My current job search has been as successful as shoving a hippopotamus through a mail slot.
Getting my so-called “academic adviser” to get on his horse and sign the necessary documents to assist in my impending graduation appears to be stalled by an apparent dead steed.
But one very important aspect of the beginning of my domestication has fallen into place.
I may not have a job.
I may have to poke my adviser with a stick until he complies.
WE HAVE AN APARTMENT!
Everything else has seemed like such a slog, but this apartment search thing has been blissful. I love telling this story because it is just a real estate fairy tale. Bear with me.
1991 Toyota Celica. Missing front bumper.
November 24, 2010.
Two half hopeful/half disgruntled twenty-somethings on the hunt for a living space that hits the sweet spot between crack den and gilded townhouse.
The two partners are driving aimlessly in another part of town, dropping in on apartment buildings to inquire about availabilities (there are none), dropping off completed applications (none of the managers of these buildings are there) and dropping some sick beats (not really).
Then. The two intrepid explorers re-visit their favorite building from their initial search last August. They meekly approach, knowing this is their dream building. Right price, great character and the possibility for KITTIES. However, they do not have high hopes.
After plowing through the slush, kept warm only by the slightest dreams of a place to lay their little heads, they step up to the front desk–awaiting a rejection from the apartment manager, a delightful melding of Delta Burke and Paula Deen.
And Delta Deen (what’s that flower you have on?) replies:
“Well, we do have a corner studio …. available RIGHT NOW!”
The two jaded twenty-somethings witness an explosion of bronzed bunnies and macaroni and cheese raining down from the sky. Jesus himself moseys by and shakes their hands, saying, “You know what? I’ll give you this one. You have been consistently pooped on by life, so here’s a little break.” Then he links arms with the Rockettes, who are standing by to perform a kick-line as we enter the elevator to tour our newly claimed place.
A and I now are the proud renters of our favorite unit in our favorite building, in a great part of town.
This time the only tears shed were ones of joy.
See you soon–there’s more to report. Life is good right now: