Emailing back and forth initially to get the very most basic info from her was like pulling teeth! She replied to my ad initially,
“My name is [her first name]. How soon are you looking to move? I have a free room. I stay in Richmond.”
“Hi there! I don’t have an exact time frame, but I wouldn’t mind moving soon. Can you tell me more about the location (cross streets or address, etc) and perhaps we can arrange a time to meet, so I can take a look at the place?
My name is [my first name], by the way. Hope to hear back from you soon!”
She responded by telling me her name… again… and then giving me the street address. It took another email from me asking… again… about setting up a time for me to come by and meet her, to look at the place. It was already after 7pm at this point, and she offers “Tomorrow morning?”
The craigslist ad she responded to specifically mentions that I’m a night-owl, which I pointed out when replying and asked if evening night work for her instead. At some point I wrote and posted my previous entry here, and then at 6pm The Rabbit and I pulled up to the address she’d given to find…
…that it was a huge apartment complex, which she hadn’t bothered to mention. She also hadn’t said anything about where we would actually connect. Emailed her again asking where to meet, she says “at my house. are you outside?” Communication — at least in written form — is clearly not one of her strengths. In the time The Rabbit and I were sitting there in the car while I exchanged messages with this woman, at least half a dozen cars with windows down and “I’m compensating for my tiny dick with this super big stereo” bass blasting managed to drive through that intersection.
She finally shows up at the keypad-locked outside door of the apartments, carrying a toddler in one arm, who she tried to convince to say hello to me — she’s very clearly a “good with kids” person. Said she was watching him for a friend at the moment. In the walk to the elevator, we went through a big, grassy courtyard where there were more than a dozen kids of all ages playing, making noise, and then we went up to the top floor of the 3 levels. Into the apartment we went, and she apologized for the smell of the food she’d just been cooking (which seemed rather odd, honestly, and it smelled incredible, made me remember just how hungry I was!) Showed me the living room and kitchen, which were all part of the same room, then down the hall to the bathroom where, as she put it, you “do your unmentionables.” Across the hall was “the room,” which was decorated for kids — that little snowman from Frozen was plastered up as decals on one wall, the two twin beds were made with some other pop-culture kids bedding, I didn’t pay too much attention at that point, because I was confused about there being two beds. “I… hadn’t realized it was a shared room,” I said. She reassures me that it’s just that there happen to be two beds, it’s not a shared room! She tries to make a joke about the absurdity of it being a shared room, “I mean, no, totally, this is your bed here, and there’s some random guy sleeping in the other one! Nah, I wouldn’t do that.”
The apartment itself wasn’t…. tiny, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t a “stretch out with room” size, either, and the room she was offering was barely larger than the cramped room I’m currently staying in. Oh, and the window was street-facing, so all of the foot traffic and the car stereos booming would have been right there to deal with. I had to bite my tongue when she commented on how it would be “really quiet,” and even more so when she said that there’s a 6 and a 9 year old, “but they aren’t there in the evenings on weekdays, or on the weekends.”
I asked her about the price, which she hadn’t said anything about specifically, but since she answered an ad that says “$700 is my maximum, including utilities” I figured it was that much or less. She surprised me when she said “Well, the room is $750… but… I really need to get someone in here right away so… I’m willing to work with you.” Ick… Bad sign. If she’s that desperate, I have to wonder what the situation was that led to needing an immediate roommate. I mention I’m not great with kids, since she brought up that there would be at least two of them around most of the time, and she says (incredulously) “Well, you don’t have to be ‘good with kids’ just to have a room here!”
I asked if I could get back to her within the next day or two with an answer, and I could see how much she hesitated, how long she drew out the initial consonant of her “….yes” followed by a small sigh. I shouldn’t have, but I launched into a long justification to her of why I shouldn’t make an immediate decision, how I needed a place to stay for a few years, blah blah blah. (I sent her an email wishing her luck and saying essentially “thanks, but no” about 3:45am.) Anyway, She directed me back to the exit, and I went to get some food (hadn’t realized just exactly how starving I was, even with the reminder from the fresh-cooked food smell.) Needed some comfort food, so I went to the Indonesian place I love. Pigged out and got some extra to take with me. Headed to the bar afterwards, had a drink and then headed back here — I had just barely called The Rabbit for a ride, since I’m stuck with this stupid curfew, when a super hot lady came walking over to say hello, asked if I was by myself, waiting for someone, etc. and was going to invite me to join her group of friends. She stayed and chatted for a few minutes anyway, even though I told her that I was already about to leave. And this, folks, is a big part of why I never get laid. Because by the time that there’s any chance of someone who might be interested, I’m on the road towards, or all the way back into, my own bed all by myself.
No home, no sex, my other needs all generally going unmet or under-met. It’s hell.