La dee dee, la dee dah

If you’re not humming the Crystal Waters song in the title, you’re lucky. I, on the other hand, am thisclose to not having a roof over my head when I depart D.C. for good.


I’ve been working with a wonderful realtor today, who took me all over creation to look at condos and other assorted rental units. At one place, we decided to just see if I could get approved.

I couldn’t.

It kills me that they can see what I make — and my offer letter with what I will be making — and see that I can afford any of these units just fine. I’m not aiming too high, believe me. Goldilocks went “just right” on all of these units. And yet, even though I’ve never missed a rent, utility or student loan payment, those credit-card charge-offs will getcha every time.

When I was in credit-card hell a few years back, I had called the companies and said I would love to make some arrangements. They said nope, we can’t make arrangements till you start missing payments. Which, heh, I sure did. To the point that I never got back on track. That Capital One and Citibank are in the toilet today? It’s all my fault. 😉 Waah.

Anyway, four years later, and heh, joke’s on me. I can’t get anyone to rent me a place to save my little life.

I had a humiliating moment at another place today. Well, less a moment than an hour. They asked for a check for the security deposit. Then they wouldn’t run my credit application until they saw pay stubs. I said I had my offer letter from the new job, so I forwarded them the e-mail. First they couldn’t open the document. Then they made me print it out. Then they said it wasn’t acceptable because it wasn’t on letterhead. Then they text-messaged their boss to ask if we could use it until I can get a “real” letter on Monday. Then they said they wouldn’t take my check and I had to run out to Publix to get a money order.

And on and on and on and ON. OMG, if I weren’t desperate, I wouldn’t have done any of it. But I needed just one yes — otherwise, I’d be starting my new job and having NOWHERE TO LIVE.

Humiliating. Absolutely humiliating.

I was accepted on conditions — one, the waved security deposit fee that they were offering is no longer waived. Plus, add a half-month’s rent on top of that. Basically, don’t show up without more than $2,500 or else you don’t get to move in.

And I didn’t even LIKE the place all that much. All that fucking tap-dancing for a unit I didn’t care much for? Please. I hate feeling like a second-class citizen when I work hard and earn my keep.

There’s another place in the offing, but it’s a long shot. I saw a condo on the water. I mean, on the friggin’ water. Fourth floor. There was a tiny elevator and I doubt most of my furniture will make it (beloved entertainment center, we’ll probably part ways. Sigh). But oh, the view. *swoon*

My realtor is managing the property. The mortgage costs $3,500 a month. The owner is asking a third of that. The whole back wall of the living area is mirrored — you can see the water from any angle. It’s freaking ugly on the outside but breathtaking on the inside. Plus, the kitchen is brand-new, never-used. I mean, PERFECT.

The bad news is that he wants $4,000 in deposits. And doesn’t take pets. And I have to bring the shit machines on paws. ARGH.

My realtor is calling him (in Argentina!) to ask whether we can spread that $4K over three months. Basically I’d be paying double rent for the next fiscal quarter. Sigh. And, oh yeah, OUCH.

I’m trying not to worry. I mean. of course I’m worried. I haven’t had two consecutive hours of sleep since I decided to interview for this new job. But Jesus, getting the job is supposed to be the hard part, not securing shelter in a housing market that’s in the toilet!

Speaking of “in the toilet,” there’s a nice segway into my social life. In other words, with Mom asking me to help HER find a place to live, I made her a deal. I said she could come with me. (Gah.) But she needs to have a job within four weeks and, if she isn’t paying me rent by my birthday in May, there’s a one-way ticket back home for her. I’m sick of this shit not being on my terms. I wouldn’t need a big place like the ones I’m trying to qualify for, if I didn’t have to drag a roomie with me. Maybe I would have caught up on my bills if I didn’t have to MOVE the second I got my promotion so I could accommodate her.

If there is any good that came out of today, it was that my beloved realtor is going through a divorce. And she said her credit is shot, too. And she had just assumed she could go to any random apartment complex and get a unit if things got too bad. (She and her husband are living together during the divorce. Times are tough.) She had no idea the hoops someone has to jump through, to get a crappy apartment on the edge of town. She said she couldn’t figure out why our paths crossed, but that there was probably a reason for it. I guess this was the reason — to show her that it ain’t easy out there.

She said not to worry, because all I need to do is get my ass down here and get settled. We’ll figure out the credit thing together. She’s in the business of getting people into their dream homes, and you don’t let credit hold you back when it can be fixed.

So, it was a stressful day for both of us. But again, I do have a place that’s eight minutes from my new job, and I may have the second option by Monday. It’s a longer drive and it’s about four towns away, but when I get my camera hooked up, I’ll post some photos and you’ll see why I’m just in love with the view. Shit, I can buy new furniture once I pay off all the damn first month, last month, damage, pet and other security deposits. All I need is my bed. And once I get Mommy moved out, I can finally have someone IN my bed and, God willing, I’ll have a reason to be up all night other than with worry!

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