Finding a bed-bug-free place to live has been even more of a nightmare than last time. Obviously, as you have deduced from my previous post, people think they can charge out the wazoo for places without kitchens, with rat holes or without any real space.
I’ll preface this by saying I’ve met a couple darling landlords, but if my roommate options keep falling through, I can’t commit to a two-bedroom and I’m always a little concerned about a lack of fenced yard.
The place I saw last night was cute, well-appointed and in a nice area, but didn’t have any natural light. Before that, there was a place that echoed like a cathedral. And, worse–much, much worse–the landlord stood me up, directly preceded by a potential roommate standing me up.
WHAT THE HELL PEOPLE.
You all have telephones. This is not a hard thing: being polite.
To be fair, the roomie said she texted me. But I called her twice and frantically and she apparently did not think that was an indicator that I didn’t get or don’t have text. I’d like to live with someone who has a brain, please. And a heart.
I think I may have to resort to living alone again. Darn it all.
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