It's Coming With Me When I Go

So because of poor foresight and even poorer planning, I have to get out of my apartment by the end of the month. My apartment has been rented to a girl who came to look at the place about a week ago. A few other people had been by before, and they had been underwhelmed. But this girl was seriously enthusiastic. "This is what I"m talking bout!" she said when she came throught the door. I had 3 weeks of laundry jammed in a corner, and the tub and toilet had these weird pink stains they get when I don't clean them frequently, but she didn't seem to mind. (BTW, I looked it up and the pink residue is caused by airborne bacteria that thrives in moist environments. Yum.) "This kitchen is way better!" She'd already been to the vacant apartment next door, which except for the paint job, is identical to mine. I can only assume she liked my crusty cutting board and dusty dishes in the drying rack. Her reaction to the bathroom: "You use Kiehl's!? Me, too!"

I had this exchange with someone else who came to look:
"Is this your air-conditioner?"
"Yeah, it's mine."
"Does it work? Does it keep it cool?"
"Yeah, it does a good job."

Why do you care? I'm taking it with me when I go! I remember being dragged to see what felt like hundreds of houses with my parents in second grade. Upon getting in the car again, I would make comments like "I didn't like their couch" or "They had pretty curtains in the kitchen." And my parents had to explain to me that their stuff was leaving with them, and I had to imagine how our stuff would look in the house. Apparently the people who came to see my apartment didn't get the same pearls of wisdom from their parents. I know that my stuff looks cute with the inexplicable orange paint job, but I'm taking it with me when I go! The pink bacteria is all yours, though.

In return I've been looking for apartments in Clinton Hill, which is near where I'll be working. Seeing as how I have to be at work at seven, I figure I should be close by. I had looked at a couple of lofts in the area, but moving from a loft in a sketchy neighborhood to a loft in a semi-sketchy neighborhood at a 50% mark-up seemed like a bad idea. Today I went to look at a studio in a brownstone on Clinton Ave. Clinton Avenue really must be one of the most beautiful streets in New York. 19th Century limestone mansions and brownstones hide behind lush leafy trees. I had Essex Green on my iPod and the people I passed nodded and smiled at me. "I must live here," I thought. I got to the buidling, which echoed the gabled townhouses of Amsterdam. "I want it!" I thought. I was asked to come back in twenty minutes. When I got back I was greeted by the super who spoke only semi-comprehensible English. I was able to make out that it was the basement apartment, and that the current tenant had changed the locks and we had no way of getting in. I peered down the dank stairs to the darkened front door. "Come back later." Maybe not.

When I got back home, I began looking at listings online and called about another apartment in a brownstone nearby. The landlord sounded sleazy.
"What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a school registrar."
"Oh so you teach."
"Well, no I work in the office. I do the admin stuff."
"I'm partial to school teachers."

Yeesh. I'm supposed to look at it tomorrow, but I'm not sure if I really want to. Will my desperation to stay housed win out over my reluctance to not fall into the clutches of a dirty old man?