It's where the signs are

I've mentioned previously that I tend to err a little on the superstitious side when it comes to "signs".

After the first apartment hunt fiasco and subsequent whining blog post, I dove back into obsessively searching online listings from the comfort of my parents' place while poor Sparta continued to work and couch surf in the city.

After sending him umpteen links to listings and persuading him to go take a look at any he could get to on his own with less than thrilling results, I came across a listing I could not believe.

It was a cozy little one bedroom on the top floor of a big, beautiful old house in a fabulous neighbourhood around the corner from several of my best friends. And somehow, it was in our price range.

I told Sparta about it immediately and insisted that he give the landlord a call as soon as possible while I tried not to get my hopes up two and a half hours away. When he called back, it was with bad news. The landlord, Grace, was showing the apartment that night, but he had to work. She had agreed to call him on Sunday if she hadn't given it to anyone yet but he said she didn't sound too enthusiastic about that.

I tried not to feel too dejected as I got off the phone with him and stood there staring at the scrap of paper where I'd scribbled Grace's phone number. As the numbers floated into focus, I realized they looked very familiar.

I bounded up the stairs to grab my address book, and sure enough, the last four digits of Grace's phone number were the same as the last four digits of my last landlord's phone number.

It was enough to make me pick up the phone and call her myself on the off chance she might respond better to me. While she basically told me the same thing she had Sparta, she actually asked that I give her a shout Saturday evening rather than waiting for one from her Sunday morning, which I thought might be a bit more promising.

The next day as I anxiously whiled away the hours until I could call, my mom got a facebook message from a woman she had been friends with while working in Germany but hadn't been in touch with for over 25 years. Her name? Grace.

Sure enough that night, just after I had given up hope that she would answer, Grace phoned me to say that if I could get to the city on Sunday I could come by and see the apartment.

I hastily arranged to stay with one of my friends in the area. When I called her to ask where to hop off the streetcar, her answer? Grace Street.

My hope took another dive when we arrived to find several other upstanding looking potential tenants touring the place. Still, I clung tight to my signs and my instincts and made sure we were the last to leave so we would have a chance to chat with Grace alone and so that she might remember us.

I was secretly hoping I might be able to just cram a cheque into her hands then and there, the place felt so right to me, but no such luck.

And then I was sure I had ruined our chances completely by not adequately explaining my current unemployment situation. I can hardly remember what I said I was that nervous, but Sparta had to acknowledge that he had noticed how I stumbled through that, so I knew it was bad.

But.

Sure enough, those signs were pointing to something, because later that night, Grace called and offered to rent us the apartment.

So. As of April 16th, I will once again be a city girl.

This time, with a very cute apartment.

Home is where the rats aren't

Despite no luck to date in the job department, earlier this week I trundled off to the city to join Sparta in undertaking round one of The great apartment hunt of 2010.

On the train ride up I read Cormac Mcarthy's heartbreaking, soul-sucking, post-apocalyptic downer, The Road.

The apartments we spent Tuesday visiting? More depressing.

For example, for $1000 a month we learned we could live in a tiny ramshackle bachelor walk-up.

The place was insulated with a healthy coating of grime and the previous tenants were clearly hippie/Christmas elf hybrids who loved red and green so much they even took the trouble of painting the 300 year old fridge to match the walls.

And a friendly, jauntily behatted cockroach carried my bag up the stairs for me...Actually, that sounds kind of cute. It probably would have been one for the pluses column at that point.

To be fair, it did have a pretty nice balcony...with an excellent view of the parking lot of an establishment Featuring "NUDE! INTERACTIVE! DANCING!"

It didn't get much better from there.

Next trip up I'm leaving McArthy at home and reading something about a sumptuously furnished Parisian flat. Any recommendations?

Purgatory

All right, perhaps that's a little dramatic as far as titles go, but there is most certainly a sense of floating around untethered and uncertain of my direction these days.

Not to mention trying to keep a handle on the days themselves. I've been without employment for all of one week, and already the lack of deadlines has left me unsure if it's Wednesday or Thursday. (Don't worry though, I hear there are these devices called "calendars" that can really help with this kind of thing, so I should be all right).

Really though, there's not a lot to complain about. I mean, I spent the most active hours of my day wandering around the river in the sunshine and making delicious cous cous salad for my folks while watching Modern Family.

The problem is, the last time I moved all my things home and took my parents up on their very generous offer to let me stay with them while I sorted out jobs etc. I didn't leave for a year and a half. Granted, my situation now is vastly different, but I'm still wary of all this insidious comfort and relaxation attempting to seduce me.

To that end, Sparta has gone on ahead to the city to couch surf with friends and take on some shifts at a restaurant he used to work at and I plan to join him soon to at least get started at viewing apartments, if not for my own job interviews.

I feel like having that one thing to anchor me will work wonders at dissipating that little frowny-faced cartoon storm cloud that's been following me around like a helium balloon on a string.