Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Le Hunt De Denver

I’m on a plane to Denver on a kamikaze mission to find a place to live. Failure is not an option…I will win at this shitty little game. I’m so annoying while apartment hunting that I even annoy myself. There were many tears shed the last time I did this and perhaps one psychotic episode, which involved me throwing myself on the ground and kicking and screaming like a toddler. If you don't believe me, just check out my archives from spring 2008. I can’t say that something similar won’t happen this time, but maybe I’m a little more prepared with my daily maps and schedules.

I’ve talked to more strangers than I would have ever cared to through craigslist including one dude named Chuck, who answered the phone after several rings with garbled, strained and slightly pissy speech:

“Can I help you?”

I could tell Chuck was probably an enormous fat man with eight chins that I had interrupted while he was in the middle of devouring a pastrami sandwich.

“Is this Chuck?” I asked timidly.

*Garble BAH! Garble Garble* The phone cuts out, then nothing.

I didn’t call back.

The apartment of my dreams might have gotten away from me with that phone call, but probably not if Chuck’s in charge.

By the way, the flight attendant looks like Pricilla Presley.

Also, the dude that checks your ID and boarding pass before you go through security looked like fat LL Cool J and he verbally molested me under his breath. He was all, “(quiet mutter) look at you and your sexy ass self.” Wha?

Then, security shut down and we had to stand around for all eternity, which prompted some creepy asswipe to ask me if he could cut in front of me in the security line because he “had been standing there for 20 minutes and was going to miss it if he didn’t.” As if I hadn’t been standing there just as long and as if they would just let planes take off when most of the passengers were stuck in stand still security. Dumbshit. I told him to fuck off ask one of the security people about his little problem, not me. Why is it that people magically transform into retards as soon as they set foot in an airport?

I’m thinking about purchasing a taser when I get there just in case I have to go buck wild crazy ninja on someone’s scary craigslist rapist ass. I’m also not afraid to punch a leasing consultant in the mouth if they try to get all pushy. Other than that I’m cool, calm and collected…or the exact opposite of that.


OK, day one is done. No punching or tasering necessary. I did find a place I liked, a little further east of the city than I would have like, but nice and put down a small, refundable deposit to hold it until I look at the rest of these joints. One lady didn’t show up to the appointment, but the apartment was like a jankety ass prison from the outside and it made me all shivery just looking at it’s nastiness, so perhaps it’s good she was a flaky biotch. Then, one of the other places that I was pretty excited about called and said they rented all of their apartments….god dammit!

Eh, take the good with the bad. I have four, possibly five to look at tomorrow, then it’s time to sign my life away…and accept the fact that I will be utilizing public transportation…a LOT.

Now, I’m off to dinner with friends….while my Mom stays in the hotel room swilling vodka that she asked my friend Whitney to pick up for her on her way to pick me up from the hotel. I think I might have stressed her out a little today…


kate said...

We had a theory when I worked for Delta that the second that people walked through the front door of the airport their brains were magically sucked out of their heads. Attorneys, brilliant business people, rocket scientists - all reduced to quivering, barely functional gobs who could barely tell me their name without sobbing.

I'm glad that you found a good one yesterday - keep clear of any prison-esque buildings :) Take lots of picture when you find the one!

Megs said...

I have noticed that behavior that would be totally shunned elsewhere seems to be completely acceptable in the airport.

Like those people who let their children run around shrieking like little banshee-howler monkey cross breeds, or that chick who just shoves people out of her way instead of saying excuse me, or the rampant cursing and weeping.

Good luck with the apartment hunt. I put that on my list right next to "buying a car" or "looking for a house" on list of things I never ever ever want to ever have to do again because someone won't come out of that situation alive.

Dingo said...

Apartment hunting sucks. Vodka is good. Mix a little with a Big Gulp and see if things improve.

Elly Lou said...

I just had a full body cavity search trying to get out of Atlanta. Jokes on them though. You haven't seen a sweaty ass until you've seen mine post a day in Atlanta.

Don't forget to check the water pressure...

Luna said...

good luck apartment hunting. it can be a pain in the ass but keep looking. you'll find something you like. i wish i was apartment hunting now. i hate living with other people.


View my page on Twenty Something Bloggers