Tomorrow evening begins my last hurrah in Austin with Sam. I don’t know when I’ll be back in Austin once I move and Sam is among my favorite people with which to have hurrahs, so I’m very excited.
Sigh. I’m now on the hunt for some non-Harlem digs. My mom convinced me to subscribe to an online search service for $75. As I cynically expected, my $75 payment hasn’t resulted in much apartment hunt progress. I basically paid to get as much information as I can get on Craigslist for free. I do have a tentative appointment to see an apartment share on the Upper West Side next Tuesday, though. Still…that’s not worth $75.
Today I bought a new daily planner. I have mixed emotions about it, because 1) I’m a neurotic, and only neurotics have mixed emotions about daily planners that are strong enough to warrant writing about on the internet, and b) it is not the New York Public Library academic planner I have been buying the last four years of my life. This jolting end-of-college life change keeps hitting me.
I’ve not mentioned the interesting missed connections I’ve experienced in all of this apartment hunting. Did you know my current landlady (who is currently not so much a “missed connection” as a connection I’d like to miss once I find a nicer apartment) is the manager of some famous Japanese dj? I almost looked at an apartment I would have shared with the famous choreographer responsible for all the rocking back and forth the Supremes, Temptations, and all those other Motown folks did. Yes, it’s true! I think it’s cool. When I first heard that this person would be my roommate, I nearly took the share because I envisioned Fabulous Dancing Roomie visiting my inner-city school and cutting the rug with my students. He and I would sing “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” while I bounced up and down. Alas, the apartment wasn’t very close to my subway line. I nearly had an apartment share in a Columbia University professor’s apartment. Now I’m hoping to score an apartment with a woman who trains opera singers. Roommates like this don’t exist anywhere else. Of course, I know these people will take large, fibrous dumps in the shared bathroom and have weird shedding problems just like all my other roommates.
But they sing and dance while doing it!
Someday I really want to have my own comfortable, safe, and well-decorated place where I can walk around in my underwear and pretend to be interviewing for E! True Hollywood Story (do you do that, too?). I have a feeling that place won’t be in New York City.
