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March 20, 2000
Looking for an apartment is no fun at all.
So the apartment search hell begins... we spent yesterday poring over the Sunday Globe, circling ads. Well, I circled, and Barry called. He's good at charming people, plus he's got that lovely British accent. We left a bunch of messages, made one appointment to go look at some places with a rental agent, and heard a lot of "Sorry, the apartment's been rented." We got one callback from a woman who seemed entirely too desperate to unload a small place in Cambridge. We got a wee bit nervous when she desribed the apartment as "pretty run-down inside." Yikes. No, thanks.
I'm trying not to worry -- we have six weeks, after all. I'm sure we'll find something. I have a potential home lined up for my cat, in case we can't find a place that will take her (although the few people we actually talked to all said that cats weren't a problem -- that's moderately encouraging.) I have a possible buyer for my treadmill -- I hate to part with it, but it's heavy, and I haven't paid for it yet. It's one expense I can live without.
I saw our scumbag... excuse me, landlord this morning, and he gave me a long story about why he didn't tell us he wanted to take our apartment sooner. He said he didn't know he was going to have to move -- hard to swallow since he owns his own house. I had to catch a bus, and I just didn't have the energy to argue, so I just left it alone.
Posted by Mary Ellen at March 20, 2000 11:56 AM