That's It. I'm Going to Live with the Monkeys

Well, not so much with the monkeys as directly across the street from them. I found me some new digs. And just in time too as these parents of mine are getting the fuck out of here post haste and there will be no place for me to lay my weary head. Or my back. And you know that bitch needs a place to lay down. Lie down. Lay down. I don't fucking know and I have an English degree...sad news, no?

Anyway, my apartment search was surprisingly brief. I'm taking the apartment in the second building I saw. Why? Because the people there are normal. You know who is not normal? Keep reading.

I was looking at apartments online and I found the building I wanted to live in. I loved it to bits and kibbles for the pure and simple reason that it has arches in every apartment. Yay, arches! But, the day I started looking there was no one at that building to show me anything so I looked next door (eh) and across the street (my new home).

I admit, I was almost ready to sign right up for an apartment I saw in the eh building. It was the only apartment in the building with character even though it was too expensive for me and the guy was Mr. Jokey-Seller-Guy and that never works well with me. You can be funny, but don't be jokey.

Smarty that I am, I didn't sign anything and I was on my way home when I saw that the building across the street had an apartment available sign so I went in, got the manager to show it to me and had a moment. I just sort of knew that this was the place for me. I got an application and left, still expecting to see the home of my dreams the next day.

Next day, I meet up with the lady who leases the building I want and of COURSE she is a complete nutbag. she shows me the apartment and I literally am not in there thirty seconds when she starts pressuring me to put down a deposit. If not a deposit, why not an application fee. How about an application fee and $100 to hold the apartment? Huh? Why not? You won't do any better for the price. Huh? Huh?

Seriously, if this had been a drug deal, she would have been the worst undercover cop in history.

I can't really even see the apartment because she has filled it up with her words and I can't see through them. Unfortunately, she also leases basically all of the other buildings I want to look at so we go on a little tour...in her car.

On the front seat of her car were the following things:

A Bible
A tupperware water bottle filled with I swear to god a blended pizza.
A calzone

She does not move these things. I move them. Ew.

Some of the things she says to me while driving are:

"A librarian, huh? That is something that I just would never ever want to do."
"What I really am is a musician. But I was actually asked to do this job, Erin. Can you imagine, Erin? Someone asks you to work for them, Erin? Well, if it'll save me money on my rent, Erin, then, Erin, I guess I'll do it, Erin."

Every sentence not insulting my chosen profession includes at a minimum, one instance of my name. I now hate my name. She killed it. It's dead.

So, of course I like all the apartments she shows me, but I'm just not sure and so I take my application and leave. She for some reason thinks I will be returning the next day with that application, as well as with a $500 deposit. Crazy lady, you need to listen when I say I will apply and that is all. And then you need to shut the FUCK up. OK? Perfect.

She is a total scammer, I think. She tells me how to work around the income requirement ("Include your bonus, commissions, etc." Yes, librarians live off their commissions) and all this other shit which I just kind of think she should not be doing.

But, unfortunately, I do love the last apartment she showed me. I mean love love love, that kind of love. I could have gotten pre-engaged to that apartment. But! It is too pricey. The apartment I am now getting and the apartment I originally saw online are the only two in the running when I leave her.

Next day, she leaves me two messages, and two hangup calls. Caller i.d., crazy lady, is not your friend. She leaves these messages by 10:30 am. I put her off and convince the ever brilliant Giulia to look at both apartments with me on Tuesday.

The plan: Giulia distracts crazy lady with billions of questions while I look at the apartment. Plan works, the apartment is too small. I'm still not sure though, and give her $40 to run my credit. You know how much it cost to run my credit for my new home? $20. Exactly.

I can't get in to show Giulia the apartment I'm now getting but basically I talk it out with her, and decide I definitely want it. It's bigger, it's on a more convenient side of the street, and the kitchen is bigger, if not as nice. But is it really nice kitchen if you cannot stand in front of your oven to open it? I'm not convinced. Also, crazy lady basically tells Giulia that I'm difficult and makes fun of me for wanting to think about it and for using email. Bitch.

So, I email her, tell her I don't want the place and now she is basically holding my $40 ransom. I have to go get it from her, she won't leave it at the desk or mail it to me. Apparently no one will ever be at the desk again, despite the selling point that all buildings have 24 hour desk service. I know she's lying and making it difficult for me to get it back, and I just don't fucking care. When she told me I could have it back she also said she had another apartment to show me. I answered that just the dollars would do, and now she is jerking me around. But! She cannot have my $40. I will get it back and then I will live happily ever after in my new-bigger- not- as-nice-but-cheaper-although-fewer-utilities-are-included-but-there's-more-parking-on-that-street apartment. Which has windows! Out of which you see grass! Out of her apartment you saw bricks.

So, in conclusion. Crazy lady? She can basically just bite it and that'll be enough, ok? Perfect.