Hoo boy. Things do move fast around here.
The people who were renting that lovely apartment with the backyard suddenly decided they wanted to sell, not lease. Damn it. So Richard the real estate guy and I spent today seeing four apartments, two in the East Village and two in Chelsea on the West Side around 23rd and 7th. (And that's as specific as I'm going to get, okay? Everybody happy now?)
The first East Village one was small, but workable. Even had a decent kitchen. The second East Village one was even smaller and fairly useless to me. I know I'm not going to get the closet space I have here, which is amazing, but one good sized closet and one tiny sort of broom closet are not going to get me anywhere.
Over to Chelsea, and the first apartment was completely useless, because the guy who was showing it lied in his teeth. It did NOT have two bedrooms, it had one, and it was on the second floor with no elevator. Also, while the kitchen was filled with the right stuff, it was so tiny that you could barely use any of it.
Ah, but the second one! I'm rather afraid of saying it again (look what happened last time), but it really is wonderful. No outdoor space, but on the 6th floor of an old elevator building with a ton of light, a kitchen where I can fit a small table, and just lovely all around. AND high ceilings (don't forget my birdcage with the stuffed tarantula).
So now I'm in a mad flurry of sending the application and reference letters and tax returns and all kinds of good shit.
Oh, and the powers that be seem to think that moving out this coming week is a good idea. Of COURSE. Move out of the three story house in which I have lived for 18 years into a two bedroom apartment...in a week. I think I should probably film this process for YouTube...or more probably, Fail Blog.