and everything! She's asking $800 per month, but I told her about your situation and how much TROUBLE you've had poor little thing. So, SHE said, she'll pay YOU to live there, just as long as you keep those "crazy" parties of yours to a minimum. Ha! You know I'm just kidding! You're never going to have parties. Kidding again!
Aunt Ruth told me to say that. You'd never know she was 82 years old. I'm catching a red-eye now, so, I'll see you in a few hours -- HEY! If it doesn't work out with Aunt Ruth's place, maybe you me and Emma can find a 3 bedroom together!? OMG! We could tell stories about boys and brush each other's hair!
Love and big hugs and kisses,
Your Guilt Fairy
__________________________________________________________
WE NOW RETURN TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED BLOG---
So, I said to the Realtor, "No...we're talking about harassment here. And I don't have to take it." And I ripped the rental application up right in his face. Ask Emma. She was there.
And in lieu of all of this, Emma and I will find our safe laundry-equipped hamlet. Somewhere.
UNTITLED SELF-PORTRAIT. PRE-SWITCH, OF COURSE.
AND THIS IS PART OF OUR 50' CEILING LIVING ROOM
PRE-SWITCH: ALL THE NEIGHBORS
PRE-SWITCH: THE NEIGHBOR FROM 2A ENJOYS SOME DELICIOUS CASSEROLE LIDS.
MID-SWITCH: HOSTESS SURRENDERING PINK SKIRT BENEATH YELLOW SKIRT
THE ROOMMATE WITH SPECIAL GUEST: DISCO THE GUINEA PIG FROM 2A.
MID-SWITCH: THE GUY IN THE ATTIC
MID-SWITCH: THE BUFFALONIANS
ANY GRACIOUS HOSTESS KNOWS: BE READY TO "FIX" YOUR $8 GARAGE SALE STEREO
POST-SWITCH: THE ROOMMATE (RED) IN HER VERSION OF "NOT LAUGHING"
POST-SWITCH: THE BIRTHDAY CUPCAKES!
