Oh, my God. You have got to be kidding! How is it that it is so difficult to actually find livable space in Charlottesville?! This is the first strike against my new home - the fact that, though I will be leaving in FIVE WEEKS, I do not yet actually have a home.
Wait, you ask. What about that place you scored when you were visiting in April?
Excellent question, I answer. Let me explain.
When I went out in April and scored my little apartment with its postage-stamp kitchen, I fully intended to live there, at the very least for a year. It wasn't paradise, no, but it seemed like it would be fine. Of course, since I knew nothing about the area, I was taking it all on faith, and I have since discovered that faith can really screw you over if you trust everything to it (pay attention, radical Muslims). While I'm there I'm in such a frantic panic that I secure the place without thinking, terribly afraid that someone else will get it if I dither. Once I get home, my brain switches on, and I think, hey! You know what? I bet there are probably reviews on the interweb about what it's like to live there.
There were. They were terrifying. Thank you, www.apartmentratings.com, for keeping me from being potentially murdered in my bed.
So, this apartment complex had marketed itself as a graduate-student-friendly housing solution to noisy party-hungry undergrads, which are what usually infest campus, or near-campus, housing. This marketing plan even included strict Nazi-like warnings about sound, such as, anything louder than 55 db (which is pretty freakin' quiet, let me tell you), will be punished by firing squad, and any "gatherings" larger than 5 people will be punished by lampshade-making. I thought, hey, all well and good, I'm in this place to study and learn and be a successful grad student, not party. I won't be in any danger of lampshades!
Well, they did a great job marketing, but apparently fell through on the follow-through. Reading through the reviews quickly assured me that if I did live there, I would fall prey to fallout from neighboring domestic fracas, drug deals, and the always-delightful case of mistaken-hooker-identity. Comments like "scary, gross . . . worst year ever", "dirty, noisy, and over-priced", or my favorite "run, run, run", were just a prelude to statements about how, well, dirty, noisy, scary, and gross it was, and how I should run, run, run away. So it seemed like the most prudent thing to do, despite the fact that I had signed a lease and given them a $450 security deposit, was to pay attention to the 15 (of 16) negative reviews, and run the hell away.
So I did.
In the process of relinquishing that lease, I found a charming post on my new English grad student listserv. Boasting a darling 1-bedroom apartment in a "geographic hot spot" (still not sure what the hell that means, actually), I started to talking to a fellow incoming English grad student who was full of promises and excitement, and thought, "Hey, this sounds like a good idea." So began two months of broken promises, confusion, and downright irritation and legal-inducing action. I will not bore you with the details, since they're not really that interesting; suffice it to say that apartment #2 is now no longer a home-sweet-home, and I am looking for apartment #3. (I will tell you, though, that the landlord wanted the rent 10 days before the first of the month. Yes. I'm serious.)
Third time's the charm, right? I certainly freakin' hope so!
So I've spent the morning desperately searching Charlottesville's few housing websites to find somewhere to live. It's a small town - 40,000 people, swelling to 60,000 when school's in - so there aren't a whole lotta options. So far I've found 4 potential places (all significantly more than I expected to spend ($150 more a month is significant when your estimated income is about $1,400/month)), none of which are really ideal. One of them requires an hour bus ride to get to school (no car, remember?), one is definitely closer, but isn't on the bus line, which means I'd be walking in the winter, and one of them is just tiny (400 square feet). The best - and closest - place is cute, reasonably affordable, and available now. So I've submitted my application, and it's all just a matter of waiting to see if they'll approve it, and then start that whole lease-signing-security-deposit thing again.
Call this a learning experience. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to have learned, but I'm sure I'll take something from it, if only an appreciation for how truly lyrical some people can be when describing housing horrors. If you're interested in some fun reading, here are the reviews for apartment #1.
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