Two steps forward, one step back.

So I finally got sick of wearing thermal long underwear, fleece socks, scarves, and snowboots inside my house and called my super about the thermostat. He said that our filters were probably dirty, so I pulled the heaters apart and cleaned them out.

After replacing the cover on the living room heater, I turned it on - and it's been on for a record 2 hours, reaching a whopping 57 degrees (and climbing!). However, once I put the heater in my bedroom back together, it refused to turn on. No amount of unplugging-and-replugging (a surefire method for the repair of any and all electronics) could wake it back up.

The super will be here in an hour.

Addendum.

I decided to take matters into my own hands last week and fix the heater myself. And by that I mean I unplugged it and then plugged it back in.

The following day, the temperature in my apartment reached a record 70 degrees. I thought the problem was solved.

Two days later, it is now 54 degrees and the problem is worse.

I have destroyed everything.

I can't feel my fingers.

Back when November rolled around, I got really excited about the fact that heat is included in our rent. As soon as it got cold out, I was able to turn the thermostat all the way up and cuddle in the warmth of my apartment without worrying about how much it would cost to live in a consistently delicious hug of yum.

Then December happened. And I realized that our heaters are shit.

No matter how high I set the thermostat, the temperature never climbs above 63 degrees. I've had the thing set on a suffocating 85 degrees for a month, but it still shuts off at 63. And 63 degrees is really cold.

I'm not really sure how to trick the heater into staying on longer, so for now I'm just wearing multiple pairs of socks and waiting for my free Snuggie to arrive in the mail. I'll have to call our super to see what's up - if he can't fix it, at least he could buy me one of these.

I just plunged my sink.

Is that ever supposed to be necessary?

Red alert. Abort mission. Mayday. Mayday.

I have less than two months' rent left in my bank account.

I think I planned this wrong.

A major milestone.

No first apartment is complete without a terrifying bug experience. It's sort of a rite of passage. So, now that I've had one, I feel like I've finally moved in.

I was watching some quality television on Tuesday night when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something hideous walking up my wall. It wasn't a cockroach or a waterbug - which is good, because if it had been I would have just curled up and cried while it took over my house. But it was still a monster. It had a million legs and antennae and scurried up the wall like a mutant creature of death. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with the fucking thing. Killing large insects is the job of dads* and boyfriends,** and I had neither.

After staring in horror for a few minutes, I looked around for something that would allow me to kill the zombie menace without coming within four feet of it. Finally overcoming my crippling fear of what could happen if this thing sprouted fangs and became airborn ... I grabbed the Swiffer and put it out of its hideous misery.

I haven't seen anything else creeping around the apartment, so I'm assuming this invasion was a one-time thing. If it ever happens again, I'm sealing the doors and windows and buying a shotgun.

* I once called my dad at work in the middle of the day and made him come home to kill a crippled bumblebee. I am not at all kidding about this.
** Then again, my boyfriend in college was afraid of spiders. He was also afraid of birds and cats. So maybe just dads.

Have a little faith, people.

My dad read my previous post and actually thought I was going to sign up for an online get-rich-quick scheme.

Everyone needs to leave me alone.

I wish there was a chance that this wasn't a scam.

I came across this article today and actually found myself wishing that it was not a huge lie. I don't usually give sketchy money-earning schemes more than a fleeting glance ... but I'm going to be broke really soon. So this one got something closer to a longing glance of remorse and shattered dreams.

Wouldn't it be awesome if this wasn't a horrible scam? What if I could actually sit in my house in my underwear and make a couple hundred bucks a day? And what if doing so wouldn't cause Bernie Madoff and Enron and Charles Ponzi to show up at my door with rubber bludgeons and bottles of shame to punish my broke ass for pathetically falling for such a hideous pyramid scheme of falsehood?

In any case, I need to find a way to make more money in a legitimate fashion. So that shit like this doesn't actually appeal to me.

Goddammit, world.

Ok. So I know I'm coming off a week or two of bitterness and hatred toward pretty much everyone and everything out there. And I know that thinking happy thoughts and doing happy things is way better than sitting in my house telling the vacuum of the interwebs how much I hate everything. So, let me preface this by saying that I have spent the vast majority of the past week actually interacting with people, enjoying myself, and not being a jaded shut-in.

But there are just two last things that I need to share with everyone.

First, there's this:



This is what my Facebook ads look like. Really, Facebook? Do you need to be so obvious? And why would I want to meet a single dad?

Second, there's the letter I just got from Bank of America. This is what it says:

Dear SALLY RINEHART:

Thank you for banking with Bank of America. We want you to know that due to the number of times you withdrew or transferred money from your Bank of America Regular Savings, we are converting your savings account to a checking account. Federal regulations and our deposit agreement limit the number of withdrawals and transfers a customer can make to a total of 6 during each monthly statement cycle from a Regular Savings by preauthorized or automatic transfers or telephone instruction. Our records show that you exceeded the limit more than 3 times in the past 12 monthly statement cycles.

And so on.

Basically, Bank of America thinks I'm an idiot who doesn't know how to use a bank and Facebook thinks that I'm a single loser. What the fuck, everyone?

What the fuck?

So maybe I spoke too soon. As in, maybe I shouldn't have assumed that my ability to get a job also applied to my ability to hold down a job. Because today, halfway through my second day as a studio assistant, I got fired.

Let me preface this by saying that, since I was in the middle of working two jobs, getting fired from one isn't the total end of the world. And, since I totally forgot to cancel the job interview that I had scheduled prior to signing onto the job that just blew up in my face, I've still got another potential freelance gig in the near future (apparently if you make enough mistakes, they cancel each other out and you're left in a relatively neutral situation). Still, it totally sucks.

So here's an abridged version of the story: I screwed up one thing. My boss decided that I didn't inherently possess the perfectionism that she sought in an assistant. She explained that she didn't have the time to train people, and therefore needed to hire someone who already knew how to do everything perfectly. Many apologies and regrets followed, because she thought I was awesome and great and smart and loved having me around. End of story.*

Aside from the fact that getting fired sucked, I still have my other job and I'm fairly confident that I won't lose that gig anytime soon. And hopefully the interview on Monday will go well. But let this be a lesson to everyone out there: you can apparently get spontaneously fired by someone who likes you. Go figure.

*The irony of this spiel is that it's the exact same explanation I got from the guy who broke up with me last week. Apparently there is a whole world of people out there who feel no sense of cognitive dissonance when saying something like "I think you're amazing and perfect, but logistically we are incompatible." Is it really possible to be so left-brain dominant? Are feelings irrelevant? Whatever happened to subjectivity and emotions and all those things that make us people instead of robots? I don't understand. Anyway, I'm thoroughly unsatisfied with the pitiful state of humanity.

Back, and with positive news.

So, it's been a while since I posted anything new. Apparently going to school and looking for jobs is sort of time consuming, which makes it hard to do so while also blogging about it. But, it's the weekend, and I've hit a temporary moment of peace and quiet - so I am taking a breath and updating my loyal readers (hi, Mom!) with the newest details of my scintillating lifestyle.

1) Jobs

I have some. In the long term, I got a part-time gig assisting an artist in her studio in Bushwick (hope I don't have to work after dark!). The hourly pay rate is good, and it'll be nice to get back to doing more artsy-fartsy things now that I'm pretty much stuck in Adobe land for good.

In the short term, I'm also working two temporary freelance jobs - one laying out a book in InDesign, and one designing promotional materials for a custom motorcycle shop in Williamsburg (one of these jobs will be substantially more fun than the other). They're only one-time gigs, but they pay pretty well and will definitely help bring in some extra cash in addition to my part-time job.

So, I can cool down the crazy job search for now. I'll probably want to look for more freelance gigs once those two are done - but at least I can rest assured that I am, in fact, worth hiring. And there are sources of income in my very near future.

(And as for the bartending job - the powers that be have ceased to contact me. Should I just ignore them or harass them for being stupid awful liars? I'm undecided).

2) School

Is awesome. I actually enjoy my classes and don't fall asleep during them. This is more than I can say for much of my undergraduate education.

3) The Apartment

I think we're finally furnished and settled. We've got a dining table and chairs, and we finally got the TV hooked up for cable (which also means that we have internet - hooray). Save for some painting and picture hanging, I think we're finally moved in.

Bigger victory.

After many failures, I have finally learned how to cook an egg.

Inspired by Julia Child's confidence in the power of the omelet, I decided to try my hand at a 2-egg number for lunch yesterday - and it worked. I'm still not really sure how she got hers to cook in 20 seconds, since my previous attempts at high-speed egg cooking always resulted in blackened disaster - but if I allow myself 10 minutes of prep time and resist the urge to crank up the flame, I can pull off a relatively ok-looking omelet.

Next goal: not charring my grilled cheese before the cheese gets a chance to melt.

Small victory.

I just made coffee. For the first time ever. And it tastes good.

Culinary experiments.

One of the major complications that arose from having moved out of my parents' house is the fact that I don't know how to cook. I mean, I really don't know how to cook. Up until this past spring I had never made an egg. And so, finally finding myself unable to rely on mom and dad for dinner, I resolved to develop my own culinary skills once and for all.

I've been trying my hand at cooking for a few weeks now. And it is not going well.

Let's start with breakfast. Breakfast is supposed to be simple. I thought that making eggs would be a no-brainer - turn on the stove, throw some butter in a pan, dump the egg in, wait until it looks cooked. Wrong. Apparently you can't just crank up the flame and nuke your eggs into submission - that produces a thin layer of burnt butter, a cloud of black smoke, and a half-cooked pile of egg fused to the middle of the pan. Which is sort of edible, but really doesn't look like the eggs mom used to make. After many desperate attempts, I finally consulted my brother via GChat. He suggested a lower flame and more butter under the egg than around it. When I get around to buying more eggs, I'll see how that works.

Then comes lunch. Sandwiches. How hard can it be to make a sandwich? Well, when you put your grilled cheese in the pan and then forget about it, pretty damn hard. Now my frying pan has a bread-shaped black spot in the middle. Other than that, though, I have managed to whip up some random stir-fried assortments of tofu, brocolli, garlic, and rice without much damage to the kitchen (though I did manage to get Mexican rice seasoning in both eyes last Monday night - that's quite a burning sensation).

But dinner has proven to be the most challenging. Last weekend, Sarah and I had a night of ambition - we invited two friends over to make a chicken with brocolli and mashed potatoes. Many things went wrong.

First of all, the fucking chicken took over two hours to defrost. We tried running it under water, letting it float around in a sink full of water (who knew chickens floated?), sticking it in the microwave, poking it with forks to break up the frozen chicken flesh that refused to die ... and nothing worked. We had to sit and look at it. Forever.

But once the chicken finally reached room temperature, we seasoned it (with butter, garlic powder, salt and pepper) and stuck it in the oven. Despite generating enough smoke to set off the fire alarm (twice), it came out pretty damn good.

The mashed potatoes posed their own challenge, in that we didn't own a potato peeler or masher at the time (we have since learned from our mistakes and aquired these two items). But, even after peeling piping hot boiled potatoes by hand (ouch) and then mashing and seasoning them with a tiny fork (this takes much more bicep strength than you would think), we ended up with a great dish.

And, despite our track record for the night, the brocolli was painless and easy. So, after four hours and two bottles of wine (perhaps that was our first mistake), we had a great dinner. Maybe next time we'll spend less time cooking and more time eating - or at least hold off on the wine until after we're done cooking.

Oriented.

Last night, I finally wrapped up a week or so of orientation activities at Pratt. While most of the meetings and workshops were pretty dull (how many times does the Nurse Practitioner from Health and Counseling need to advertise free condoms and lube?), I did get a chance to meet some pretty awesome people from a handful of different departments. And, since hanging out with said people usually involves making the trek to Pratt's Brooklyn campus, I'm learning about that neighborhood as well - which, given that all my classes are on the Manhattan campus, I didn't think I'd really get a chance to do. So, mind-numbing presentations from the Registrar's office aside, it was a pretty good week.

In terms of classes ... I've only been contacted by one professor, who told us to buy a book and read a chapter of it before we meet for the first time. Other than that, I have no idea what I'm supposed to expect. But, judging from the conversations I've had with other students, neither does anyone else. So I'm not too worried.

Next step: back-to-school shopping! The thrill of shiny new notebooks and pencils never dies.

Moving and furnishing, almost complete.

After a few solid days of unpacking and nesting, I think I'm nearing the end of the furnishing process. It took a few trips to mom and dad's house, plus many rounds of shopping and assembling, but I'm pretty close to having a complete bedroom:



Once I buy storage containers that are flat enough to fit under my bed, those boxes in the corner will be gone and I will be free from packing materials at last. In a burst of domestic energy, Sarah did an awesome job putting our kitchen together:



And lastly, we're well on our way to having the coziest living room ever:



So the apartment is starting to feel like an apartment. We've still got a bit of furnishing and decorating to do, but other than that I think we are finally settled.

Someone please tell me that I am not a pathetic loser for doing this.

Ok, I did it. I sent my resume to a temp agency. I swore that I would never get so desperate for employment that I allowed myself to become an administrative cubicle monkey ... but until this bartending job gets off the ground, I can't really think of another option. Freelancing is pretty unreliable, and once classes start I won't have a flexible enough schedule to take on a classier part-time job. So, I swallowed my pride and hit send. I have an interview on Thursday.

Given my sorrowful conviction that temping is a pitiful icon of stagnation and failed ambition, I would really appreciate it if someone out there could try to convince me that it is not, in fact, the most pathetic thing in the world. Maybe my perceptions of temp work have been skewed by pop culture - maybe it's not something to be totally ashamed of. Is there a chance that temping is not step one in the soul-sucking process of abandoning your lifelong goals, handing yourself over to The Man, and morphing into a pencil-skirt-wearing corporate drone?

Anyone?

And employment continues to dangle itself unattainably in front of my face.

I was supposed to train at the bar this weekend, so I called my boss's assistant on Friday to see what was up. She then explained, apologetically, that they were too busy opening up a new bagel store to train any new bar staff (why a chain of bars needs to open up a bagel store is still up for grabs). She said that once the bagel place was up and running (which should supposedly happen within the next month), they'd give me a call and get me started.

I'm not going to bother complaining about this, because 1) complaining doesn't fix anything, and 2) I knew full well upon registering for my bartending course that I was inserting myself into an industry unabashedly composed of sketchiness, flakiness, and employers who only communicate via text. Honestly, I'm not really surprised that this job is taking forever to get off the ground. Sure, it sucks to keep waiting - and I'd be much more relaxed if I knew a paycheck was in my near future - but I can poke around for other temporary positions and see what happens. I'd rather focus my energy on the glory of my new apartment (or the hunt for a new gig) than mope about having to wait longer for a start date at the bar.

Moving and furnishing, day 2.

Today had ups and downs. Let's start with the downs - that way I'll get it out of my system faster, and we'll also end on a positive note.

Firstly, Sleepy's completely butchered my bed delivery. Despite telling me over the phone that my bed was scheduled to come between 9am and 1pm today, the delivery was actually in their calendar for next Saturday. I realized this at 12:30 today, after calling to check the status of a delivery that turned out not to be happening. No amount of grumbling could convince the Sleepy's man to give me my bed today, so I rescheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Since Sarah is also planning on getting her bed delivered from Sleepy's tomorrow, we picked the same time slot in hopes that the two beds will arrive at the same time - but since Sleepy's has already proven itself capable of being wrong by an entire week, I probably shouldn't get my hopes up.

So that was today's major pain in the ass. Also on the list of ass pains were the two holes that Ikea failed to drill into my desk prior to packaging it, which forced me to do some funky jerry-rigging instead of following the directions correctly - but that was only a minor setback in an otherwise successful series of Ikea DIY projects.

And I think the positives outweigh the negatives. We met the building's super, who seems like a very nice and amenable guy. He's still got some work to do on our bathroom mirrors and our dishwasher, but he's planning on having everything nice and tidy by Tuesday afternoon. And he has an adorable baby girl that I like looking at.

I've also got more than half my stuff moved in, and so far things are fitting without a problem. It's even looking like my closet will be big enough for all of my clothes, which means I may not need to buy an additional chest of drawers. I've still got a few piles left in my parents' living room, but I'm pretty positive it'll all fit in the closet. Having one less piece of furniture would be a big plus.

So that's where I left off today. Now I'm headed out to East Hampton to join my family for a much-needed week of vacation. I'll have to do some hardcore decorating when I get back to Brooklyn next weekend, because right now the place is looking pretty bare:



But Sarah and I have some pretty strong nesting instincts, so I'm sure we'll have a cozy-looking home in no time. Things are pretty scattered right now - but the more we unpack, the more we are totally in love with our new place. It will still take a little while to get fully settled, but we're really excited to finally be moving in.

Moving and furnishing, day 1.

I spent today gathering everything I own and dumping it in the middle of the living room. My parents had offered to make a car trip to the new apartment after work, so my goal was to consolidate all of my belongings in one place before they got home. It was too much to fit into the car all at once, but we did manage to cram about half of my stuff in the trunk. Here's the view from the backseat:



From left to right - a bag of towels, a bag of knitting supplies, a bag of shoes, and a bag of extension cords. Somewhere underneath all that are two suitcases of clothes and all of my Ikea purchases. I guess that's what I consider to be the essentials.

The journey began with a watershed moment for the family vehicle, as my mom programmed my new address into the GPS system for the first time:



Unfortunately, the system seemed to struggle with Brooklyn geography - we ended up lost somewhere in Red Hook and had to navigate to the apartment using Mapquest directions from my mom's Blackberry. So a half hour trip became a one-hour trip, and we ended up circling the entire perimeter of the Greenwood Cemetary, but we made it to the apartment and unloaded the trunk.

My bed's getting delivered tomorrow sometime between 9am and 1pm, so I'm going to have to head back to the apartment pretty early (in the unlikely event that the delivery is actually on time). Since the rest of the family is heading out to the Hamptons around noon, my dad won't be able to drive the rest of my stuff to the apartment - but the things we brought over tonight are definitely enough to get me settled.

The checklist for tomorrow:

1) assemble bed
2) assemble desk and desk chair
3) unpack my random crap
4) meet my family in East Hampton

I think I can do that.

Signed.

And the lease is ours. As an added perk, the super already has our keys ready for us and said that we can begin moving stuff in tomorrow (instead of waiting until Saturday, which is when the lease technically starts).

For now, the next step is to get our utilities hooked up (anyone have any idea how to do that?) and look into purchasing a cable plan so that we can get the interwebs (and maybe even a few TV channels). My bed's getting delivered on Saturday morning and our living room furniture is coming on Sunday.

Apparently this is actually happening.

One final setback.

Due to some banking drama, we'll actually be signing the lease tomorrow morning. Not today. But we're still signing it. Soon.

And, done.

We can all breathe a sigh of relief. Because our application was finally approved. And we are signing the lease tomorrow at 4.

I can't think of a better way to celebrate than to go watch the season finale of NYC Prep.

Our broker said she'd by 3pm with a date for the lease signing.

Guess what hasn't happened yet.

Progress. Sort of.

Very little happened today on the job front. Even less happened on the apartment front. But some things happened:

1) I managed to tentatively schedule my bar training for sometime on Saturday.

2) Our broker let us know that the building still hasn't completed our credit check.

Not much encouragement. But I'm getting really good at waiting for things to happen.

Flarke and Snille. And a living room set.

Since our (supposed) move-in date is fast approaching, I decided to spend this past weekend doing some furnishing. First stop: Ikea Brooklyn.

I'm not going to be ashamed about the fact that I love Ikea. Because I really, really love Ikea. From a practical standpoint, it's a very affordable source of nice, simple furniture. But beyond that, it's a place where you can scoot around on a flatbed cart after snacking on Swedish meatballs. And there are funny Scandinavian words involved. If that's not thrilling, I don't know what is.

But what makes this particular Ikea especially exciting is the fact that you can get there by boat. Approaching Ikea by sea is potentially the coolest thing I've done all summer. Check it out - it's like pulling into the Ellis Island of contemporary home furnishing:



Boats are awesome. And Ikea is awesome. Going to Ikea on a boat? Completely baller.

What's also baller is the fact that I got a cute duvet cover, a full set of sheets, a computer desk, and a desk chair for around $100. The desk turned out to be too heavy to carry home - so, rather than shelling out another $100 to ship a $25 piece of furniture, I asked my dad to drive me back the next day to pick it up. But, other than that, the Ikea trip was a success.

The next stop was Jennifer Convertibles. My parents had generously offered to buy me couch as a housewarming gift (firmly reminding me that I was on my own after that), so my mom and I headed out in search of a good deal. We figured the sale items at Jennifer would be both comfy and affordable ... but we didn't realize that sometimes their clearance sofas come with a free loveseat, armchair, and ottoman. So we ended up with an entire living room set for the price of a marked-down sofa. It's unclear whether it will all fit in the apartment, but we figured we'd take it and see what happens. If things don't fit, there's always Ebay.

Why does nothing ever happen within a reasonable time frame?

I am currently waiting for two things to happen: final approval for the apartment and a start date at the bar. It's unclear why both of these things are taking so long, but I'd really like to stop waiting and start having both an apartment and a job.

Our broker claims that we'll be hearing back from the building sponsor by Monday morning, at which point we'll be able to set a date for the lease signing. So, provided that the building doesn't decide that 2 renters with 3 guarantors aren't reliable enough to be given a lease, we should be all set by tomorrow. Worst case scenario, we get rejected and all hell breaks loose for everyone and everything around me. But according to our broker (and to my desperate attempts at optimism), that won't happen.

What's more frustrating is the flakiness of my future employers, who don't seem to understand that I really, really need a job. Right now. They were supposed to train me this weekend, but couldn't fit me into the schedule - now they're planning on getting back in touch with me tomorrow about scheduling my training for this coming week. My goal was to have an income before I moved, and I'm trying to nudge the bossmen as gently as possible in order to make that happen - but I haven't yet figured out how to say I HAVE NO MONEY PLEASE GIVE ME A JOB in an eloquent, professional manner. I guess I'll see what they say tomorrow. If I can at least train before this weekend, I'll ease up on the unemployment anxiety.

What does it mean when ...

... your broker tells you that an apartment is definitely yours, you get all your paperwork in, and then your broker ceases to contact you?

Anyone?

Employment.

It finally happened - after three rejection-filled weeks of sketchy bartending interviews, one fine establishment has decided to bring me on board. They're training me next week and then starting me on some shifts. As an added bonus, they've also asked me to do some freelance graphic design work for them - so I'll be able to make some extra cash before I start at the bar.

Looks like I'll be able to pay the rent after all.

Hopefully lease application #3 will actually result in a lease.

After debating the benefits of a super-trendy hood against the perks of a pimped-out apartment, we've decided to go with the place in Prospect Park South. Firstly, I'm sure that when January rolls around, we'll appreciate having laundry in the basement, draft-free windows, and a brand new heating system. And it will be nice to eat our meals at an actual kitchen table instead of conducting all of our operations from the futon. But what really made us ditch hipsterville was the realization that, if we're actually going to be paying rent and utilities for the next year, we won't be able to chill out in trendy bars and restaurants every weekend. Living on a budget means ditching the daily iced soy chai latte, so why bother living across the street from a super-hip coffee shop? Moving to a neighborhood with more essentials than indulgences will definitely be friendlier on the wallet.

So we're applying for a lease and hoping to get that squared away pretty soon. Third time's a charm?

Dilemma.

So, we've narrowed the list down to two possible apartments. One is in Windsor Terrace and one is in Prospect Park South. I can't decide which I like better, so I'm going to sort it out by making some lists.

Windsor Terrace

Pros:
- great neighborhood (very safe and full of obnoxious hipsters just like me)
- affordable
- big bedrooms (each one has a closet and is big enough to fit a full bed)
- very clean with new kitchen appliances
- live-in super
- 4 blocks from the subway

Cons:
- on the first floor (requiring metal grates on the windows to deter rapists)
- very small living room
- kitchen does not have room for a table

Prospect Park South

Pros:
- very big bedrooms with lots of closet space and enough room for full beds
- huge living room
- big kitchen (with room for a kitchen table and chairs)
- brand new and very clean
- elevator
- laundry room in the basement (with a treadmill)
- 1 block from the subway
- 1 block from Prospect Park
- live-in super
- air conditioning already installed

Cons:
- slightly over-budget
- in a less cute neighborhood (lacks hipster flair)

I guess it comes down to badass chick pad vs. hipster central. I keep wavering between the two - but according to the above bullet-point lists, the place in Prospect Park South seems to have more pros and fewer cons. Maybe that means I should sacrifice living in the trendiest neighborhood ever in exchange for a baller apartment?

Advice is welcome.

Why didn't anyone tell me about this?

I discovered www.walkscore.com and it is amazing. It rates the "walkability" (i.e., convenience) of a neighborhood by assessing how many amenities (grocery stores, drugstores, restaurants, etc.) are within walking distance of a given address or intersection. Aside from the fact that my mom seems to be confused about its purpose and keeps calling it streetwalker.com (that would be something entirely different, though perhaps equally useful for some apartment-hunters), this site is way more informative than wandering around unknown parts of Brooklyn and hoping to find a laundromat.

Round two.

Apartment-hunting is like riding a horse: you fall off, and then you get back on.* So, Sarah and I are heading out tomorrow morning with a brand new broker and a brand new list of apartments to look at.

We will see how it goes.

*What really happens is that your amateur ass gets thrown off the horse because you don't know what you're doing, your limp body gets trampled by the razor-sharp hooves of an unyielding beast, and then you crawl, weeping and filthy, back onto the fucking animal. But let's try to be optimistic here.

I guess this would be the part where we totally start from scratch.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that moving into a building with a shitty reputation is pretty objectively stupid. I'm sure that wherever we move will have some sort of flaw that we discover after living there - but picking an apartment that you already know is potentially incredibly flawed? That just seems dumb. And it would be really sad to eventually say "I told you so" to ourselves.

So I guess it's time to scrap the apartment, scrap our broker, and start fresh. This makes me want to fucking destroy something - but I don't think there's really another option. Sure, my brain has finally reached the point at which thinking about apartment-hunting triggers an immediate psychophysical reaction that probably lies somewhere between enraged frustration and emotional meltdown. But who doesn't love a good emotional meltdown? Screw my psychological stability - bring on the real estate!

I'd feel a lot more positive about this whole thing if I thought there was any chance of getting a place by August 1st, which is the move-in date we've been planning all along. But, given that today is July 26th (and that applying for a lease has taken a freakishly long time and been a catastrophe unto itself every single time), that probably isn't going to happen.

I would also feel more positive if I had a job ... but that's a separate failure. Why did I take an unpaid summer internship? Man do I feel stupid about that.

Evidence of how broke I am.

I just saw 2 quarters on my floor and got excited.

Somone please help me figure this out.

So, the building we're supposed to move into may or may not have a bedbug problem. After conducting thorough research of the Greenpoint blogosphere and utilizing some (probably more reliable) government-backed sources of information, Sarah and I were able to conclude that a handful of apartments have reported bedbug problems in the past and that one apartment so far has reported having bedbugs in 2009.

What we haven't been able to figure out, though, is if the building is doing anything to prevent bedbugs. Given that the New York City bedbug epidemic has become urgent enough to call for the establishment of an advisory board to confront the problem, this would be a logical move on part of the management (and incredibly reassuring for those of us considering moving there).

But this epidemic is raising another question for me: if pretty much every single non-luxury building in New York City is at risk for developing some level of bedbug infestation, then is there any point looking for afforable apartments that have never been touched by the things? Given our budget and the city-wide situation, are we ever going to find a place that's genuinely immune to insects? Or is this a risk that we're going to have to be vigilant about no matter what? I know that it's possible to do the research and try to figure out whether a building is currently clean - but I'm starting to think that trying to find an inexpensive place that has never had bedbugs and is immune to ever attracting them is an impossible task. Not that I would ever move into a place that was currently infested - I'm just unsure that we could ever find someplace with a pristine record and a bedbug-proof plan for the future.

That said, I have no idea where to go from here.

Congratulations, 17-year-old brother. You cracked the case.

After GChat-complaining to my brother that I was too broke to buy coffee in the morning, he offered the following explanation for my unemployment:

me: i'm unemployed

Nicholas: well

you majored in art

at harvard

me: yeah but it was harvard

Nicholas: yeah but

yeah but

me: HARVARD

Nicholas: you could have done like

art history

or

me: i minored in art history

Nicholas: something

substantial

not just

pretty pictures

and tampons

So it really is universally understood that I am fucked.

Because signing a lease needs to become an emotional rollercoaster.

I'm going to do this as calmly as possible. That is the only antidote I can come up with to the screaming in my head.

This morning, Dawn called me and told me we got the apartment in Greenpoint. For a price that we can afford. And we can sign the lease tomorrow. Hooray, celebration, etc. Everything is great.

Then my mom Googled the building (why this had to wait until 24 hours before the lease signing is beyond me) and dug up some not-so-positive blog posts about the building. Aside from the fact that the building's superintendent appears to be a potentially pornographic photographer, a lot of tenants complained about bugs and shitty maintenance in 2007 and 2008. The fact that there haven't been any posts about this stuff recently is encouraging ... but the building's history of pornography and infestation (I'm not really sure which is more troubling) is still cause for concern.

So that sort of puts a damper on the whole we-finally-got-an-apartment-hooray situation - but at least I got about an hour of happiness in before reality came and pissed on it. Given our previous knowledge of the giant bedbug problem in New York, we were already planning on completely fumigating any place we moved into - so I guess this just makes it a much more urgent item on the to-do list. We're also going to try and get through to the building management and ask if they've done anything to change their maintanence practices in the last year, since that would be a logical explanation for the lack of recent blog posts concerning the infestation (the alternative explanation being that the residents have been defeated). In any case, it's something we need to think seriously about.

And as for the perverted super ... maybe his preference for young women will encourage him to take care of our maintenance problems in a timely fashion. See, there - I found a silver lining.

Dear job market, Please exist. Love, Sally.

I've spent the last two days at work desperately searching for jobs. Even ignoring the bitter irony of the fact that I spend eight hours a day at an unpaid internship doing nothing but apply for paying jobs, this process has been incredibly depressing.

In the past 29 hours I have applied for 32 jobs: 23 freelance design/illustration gigs, 8 bartending or hostessing positions, and 1 desperate response to a Craigslist ad seeking a series of hand-knit baby hats (this is what my last resorts are starting to look like). So far, I've received two responses - one potential yes from a guy looking for a tattoo design, and one big no from a musician seeking album art. I'm assuming the other 30 are also no's.

If I have to apply for 32 jobs just to get a few responses, how many applications am I going to have to file before I actually land something that pays me?

My mom bought me a bed.

So now I'll have someplace to sleep. In my new apartment. Which doesn't exist yet.

Apartment suspense, round 2.

So here we are again. Papers are filed and fees are paid for apartment #2. We're supposed to hear something from the landlord tomorrow, so we're keeping our fingers crossed. Any sign of progress at this point would ease the stress ... though a sign that our rent will be affordable would ease the stress a lot.

In more positive news, I now own an N64 console with 2 controllers. Now all I need to do is buy some games. I guess that'll be tomorrow's workday task.

Real estate fail.

Our first apartment-hunt, our first tragic loss. The DUMBO apartment went to another broker yesterday morning. Cue shattered hopes.

So this totally sucks - but I'm not going to ramble about how hugely it sucks. There's nothing I can do about it, and I'd ultimately rather cling to deluded optimism than wallow in sorrow. So, it sucks, but we're still looking and I'm sure we'll end up not homeless.

We did some searching yesterday, and, after being traumatized by some Bushwick apartments located on top of an auto-body shop that was guarded by a large dog, we landed on a nice 2-bedroom in Greenpoint. It had a big kitchen, a separate living room, 2 sizeable bedrooms, and lots of closet space - plus it was on a nice, tree-lined block in a cute neighborhood full of convenient shops and restaurants. And it's very close to the subway (albeit the G, but we had to settle somewhere). It was definitely a nice enough place to take our minds off the tragedy of DUMBO, so we're applying for the lease today.

The only problem is that the apartment is a bit beyond our budget. Hopefully once we apply for the lease we will have the bargaining power to lower the rent, but that's the sort of thing we'll just have to wait and see about. I hope we know soon, though - the apartment-hunting process has definitely lost its charm.

If we get screwed out of another apartment, I will raise hell.

Mario Kart win.

I am currently bidding on an N64 console, complete with one controller and a copy of Mario Kart. I am also bidding on 3 additional controllers. All this could be mine for under $20.

The future has never been brighter.

It's on.

Another broker has filed for the apartment we want. The race begins!

Essential decor.

Since the apartment-hunt began, I've been making a mental list of things I'll need to buy for the new place. Since we're inheriting a lot of furniture and miscellaneous housewares from various family members, the list is pretty short - my main priorities for now are 1) a bed to sleep in, 2) a mattress to put on said bed, and 3) sheets to put on top of that.

But after a lot of thought, I realized that I was forgetting something absolutely essential.

And that is an N64.

I understand that this whole process of moving out/getting a job/working toward an advanced degree is supposed to be part of the so-called maturity effort - but I don't think that video games are necessarily an indication of immaturity. In fact, Mario Kart contains subtleties and high-level nuances that might be lost on the ignorant gamer. Also, Mario Kart goes great with beer. And I fucking love it. And I'm going to find it somehow.

So I'll be taking the rest of this workday to peruse Craigslist and Ebay for abandoned consoles. If anyone out there is looking to rid themselves of their frat-boy shenanigans and put their N64 up for adoption ... I will gladly purchase the remains of your undergraduate glory.

Seriously, hit me up. It's been a while since my last Grand Prix and I'm pretty sure my thumbs are getting out of shape.

Moving forward.

I got a call from Dawn yesterday, finally giving us the go-ahead on the DUMBO apartment. She heard back from the landlord and managed to talk our monthly rent way down - so now this place is actually within our budget. Is Dawn a savior and magician? Yes, and yes.

Today we have to drop off our fees for the credit check, and then the powers that be will take it from there. We're still going to look at some back-up places tomorrow, in case something goes wrong and we don't end up with the apartment ... but mostly it'll be an effort to placate my parents, who will forever believe that our neighborhood of choice is a ghetto (despite city-wide statistics indicating a higher rate of violent crime on the UES than in DUMBO).

So things are looking good. We still have no furniture and no jobs ... but we may have an apartment.

Potentially the sketchiest career path ever.

Yesterday I finally started interviewing for bartending jobs. I knew that the bartending industry would be shady, but I guess I didn't realize how completely random and bizarre the job search would be.

I started at a hipster dance club on the Lower East Side. I had been told to show up anytime after 7, so I wandered in at about 10 after. The old man behind the bar cracked open a beer and told me that the owner was out that night because he had broken his wrist. He then explained that the owner wasn't even the one responsible for interviewing applicants - that would be someone else (whose name I have forgotten), who didn't get in until after 9:00. The scary old man added that he wasn't aware that they were hiring, but mentioned something about only seeking barmaids. So I thanked him and got back on the train.

The next stop was a manly-man pub near Port Authority. This place, despite being a dive bar covered in peanut shells, actually seemed more legit than the last one - as in, there was a manager in an office behind a desk rather than a drunk old man rambling about barmaids. I filled out an application and talked to the manager for a while, and he said he'd give me a call.

Then I went home to continue the no-Mom-and-Dad-all-bars-are-not-like-Coyote-Ugly-and-I-am-not-becoming-a-prostitute conversation. I'll head back to the first place tonight and see if anything more productive comes of it.

I'll also be calling the employment agency for a few additional leads. Based on last night's adventures, I think some more options would be swell.

I would love to be employed soon.

Reasons that grad school will be amazing.

1. Classes meet once a week
So what if they're also a brain-melting 3 hours long? I'm only going to have one class on Mondays, two on Tuesdays, and one on Wednesdays. Followed by a four-day weekend. Hell yes.

2. Winter break is a month long
Suck it, Harvard intersession of my undergraduate past.

I know these things because I got excited about course registration and put my Fall semester course schedule, as well as the entire 2009-2010 academic calendar, into my GCal. You can take the girl out of the Ivy League ...

I guess this grad school thing is really happening.

Online registration takes place this week, which means I will actually be going to school and taking classes in the very near future. Here's the lineup for this coming semester:

Typography I
An "introduction to the concrete and conceptual aspects of typography" and an exploration of the "historical and current forms of alphabetic communications." Let the geekery begin.

Visual Communications I
This course will teach me a "disciplined, systematic approach to concept development" and help me master the "problem-solving process applied to graphic design." Sounds legit.

Visual Perception
This is a survey of the "physiological and historical perspectives of visual perception." It's unclear what that actually means, but I'm getting a big red flag from the fact that the course description mentions "readings, presentations, discussions, papers and visiting lecturers." That sounds a bit too academic for me.

Digital Design
Here's something I know nothing about: "the core ideas and technologies surrounding image-making, sound and time-dependent media." At least I can rest assured that "the primary focus in this class is on the learning process, which puts more emphasis on the conceptual thinking behind each assignment than on the finished products" - so I don't actually have to do anything well as long as I learn how one would hypothetically do something well.

And that's my course load. It was pretty easy to figure out, because the Assistant Chair of the GradComD Department told me exactly what to take (I love having no agency). She also told me that my prerequisites were waived (I'm apparently qualified to go to this school?), so I'll actually be able to fulfill all my requirements in two years. I guess I'm really getting a degree.

I can't take the suspense.

Just tell me whether this apartment is mine. Please.

The apartment hunt, day 4: great success.

Today was grueling. But we may have found the best apartment ever.

I don't want to jinx anything, since we're still sorting out the paperwork and there's a chance someone else could jump in and get their application approved before we do (thereby dashing our dreams and probably earning themselves the worst karma in the world, not to mention a death wish from yours truly). But if everything goes smoothly, there's a good chance we'll end up with the best apartment ever.

But let's take a step back. Here's how the day went.

We started with Sal (formerly known as Craigslist Lady), who showed us two pretty nice places in East Williamsburg (whether East Williamsburg is just a euphemism for Bushwick or in fact a unique neighborhood that lies between Williamsburg and Bushwick is still up for grabs). They were both definite possibilities, but we wanted to keep looking.

Our next stop was also in East Williamsburg, and it was another I'm-not-going-to-be-there-but-the-super-can-give-you-the-keys sort of visit. We didn't realize that the super was going to drop the keys out her window to us, though, and I can't decide whether this was endearing or weird. In any case, the apartment was a walk-through. So we left.

Then we met a real estate broker in Clinton Hill. We were pretty excited to check out the neighborhood, since we weren't too familiar with it and it seemed to be the most affordable area on our list. However, things are usually affordable because they suck. I don't know why this didn't occur to us earlier - but if Clinton Hill is the cleaned-up version of Bed-Stuy, I don't want to know what Bed-Stuy looks like (especially not after dark). I'm pretty sure at one point a piece of glass fell from the sky.

Needless to say, we were a pretty fatigued by the time we met up with Dawn - and I had some serious doubts about her claim to an affordable place in DUMBO (a neighborhood so trendy we hadn't even considered it an affordable possibility). Still, she seemed so friendly (and had such cute shoes) that I couldn't help but trust her - so we hopped in her car and let her do her thing.

When we got to the apartment, I'm pretty sure we almost peed ourselves. This place was amazing. Not only was it on the second floor of a nice, new building with a functioning intercom system on a beautiful block in DUMBO - but it was so big that Sarah and I got confused and started asking where the doors went (Dawn actually had to explain to us that they led to more rooms). The apartment had a beautiful new kitchen, a nice bathroom, two big bedrooms, a living room, and even a separate dining room. So many rooms. More rooms than we would know what to do with. It was huge, it was in DUMBO, and by some miracle it was affordable. It was the best apartment in the world. I wanted to give Dawn a hug.

Having made up our minds that Dawn was magic, we let her drive us to an apartment in Park Slope. We were a little skeptical about what an affortable place in Park Slope would look like after last night's disaster apartment, but we were too enamored with Dawn to protest. And the place was great - new kitchen, big bedrooms, bright living room, and even an outdoor area through the back door of the building. It was definitely nice and still within our price range, but we were too in love with the apartment in DUMBO. So Dawn shelled out the paperwork and gave us all the details about applying for the lease.

Sarah and I headed home, exhausted but victorious. We're in the middle of getting all of our forms filled out and faxed in, and Dawn is going to start talking to the landlord tomorrow. This weekend will be pretty crazy, since I'm headed up to Cambridge for some college nostalgia and Sarah's got a pretty important audition - but we'll be in touch with each other and with Dawn and we will keep our fingers crossed that this place works out. If it does, it will be completely above and beyond anything we ever thought we could get. If it doesn't, though, we're sure Dawn could find us another place. We're too in love with her to ever leave her side.

The apartment hunt, day 4.

Today is the big push. We're meeting Sal in Williamsburg at 10:30, Joey in Clinton Hill at 11:00, Mark in East Williamsburg at noon, Dawn (we found her!) in Williamsburg at 12:30, Omar in Clinton Hill at 1:00, Jeffrey in Clinton Hill at 1:15, Django (he wins for best name) in Williamsburg at 3:30, and Joseph in Clinton Hill at 4:30.

God help us if we don't find a place by the end of the day.

The apartment hunt, day 3: conclusions.

Last night was far too time-consuming and exhausting for the minimal number of apartments that we ended up seeing. Somehow three apartments took us close to three hours and completely wore us out. We need to work on our endurance if we're going to get through the 10+ places on our schedule for today.

So here's how it went:

1) Williamsburg

I take back what I said about being murdered by Craigslist Lady. First of all, Craigslist Lady was a man. Secondly, (s)he was very nice. So I feel bad for thinking that he was planning on scamming and/or knifing us (and also for thinking that he was a woman).

He showed us two places in Williamsburg, about a 5-minute walk from the L at Bedford Avenue. The first one was nice and the second one sucked. But we're meeting him again today to look at more places.

2) Park Slope

Holy hell. Not only did this landlord have no intention of meeting us at the apartment, instructing us instead to call the super and ask her to let us in, but he also gave us the wrong address (how is that possible?) and sent us wandering around Park Slope for half an hour (we had to stop two guys on the sidewalk and ask them to look up maps on their iPhones). When we finally found the place, it turned out to be a shotgun apartment rather than a railroad apartment (these terms really should not be used interchangeably) and only had one closet. In the entire apartment.

My favorite aspect of the apartment, however, was the fact that the bathroom was too small to accommodate a sink, mirror, and towel rack - so they were outside the bathroom. In the kitchen. See below for reference:



That's almost too funny to be sad.

The apartment hunt, day 3.

After blitz-calling a million realtors and Craigslist randos last night (and continuing to chase down the difficult ones all afternoon), Sarah and I have got a pretty solid schedule down for our 24-hour apartment-hunting extravaganza.* Tonight we're checking out a few places in Williamsburg with a potentially crazy Craigslist lady whose name I have forgotten and who insisted upon meeting us at the intersection of South 3rd and Roebling rather than inside an actual building. I'm not quite sure where she's taking us, but I hope that she is not a sociopath.

After perhaps getting slain underneath the BQE by Craiglist Lady, we're going to look at a place in Park Slope. We were hoping to see two other Park Slope apartments tonight - but one of them is being rented by huge flake named Dawn and the other was listed by a skeevy realtor who refuses to show apartments to anyone uwilling to sign a lease immediately (does that not make any sense to anyone else?). So we're down to one place in Park Slope - potentially two if we ever find Dawn again.

This would be a lot easier if the real estate world was not run by crazies.

*I might have created and shared a Google calendar outlining all of our visits, complete with each realtor's contact information, the price and location of each apartment, and which (if any) utilities are included in the monthly rent. I wonder if there are any padded cells for rent on Bedford Avenue.

It would be better for everyone if I was never employed.

It is 4:25 pm. I got to work at 10 am. I just started doing work.

The hitlist.

Last night, I compiled all of the real estate links that Sarah and I had emailed to each other over the course of the past week into a massive Googledoc. In a drowsy 2 am phone conversation (Sarah had a rough time driving back to Chappaqua after the Mets game), we pored over the list and narrowed it from 45 apartments to 28. The goal was to cut it in half - but we got pretty close. And we were sleepy.

Because I am so good at doing anything but my actual job while I am at work, I spent all morning putting these 28 listings into a Google spreadsheet. This anal-retentive gem of a spreadsheet is not only broken into four columns (location, price, contact information, and interwebz link), it is also color-coded by neighborhood - green for Clinton Hill, grey for Williamsburg, yellow for Greenpoint, orange for Park Slope, and blue for Manhattan.*

So tonight we're meeting up for dinner at an internet cafe near Union Square (apparently those still exist in New York) to go down the hitlist, make phone calls, and schedule appointments. Hopefully we can schedule the bulk of our visits for this Friday and get most of our hardcore hunting done in one death-defying day of pain - because how cool would it be if we found a place this weekend? Maybe I'm being optimistic ... but if we totally destroy our bodies in one eight-hour apartment-hunting marathon, it could happen.

*My initial goal of color-coding the spreadsheet in a way that corresponded with the colors of the subway lines that ran through each respective neighborhood had to be partially compromised when I realized that the G runs through both Clinton Hill and Greenpoint (this added to the conflict I was already having about whether to ditch the MTA-inspired color scheme and make Greenpoint green because it has green in the name). The fact that there are a million subway lines that hit Park Slope (not to mention the fact that the two places we're looking in Manhattan are on completely different lines) added to the difficulty of this task. But, being the expert problem-solver that I am, I think I pulled it out in the end. And I think my spreadsheet is awesome.

The Village Voice: more or less sketchy than Craigslist?

While I've been pretty devoted to Craigslist as the internet mothership of apartment-hunting, Sarah may have found a potentially less-sketchy source of apartment listings in the Village Voice. Since the Voice's online classifieds page is formatted exactly like Craigslist (and since it's the Voice), there's a fair chance that these listings will turn out to be just as (if not more) sketchy than the Craigslist posts we've been surfing. Still, something about the fact that they're loosely tied to a legitimate publication makes us feel a little bit better. So we're giving it a shot.

Relatedly - these next two weeks are going to be our hardcore apartment-hunting weeks (since moving to a new place on August 1st requires having found a place to move before August 1st). No more of this meandering around Williamsburg and stopping for cocktails every 6 blocks in the interest of "exploring the neighborhood." We're placing phonecalls, making checklists and Google spreadsheets, and hitting the pavement hard until we find the perfect chick pad. Only once we've signed a one-year lease on our dream home will we resume getting tanked in hipster bars every single time we see each other.

Evidence that I will not be forced to live on ramen noodles and microwave popcorn for the next two years.

Yeah, that's food. In a pan. I put it there. And it turned out edible.

There was only a little smoke.

It's official.

And I've got this fancy-looking certificate to prove it:

The apartment hunt, day 2: conclusions.

Here are the results of today's apartment-hunting:

1) Grand Avenue apartment

Sarah and I were total strangers to the neighborhood, since it's a bit farther east than the scenester-central hub of Williamsburg that we're used to (ie, the stretch of North 6th Street between Driggs Avenue and those god-awful condos). But we're really glad that we got a chance to check it out - because it was awesome. Half of the places we saw were typical, family-oriented neighborhood shops (dollar stores, grocery stores, laundromats, and so on) and the other half were total hipster joints (cute tapas restaurants, trendy bars, and organic coffeeshops). It was definitely a blend of two very different communities, but it worked in a funny sort of way. In any case, it seemed like a fun and eclectic place to live.

The apartment itself was good, but not great. The building seemed nice (we appreciated the functioning intercom system and noted its potential function as a deterent for murderers), and the girls who live there now said that the management was really accomodating and nice. Still, the apartment was pretty cramped and severely lacking in windows (I think we saw maybe one? Two?). So that's a big maybe, but not off the list for good. And the trip was totally worthwhile for the sake of checking out the neighborhood and realizing how much it kicks ass.

2) Bedford apartment

We knew this place had to be cheap for a reason - either it was a scam, or it was hideous enough to completely nullify its ideal location.

Turns out it was the latter.

This apartment made absolutely no sense. The bathroom was the size of a postage stamp and shared a wall with the kitchen, which actually only had one wall (it pretty much just sat on the end of up a miniscule hallway, which led to the first bedroom). Then there was a winding staircase that headed downstairs (it was a "duplex"). The basement contained a strange room that might have been intended as a living room and a bedroom that could not have fit a bed because it was under the staircase and therefore shaped like a pyramid. This, plus the fact that the guy renting it out wasn't even there (I called him to see if he was in the area and to ask whether he wanted to meet in person - he said no) pretty much convinced us that this was the sketchiest apartment in the world.

So our tally for the day was one maybe and one big no. But it was still a worthwhile day of neighborhood exploration (and it concluded with some yummy Thai food), so I'm counting it as a success.

Another small victory.

This weekend, my dad thought the toaster broke. So we went out and bought a new toaster. When we got back home, the toaster was working again. Guess who has a new toaster for her apartment.

Thanks mom and dad.

Great things from Julie and Ben.

My cousin Julie and her fiance Ben are made of magic. Reasons are as follows:

1) They are having a stoop sale this weekend and giving me dibs. Therefore, I will not have the least furnished apartment in the world come August 1.

2) Ben is a networking machine and is finding me some legit freelance jobs. This is way better than surfing Craigslist for creative gigs.

Apartment furnishings and employment. Two great things.

The apartment hunt, day 2

Today is an exciting day. It is day two of the apartment hunt. And this time, Sarah and I are actually going to look at apartments.

We've got two stops in Williamsburg - one place by the Grand Street L train stop and another near the Bedford stop. The first apartment seems pretty legit - we talked to the current residents on the phone, and they seem like real people (as opposed to Craigslist con artists). The rent is definitely at the very top of our price range, but the location is perfect (right on the L, so I can get directly to Pratt's Chelsea campus without having to transfer). So, we're excited to check it out.

The second apartment might be a hoax. As in, it's way too perfect to cost as little as it costs. The location is nothing short of ideal - right in the middle of the best part of Williamsburg, and pretty much on top of the L train. That, plus the fact that the Craigslist post was written in garbled semi-English with lots of capital letters and asterixes, makes me think that it's probably a total scam. But, there's no harm in checking it out. So I guess we will.

Results to follow after our Williamsburg adventure. Stay tuned.

Thanks, Pratt.

This morning, I received an email from the Pratt GradComD Office. It read:

Dear Incoming Student,

For those of you who will be moving to NYC to attend the Graduate Communications Design program in Fall 2009, we thought this article might be helpful as you navigate the rental market looking for a place to live. Please be aware of scams, especially on Craig's List.

Then it linked to that same article from last week's New York Times real estate section.

Wow. Thanks a lot, Pratt. Thanks for the heads-up. Thanks for rejecting my first application for housing, telling me not to worry because you could totally find additional housing in a different dorm, and then saying "oh nevermind" and rejecting my application for housing again. Thanks for having absolutely zero resources for those of us who weren't given graduate housing - no helpful information about the neighborhood, no message boards or ways of communicating with other students, nothing whatsoever about off-campus housing on your super over-designed and therefore un-navigable university website. Just an email warning us that there are scammers out there looking to fuck with broke-ass grad students who were just dropped on their faces by the Office of Residential Life and Housing.

Thanks.

At least my parents have my back.

I woke up today to find that my parents had left me an article on the dining room table (next to a post-it note reminding me to call Dr. Goldberg about my wisdom teeth). The article, from this week's real estate section, tells the tales of novice apartment-hunters who get totally screwed by real estate douchebags looking to make some cash off stupid people. Apparently, bogus application fees are big in the world of real estate fraud:

“Sometimes,” said Mr. Malin of Citi Habitats, “you meet someone at a building and they say they’re having trouble getting into the apartment that was in the listing, so they show you something else in the building and they get you all excited about the one you can’t get into, and ask you for cash on the spot without even a credit check or application.”

One of the most widespread and frequently undetected hustles involves collecting nonrefundable application fees from prospective renters.

The grifters “have the keys to a vacant apartment and hold an open house there, not intending to rent to anyone,” said Bob Brooks, an agent at Century 21 NY Metro. “It’s usually a crazy deal, like a one-bedroom on Greenwich Street for $1,750 that should really be $3,100. So they get a hundred application fees because everyone who sees it, wants it. Application fees could be $50 to $250, but I’ve definitely heard of clients giving $500, or $1,000 or even a month’s rent in cash.”

Sketchy keys-for-cash schemes are popular on Craigslist:

Carried out online where almost all rental transactions begin these days, this ploy separates would-be renters from their money before they so much as set foot inside a dwelling. In this scheme, information and pictures from legitimate rental or sales listings are lifted from other sites and reposted under another name at an eye-poppingly low rent.

“It’s bad enough when another real estate agent takes one of my exclusives and uses the pictures to suck in clients,” said Sabrina Seidner, a vice president at Nest Seekers International whose listing of her own co-op apartment in Inwood was purloined last month. “But when they use it to hurt people and prey on their need for a hot deal, it gives you a bad feeling.”

In her case, someone claiming to have relocated to London advertised Ms. Seidner’s one-bedroom apartment on Craigslist. At least one prospective renter was induced to fill out an application and send personal information before becoming suspicious of a request for a $200 deposit to borrow the keys.

“Two people who contacted me about it had Googled the address of my apartment and found it listed for sale,” Ms. Seidner said.

And then there are people who just totally suck and take your money:

Another young subtenant, Autumn Marie Griffin, 26, discovered she was being scammed only after she had been renting an apartment in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, for two years. Although she had felt initial misgivings about the man and woman she sublet from, she shook them off. Her wake-up call was an eviction notice.

“Basically, the man my roommate and I had been subletting from had been pocketing the rent for almost the whole time,” said Ms. Griffin, a publicist. Their landlord, whose rent was actually a quarter of the $1,150 he was charging them, had forged the building manager’s signature on the sublease the women had signed.

Lesson learned - it's a cruel world out there. But part of me doesn't pity these victims as much as I think I'm supposed to. Sure, I bet there people out there getting screwed in ways that no one could have predicted - and I feel for them. But a lot of the people in this article really had it coming. I mean, Park Avenue apartments for $1,300 a month? Putting down money on an apartment you haven't even seen? Meeting someone at 2 in the morning so they can sweatily explain to you that you can't move in yet and then ask you for more cash? Am I a total asshole to think that these people got ripped off because they were idiots? I completely understand that I know next to nothing about real estate, but what was lacking here was just common sense.

Anyway, I don't think the moral of the story is that Craigslist is evil - it's that Craigslist is evil if you are stupid and not evil if you are smart. Apparently my parents think I am likely to do something completely idiodic, like put down a deposit on an apartment I've never seen before or go meet with fake landlords in the middle of the night.

It's good to know they trust me.

A note on my future roommate.

Sarah and I met at sleepaway camp 10 years ago. We were 12 years old and looked like this (check out Sarah's braces and my exposed training bra):



Sometimes we did really dorky camp things, and then we looked like this:





We've survived canoe mishaps and camping disasters and lived together in cabins in the middle of Maine. Keeping it together in Brooklyn will be a piece of cake.

The apartment hunt, day 1.

I'm going to go ahead and mark yesterday as day one of the apartment hunt. This is very significant (that's why it's in big bold letters).

My roommate-to-be Sarah and I have been browsing Craigslist for a week or so already, but yesterday was the first day we actually left our homes in the search for housing options. Since our actual goal for the day was to explore neighborhoods in order to get a sense of where to eventually go apartment-hunting, I guess we didn't really go apartment-hunting per se. Maybe it was more like neighborhood-hunting than apartment-hunting. But, since we were still hunting for something, I'm still calling it day one of the apartment hunt.

We began our journey in Williamsburg - a place that we both love, probably because we're a pair of overbearingly obnoxious hipsters just like all the other artsy-fartsy college grads looking to solidify their counter-culture lifestyles by relocating to a gentrified Brooklyn neighborhood. Getting out of the L train at Bedford Avenue, we took a walk down North 6th Street and came across a small real estate office advertising some affordable places in the area. Assuming that no harm could come from stopping in, we decided to see what they had on the market.

Wrong.

As it turns out, real estate agents are psychotic and believe that everyone in the world is stupid. This is why, after explaining that we were interested in finding a 2-bedroom apartment for less than $1600 a month where both dogs and cats are allowed, some crazy real estate lady drove us to a 1-bedroom in Greenpoint going for $1650 with a strict no-pet policy. She claimed that the walk-in closet could be used as a second bedroom. When Sarah gently reminded her that this particular apartment actually fit zero of the criteria we had previously mentioned, she drove us back to the office, gave us her card, and said she'd call if anything came up.

Taking matters into our own hands, Sarah and I decided it was time for happy hour. At the bar, we made a three-part list of future apartment furnishings: 1) things I can jack from my family, 2) things she can jack from her family, and 3) things we'll need to buy. At the moment, the most useful things I can provide are a Bruce Springsteen poster, a collapsible chair, and an espresso machine. Maybe some forks. But Sarah has a martini shaker and a cast-iron skillet, so I think we're off to a good start.

Once we finished our discounted drinks, we decided to scope out Clinton Hill. It was pouring rain when we got out of the G train at Clinton and Washington, which really didn't work with our super-cute summer outfits - so we walked a few blocks to the Classon Avenue stop, decided that Clinton Hill was cool, and went home. My parents made us dinner and then we went down to Alphabet City and got shitfaced.

I'm sure we'll have a place in no time.

Someday, I will have an income.

Shopping for shoes while at my internship the other day made me realize that spending money while you are not simultaneously earning money leaves you with progressively less money. If you do this long enough, you end up with zero money. And then you are screwed.

Luckily, though, I have two sources of income in addition to this (hopefully) resume-enhancing internship. Well, one source. And that one's only a hypothetical future source. But hear me out.

1) Pratt gave me a scholarship. This means that I will start my graduate career with a few thousand dollars of pocket money to pay for things like rent and food. However, the thing about scholarships (the thing that makes them not like jobs and therefore not real sources of income) is that they run out. Which brings me to ...

2) I took a bartending course, and am now a Certified Bartender with Alcohol Awareness. Being a certified bartender isn't technically a source of income, but it is a hypothetical future source of income. So, provided that I can get a bartending gig before my scholarship money runs out, I should be all set.

And there you have it - a foolproof financial plan. Add some lucrative freelance positions, and I'll be making bank in no time.

It begins.

Hello world! Welcome to my blog. If you're reading this, you're either 1) genuinely interested in the banalities of my life, 2) bored to tears and desperate for some words on a page, or 3) an extremely loyal friend who is about to get major brownie points for taking the time out of your life to sift through my ramblings. Whichever one it is ... thanks for stopping by.

I decided to start this blog because some friends of mine (who shall remain nameless, mostly because I've forgotten which ones they are) suggested that I document my attempts to become a grown-up after graduating from college. I think they meant to imply that I would struggle in the transition from scattered undergrad to self-sufficient adult, and that my sheltered upbringing and general lack of any notion of reality would preclude the development of even the vaguest sense of maturity.

With this, I will have to respectfully disagree. Clearly a recent graduate with a very practical degree, big plans to earn yet another practical degree, many quality housing options, and a host of employment opportunities on the horizon is perfectly capable of initiating a self-sufficient, mature lifestyle.

If you disregard the fact that I currently live with my parents and spend most weekdays at an unpaid internship during which I mostly eat bagels and sign up for Blogger, I think things are looking pretty good. Also disregard the fact that I can't do math and that sometimes I get lost in my own neighborhood because I'm wearing noise-cancelling headphones that prevent me from paying attention to anything other than my awesome jams. Ignoring those details, however ... I think I'm good to go.