Went apartment-looking today. Saw three places, talked to two landlords, walked like, eleven miles (okay, two) in the cold, and accidentally drank a bottle of orange juice immediately following an experimental café latté...
Ew.
It's almost November. Time to apartment-hunt. My current lease runs out December 1st, which gives me exactly a month and one day to find a place, pack my things, move my things, unpack my things, and live again.
I think I've found my new place. It's on Oak Street (...NO, Peter, NOT the grey one...) near Binghamton High School. The building number and the apartment number add up to magic number 13. If you're Helena Thomas, this is important, because Helena Thomas doesn't believe in bad coincidences.
(Can you tell I've been watching Lynch videos again?)
Yes, I think I've found my new place. It only took me one day of searching, too. My previous experience with apartment-hunting was horrific. I had to find a place large enough for myself AND Peter, which meant two bedrooms. Finding two bedrooms near the mall, near the busline, near downtown Binghamton, with an affordable price that will accept pets and drag queens is NOT exactly an easy task. I found two places that were not hideous. One is the Ghetto Palace, in which I currently live, and one was a GORGEOUS little second-floor off Clinton Street with brand new hardwood floors. Unfortunately, the Clinton Street Hardwood Floor place was snatched up before I had a chance to show it to Peter and sign the lease.
Then there was Darcy's Onion Shack, so named because the first love of Aaron's life, Darcy, had lived there once, and the place smelled like onions. Then there was The Hallway, so named because it was one VERY long hallway with rooms extending out onto the right side. VERY weird layout. Also, the hallway was so narrow that an obese person -- even a mildly chunky person -- would have trouble passing through it.
Apartment-searching is actually sort of a fun task. You get to walk through empty apartments thinking of all the things you could do to decorate. You get to poke into closets and cupboards and imagine your things adorning them. And then, you get to leave and you never have to set foot inside again. It's kind of voyeuristic, actually. If ever I get bored and can think of nothing better to do on my days off, perhaps from now on, I'll apartment-hunt.
The new place -- my soon-to-be new apartment, supposing all goes well -- has hardwood floors (I love hardwood floors more than I can possibly tell you) and white walls and a very, very creepy basement with a washer and dryer. It feels old and quaint and dark. It is a little bit broken, and a little bit lonely. The bathroom is small and the walls have ready-made holes in them for my framed postcards of Binghamton and my Lynch-posters. The bedroom is large and would be perfect for a futon, stacks of books, velvet curtains, and the set of Christmas lights Mike bought me in Santa Fe. And lots of candles. It is perfect for me. Oh yes, and it has a porch that looks out onto the street, and is across the street from a grocery store, and within walking distance of absolutely everything.
Above all, there is NO ROOM FOR HOUSEMATES. Or their boyfriends.
I'm off to the mall to pick up some CD's...
Love, peace, and a set of velvet curtains...
~Helena*