For Rent: A Craigslist Photo Ode of Confusion.

I've been new in town for a full two months now. I took a very strange and giant trust fall into this city and so far it has graciously supported me. Catch is a little too strong of a word, but it's rather floating me down quite slowly and generously and hopefully, eventually, solidly on my feet. I'm in my second sublet, which is actually back to the first house I was crashing in (remember Murphy?) and it's wonderful. My roommates are absolutely delightful. They cook delicious meals, I bake cookies, we drink wine, we quietly watch mindless TV, I disappear into my room.

THIS guy. Don't let his distinguished brow fool you. He's young and full of trouble.

I've been hunting for a place to call ours since I arrived (as there's a mere NINE DAYS until my fierce, wild, crazy, farmland dwelling, partner in crime arrives to the big city for some epic culture shock, true adventure and reuniting). Four people is a lot to have in a two bedroom and those of you who know me know I love to socialize almost as much as I love disappearing without a trace. Which is leading me here:

My life has been an endless barrage of "For Rent" signs and un-returned phone calls.

Apartment hunting in a new place comes with it's own set of challenges. Not knowing specific neighborhoods, judging which places are okay to go and view by yourself (if you're wondering: None of them. None of them are okay to look at by yourself. Just take someone with you. Don't be an idiot.), figuring out what utilities cost, and really, just finding what's available. I've of course turned to our lady patron saint of finding weird shit: Craigslist.

May she smile upon your search.

There's another site called PadMapper that was recommended to me upon moving here. In all honesty, I've had less luck with returned phone calls and e-mails on PadMapper than through Craigslist, and that's saying something. Over the last two months I have marveled over pictures of apartments on Criagslist that are posted, I thought, to entice me to want to live somewhere. I'm beginning to think they're posted as part of a new drinking game that I was unaware of (much like I've just recently found out what "Netflix and Chill" is thanks to one of my younger MFA cohort. I just can't keep up). In any case, I thought I'd share some of my favorite Craigslist and PadMapper apartment photos, or at least their "types".

The ol' Same shot, slight change:

See, such a bright home!

Oh! But also on "tree-lined" street!

Nothing says, "You'll love this place." More than, "I took extra time to tweak the lighting settings on my iPhone editor when I posted this.

This is either, "I do not understand how to internet" or, "I iz Robot Spamming. Money transfer direct to this account."

ALSO ALL CAPITOL LETTERS MEANS TRUTH IS HAPPENING HERE BUY THE THING WITH THE STUFF AND RENTING FOR LOW MONEY LARGE SPACE GREAT LOCATION LOCATION LOCATION!!!!!

 #NoFilter. Perfect Setting for #ManicPixieGirl. If you didn't #WakeUpLikeThis don't apply.

Perfect new home for your mug of perfectly steeped tea, Anthropolgie dishes, and sheer, over-sized white button down.

The blatant fish eye lens photos. One of my favorites.

This place is so tiny, you wouldn't believe it. Seriously. You couldn't believe it. Come and see it so we can prove how tiny this place is. Also: bring pepper spray and don't expect closets.

The tiniest blurriest of photos, helping no one figure out if this is the right apartment for them.

Sigh. This is just... but... never mind. Fuck you man.

Bro, the landlord doesn't even care what you do here! We didn't even have to clean when he took photos for the Craigslist ad! They'll let ANYONE live here! Beers and college and bros and weird things growing everywhere!

Making the least amount of sense:

It's really difficult to take pictures and transfer them to the internet, but we took the time to make a rudimentary emoji so you know we're as disappointed as you are. lolz. call 4 deets.

When this is the only photo:

WHAT ELSE COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT?!?! YOU CAN EVEN SLEEP IN THIS ROOM! YOU JUST HAVE TO WANT IT BAD ENOUGH! DO YOU WANT IT?!?! DO YOU!? WASH AND DRY!

So while I continue to call and leave messages that go unreturned, while I see the same place I called about advertised and re-advertised it's hard for me to think that a small part of the property managers in this city aren't playing a bit of a trick on the new girl. There are things called brokers here, which I wouldn't have to pay, but I can't seem to get them to call me back either (I can only assume this is because I'm not willing to pay over four digits for a place to live. In my defense, I'm absolutely willing to live in a place that's falling apart).

I'll keep you updated. Adventure continues.

Me Without You

I spent the majority of my fifteen years in back home carving a place out for myself. Creating context for me. Who I was in relation to this person, or in relation to such a company, or in relation to "X" institution. I feel like I then spent my last two years in there unwittingly ripping that context apart while figuring out which parts of my hometown relied on the context as much as I had and which ones actually just wanted me around. It was a messy and in all honesty, probably a very unfair way to go about things, but effective.

That does not exist here. If it does, it's in the very early stages and no one cares. It's strange being pulled out of context. I reach back often, sending messages to loved ones back home, reminding myself that I have a name and am a human that means something to people somewhere. It's strange in a professional sense, which I expected. I have worked for many years to establish my reputation as a hard working artist in a specific community, that no one knows or cares about here. It's flat out scary in a personal context. If I had a heart attack in the middle of this train, who would care? Would anyone call 911? Who would come to visit me in the hospital? Who would drive me home?

A door I walked by every day on my way to class until I moved to another sublet. I do, thank you door, I don't need your die coaching.

It's healthy in an annoying way. Like when I tried to actually eat five servings of vegetables a day for a month (very VERY unsuccessfully, in case you're interested). My cohort is wonderful, but no matter how many hours a day you spend with someone, it's no replacement for years of working side by side. Or hours spent discussing future projects. Or being able to communicate an idea with someone with three words and four sounds because you know each other that well.

It's also no replacement for being nervous to turn a corner and see someone you don't want to talk to. Or to wonder if you said or did something to make a whole company ostracize you because they never call you for work anymore. 

Blank Slate.

I still specialize in feeling lonely in a room full of people. I'm working on branching out a little faster. I'm working on not holing up in my room and actually carrying on conversations with people around me, awkward as I can be. I'm working on relinquishing a bit of control here and there. I'm working on taking ownership of space and time. I'm working on a little more exposure of my soft bits and a little more understanding of my more sharper ones.

I've been told the goal of our degree is to make us experts at space and rhythm. We spent a day at the beach studying both. It was pretty alright.

Six weeks has flown by. There's only ten left in my first semester. I'm devouring each second.