You guys, I think we're gonna have to live in our car.
I always giggle when people throw around the phrase "a lot of balls in the air," because: hilarity, but you know what? It's not so funny when it's you with the balls. Or...something. At the risk of jinxing the seventy trillion things going on right now, we are currently amidst Giant! Question! Marks! (the good kind, I suppose) in connection with...uh...hmm. Most of you don't speak Hebrew, right? Well, let's try Pig Latin! The ale-say of our apartment-hay, and also ob-jay uff-stay, and an upcoming acation-vay. And then there's the planning of the kids' upcoming birthday parties, life in general, and finding a three-bedroom apartment to rent in this town, which is proving to be quite the challenge, AND OH MY GOD OUR CAR, WE ARE GOING TO HAVE TO LIVE IN OUR CAR.
As you may have guessed from my slight outburst, we have been spending a lot of time over the past few weeks engaged in a maddening and endless round of The Apartment Search Cycle. Given the generally frequent turnover of rental apartments coupled with the crazypants NY real estate market (we want to stay right where we are now, only get a bigger place), every few days, J and I go through this:
It is pretty much unchanging, except for the level of inebriation of the realtor dudes we end up talking to from Craigslist. One of whom, by the way, attempted to give me directions to a place like so:
Craiglist guy: YO.
CG: I’m calling you back.
Me: Thanks, I was interested in the three bedroom on [street].
CG: Yeah, that’s a beautiful place. Right next to the pizza store.
Me: There’s no pizza store there.
CG: Yes there is! Right by the train.
CG: I’ve been a realtor for quite some time.
Me: Um. Can you give me the actual address? So I can figure out where it is?
CG: Okay, let me tell you what: I’ll tell you how I get there when I get off the train.
CG: So, I take the train up to...well...which way are you facing?
Me: RIGHT NOW??
Him: I can tell you're not serious about this place.
And yesterday was a truly special day, as I got to look at a promising apartment in a gorgeous building. "The tenants moved suddenly!" crowed the broker, so I off I ran. Now, I've moved into and out of a lot of places in my day, and most apartments have a "broom clean" clause in the lease, indicating that the place has to be swept up and damage-free in order to ensure that you get your security deposit back. We walked into the apartment together, and immediately, I was struck by two things: "This place smells like a wet cat and old diapers" was one. Two was TINY FALLING GLASS SHARDS, actually striking me, due to the lightbulb/fixture sort of fizzling and popping as the broker attempted to switch it on.
As it turned out, the apartment was actually strewn with dirty diapers, which is both awesome and considerate and not at all simultaneously inducing both rage and barf. As for the wet cat smell, the prior renters had also thoughtfully left a cat bed there, propped up next to an empty Belvedere bottle. ART, you guys.
Sadly, this place (after some painting and heavy-duty cleaning) is literally our best prospect right now. (Besides our car, I mean.) Tell me it's going to be okay. TELL ME IT'S GOING TO BE OKAY. *dry heaves in terror*