Anna Goes Apartment Hunting

Someone told me apartment hunting is like dating: you go in with a checklist, but ultimately you know it when you see it, and the checklist doesn’t really matter when you find it. But my checklist was super short: 1. I wanted an in-unit washer/dryer, because for the love of God, I am nearly 30 years old, and I am tired of scrounging for quarters like an undergrad. 2. Patio. Because of course, I need my outdoor space. A taste of sweet fresh air - or gas and sewage, depending on the city. There were some other nice-to-haves: gas stove, hardwood floors, wooded bath tub, private wine cellar, but the first two were non-negotiables. Also, I wasn’t going to live in that one place. It seemed a bit stale, and I, friends, am not stale.

And so, my apartment search began Monday after returning from Australia – which I only mention because it meant I was waking up at 3 in the morning, then staying up because the sun rises quite early in the Seattle summer. A perk for my pre-work workouts I plan to have, though foreboding for the winter months.

Numero uno. A gas stove! But ahh, if you accidentally don't light it immediately, you could die of suffocation because the space is so small. Open 1 bedroom, eh? You mean, you’re too cheap to finish the 10 inches of wall separating the bedroom and living room. Also, there’s no door to this “open bedroom”, which means I have to make my bed every day, lest be judged by guests. And if that one neighborhood is stale, then this feels unleavened.

Numero dos. There’s a loft that’s too small for a bed, and even if it were an adequate size, I would fall descending the ladder when I have to pee every night at 2 am because apparently, that is the cost of being hydrated - or drinking wine before I go to sleep. It is just the right size for my own private yoga studio, though. And it has twenty-foot walls to house the extensive art collection I don’t plan on collecting.

Numero tres. Nice enough. Clean. New countertops. Love new countertops. But the bathroom is through my bedroom, again, indicating I should make my bed every day. I don't like societal norms of orderliness imposed upon me.

Numero cuatro. You know what would be cool? Instead of offering me water, you offer me wine. I bet your conversion rate improves if there were a bar crawl/apartment hunt? I see it gaining some traction, especially among real estate companies who have multiple buildings. Patrons tour with a group of people, have some drinks, get friendly with them, hope they're your next door neighbors. This could backfire if the whole process is awkward, but at least the guests would leave a rave review of the process.

Day one ended. I returned to home base. I gave up on the gas stove.

Day two.

Apartment uno. Funky neighborhood, great bars, great food. Maybe it’s because a twenty-year-old is walking around the apartment with me, but I feel juvenile. Also, I know myself, and if I’m that close to bars, I’m going to go to bars. I’m getting old. Not that old, but old enough. I don’t need to go to bars as often.

Apartment dos. Yea… no. Although it does have gas stoves, it is not at all what I want. Why are all the apartments with gas stoves no bueno? I could be buying a house in Cleveland for these prices.

Apartment tres. I happened upon this one. A bit pricier than I wanted, but still within the range, and the person giving me a tour looked like he had hit puberty. The apartment was great. Huge windows. Great light. However, it was directly over the patio of a bar, and I couldn’t help but think, will this impede on my ability to walk from the bathroom to my bedroom post shower in whatever state I prefer?

Apartment Cuatro. Skip. I need to eat, and I need a mental break. Are you tired? I'm tired. Advantage of living alone: I get full autonomy. I can choose whatever I want. Drawback of living alone: I have no one to help me decide what I want.

Apartment Cinco. I was so excited about this one because it has the largest patio, but if the patio is overlooking a Motel-8 style parking lot, is it really worth it? No. No it’s not.

Apartment seis. O! This guy has a Michigan doormat in front of his door. Maybe that’s a sign? This is also definitely more than I want to spend. But, according to Google, it is wise to spend less than 25% of your gross income, and this is definitely less than that. No, Anna, you gave yourself a budget. Stick to it. Where’s my transportable voice of reason. Could I make an app to accompany people apartment hunting alone? At least I’m not buying a house. How am I ever going to buy a house?? Jetlag brain is kicking in, and I don’t know why I decided to walk this whole day in cheap ballet flats.

This place is also further from work. Maybe I’ll bike to work, like the cute guy on Suits. Great. I’ll buy myself a bike.

Day two ends. I buy a bike. I go home and drink wine while watching the Bachelor, during which I contemplate applying for the Bachelor, because frankly, I’d be way more entertaining than this broad.

Day three. I wake up and really don’t want to move but give myself a pep talk to get it together.

Apartment uno. Oh my goodness, no. I mean, I’m not trying to rent a mansion, but I also am not trying to live in Hobbitown with crappier flooring. I need to regroup.

I go to a café. I order a massive omelette, a mimosa, and coffee. I schedule a visit with the apartment I ditched yesterday, as well as a couple more.

Apartment dos. Oooo this has no patio, but it has an amazing view. And it has no washer/dryer, but it has more storage space - more space altogether. While the neighborhood may not be full of character, the building’s quaint, and the apartment has French doors. I can have a Renaissance dining room. And space! It has space for me to dance or twirl or have two people in a room without being on top of one another.

Apartment tres. Air conditioning. And 1000 square feet. So many square feet! It also looks directly into Amazon’s offices, and I think I just started crying. There is no way I'm walking from the bathroom to my bedroom in a towel here. Also, the 1000 square feet is carpeted. And I don’t know if I know what to do with 1000 square feet.

Apartment cuatro. A rock climbing wall! Rock climbing wall wasn’t even on my list, but maybe I want it. Maybe it’s essential to my daily life. Maybe, I can’t see my life without it. And a communal gas stove! Anna, you’re experiencing consumer fatigue. You need a beverage.

Apartment cinco. No, no, no, and no. Although, apparently, I don’t have to leave my apartment to watch the Solstice Parade which is exciting and would definitely be a huge draw for my father to come visit.

I bike to meet friends. I quickly realize there is no way I’m biking to work. In addition, there’s no way cute guy from Suits did not get excruciatingly sweaty biking to work in the NYC heat in his suit. So unrealistic. My faith in cable television is shaken.

I ponder my options. I’ve seen enough, and it’s time to make a self-imposed decision. I think I need to preemptively reward myself, though, so first, I will book myself a getaway in the Cascades. After all, it’s been a while since I’ve taken a vacation.

One bike, one trip to the Cascades later, I decided on day two apartment cuatro/day three, numero dos. The apartment with no patio, no in-unit washer/dryer, and in the neighborhood I didn’t think I’d like.

If apartment hunting is anything like dating, I will soon meet the unathletic, vegan atheist with no sense of humor of my dreams. Stay tuned… For now, I’m sitting in a cozy cabin in the middle of the mountains, drinking coffee, pondering my next big decision – what kind of dining table do I want?

My Thoughts on New Zealand

Spoiler: I don't have many. Except that this time, customs let me walk through without scanning my bags, which would have been great the first time I came with what would be a $400 banana.

First, let me say that I find the necessity to remove your hat when passing through immigration unnecessary. I understand why it should come off during security, but has anyone ever been caught impersonating someone else because after they removed their hat, the officer realized it was an imposter? I find it equally fascinating they don't ask me to remove my glasses if they insist on monitoring my head garb. Has Superman taught us nothing? Glasses conceal identities.

I am on the final leg of my journey, and I'm sure you are wondering what I did with ten days in a country with one of the most renowned natural landscapes in the world. I sat on a couch and successfully binge-watched two seasons of Riverdale, an intriguing tale of high school heroes, who are much more developed than the fifteen year old kids they are playing, combatting small town villains who have big city wiles. I have no regrets.

To be fair, our options were limited since the purpose of my trip was to meet Eloise, the latest addition to the Navatsyk/Meerman crew. Sixteen-week-olds are not extremely mobile, though they are extremely adorable. I found it surprisingly easy to adapt to the new mother routine. It probably helps that I'm not actually a new mother. Although, in solidarity with my sister who rotated breast feeding shirts, I wore the same outfit the entire week, rotating between frontwards and backwards elastic-waisted pants. It is very difficult to figure out the correct way to wear them because the tag is so tiny, and I'm so sleepy at 7 am. The grad school schedule has really spoiled me.

Despite not being the mother, I'm surprised I didn't spontaneously lactate. Between the baby staring expectantly at my boobs, willing them to produce milk and occasionally lunging to see if they did, and breathing in the essential oil to increase flow, it seemed a strong possibility. Essential oils, you really do have a solution for everything.

It wasn't all couch time and cuddles, though. New Zealand has yet to discover central heating, and we had a fire to tend. This required extreme vigilance, and I feel pretty qualified to build a fire in the forest, provided I have kindling cut for me and a fire already started. They call me Laura Ingalls Wilder.

I was also able to get back in the swing of cooking. It seems every time I travel to New Zealand, I discover another vegetable that is easier to cook than I think. Last time, it was broccoli - all you need to do is boil water and submerge the broccoli for four minutes. This time, it was bok choy. All you need to do is submerge the bok choy for a minute! I also concluded that while online recipes are convenient, cook books are much better. There's something cathartic about following a recipe in a book rather than switching between tabs to access the recipe on a cluttered computer browser. While in the kitchen, I also discovered many gadgets I need to acquire. A soda machine, a water boiler. Any gadget that alters water to an exciting, imbibable form that will allow me to ween myself off of the grad school beer-every-day-of-the-week lifestyle. I will be adding these, as well as other things, to a proactive registry.

What is a proactive registry, you ask? Good question. A proactive registry is yet another million dollar idea. It comes in lieu of a wedding registry, for those of us who need new things but aren't hearing the sound of wedding bells in the near future. You buy me a gift, and barring any unforeseen atrocity committed in our relationship by you, you are invited to the wedding, at which point, you do not need to buy my a gift. If the gift is $1,000+, you, my friend, have a fighting chance of joining the wedding party. There's some kinks to work through, but I like it.

It really was a special time. Soon enough, I will be back on the grind, with ten vacation days - yikes bikes I looked at my vacation allowance for the first year. Not abundant. As I sit there, taking over the world, one e-commerce transaction at a time, I will look back on trips like this. Trips in which I had the flexibility and the means to be with the people I love most, to see past brokenness being restored - though never completely - and to celebrate a sweet little life with loads of laughter. And, of course, to binge watch Netflix. And I will be so grateful.

Strolling the liquor store in my mother uniform. Liquor store sounds much more juicy than wine store, which is what we purchased.

Who you?

Just the happiest little nugget.