Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Apartment searching sucks

OMG. Hate. Hate and rage.

I haven’t actually started apartment searching in that I haven’t, like, gone somewhere and listened to the spiel and handed over my driver’s license (how much do I hate that I have to do that? HateHATE) and looked in empty closets while pretending to be excited. But I think I might try to look at somewhere tomorrow. And it will totally be lame.

I’m doing my research. Endlessly clicking around the vast internet universe. Why is it that apartments either don’t have a website or don’t bother to get it to prominently display among the frickin’ hundreds of suckass apartment search sites?

My dad has me paranoid. I was targeting an apartment complex – there are quite a few – within a few miles of my office. Why bother with a commute? “Don’t life in This Particular Apartments,” he tells me, “it’s a bad place. There is crime and even murder there.”

Seriously? Murder? I think I would’ve heard if there were murders in the apartment complex that sits two miles from my office. And, while I hadn’t looked into apartments at that complex, I had looked at the one next door. How can crime and murder be an epidemic that is contained by the parking lot that separates the two complexes? As a result, I’m paranoid. And very well may make my dad go apartment hunting with me.

I’m pretty sure he’s full of shit.

There’s part of me that thinks it would just be easier to move home. Throw my shit in storage and worry about where to move after I graduate, after I get a new job.

And there’s part of me that knows that, while graduation will occur in May, the new job thing very well could be a long way off and I don’t really need to be moving home for an extended period of time. Or at all. I’m 26. There really isn’t anything okay about moving home at the age of 26.

I don’t know why I’m even worrying about this. Am I premature? Anna moves at the beginning of March and she hasn’t bothered to pack one thing. Or to put out the “for rent” sign that our landlord asked her to put in the yard (I did it because apparently she didn’t have 15 seconds of spare time over the course of a week). Or to do much of anything except trash the house on Saturday night and eat my Pizza Rolls. Does she know something that I don’t?

I’m guessing not.

A wise person wouldn’t eat my Pizza Rolls.

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