Three's Company...21st Century Style

So, if you're anything like any of my friends, you're asking yourself, "what would a 20-something female moving to Boston who knows no one, do about housing?" And that, my dear readers, is a fantastic question indeed. Much like the decision to move to Boston, the process of finding housing kept with true "me" fashion. I immediately started scouring craigslist for apartments, only to find out very quickly, that I could not afford anything in the city. Seriously. I remember the moment I began panicking. I was in the car (as a passenger - the driver will remain nameless, faceless, and useless...hehe) and it just hit me like a ton of bricks. For a moment, albeit a brief one, I thought I was going to be the poorest, lowest paid person in Boston. I mean, how in the world could anyone afford anything if they made anywhere close to what I make. It's impossible. I tried so hard to stop them, but the tears just began streaming down my face. Friends suggested a suburb with a 40-minute commute time. Now, that's just stupid. Why the hell would I get so excited about moving to Boston only to live in a lame suburb that's closer to Providence than Boston!?! I wouldn't.

No sooner had the tears cleared up from that episode did they start falling again. Apparently, or so it seemed, no one in New England allows dogs in apartments. It's like everyone in America has a dog - except for the people living in New England. Quite frankly (and, since I don't really know a ton of people in this region, I'm going to go out on a limb here), I don't believe that for a second. Actually, as I'm typing this now, I have an image of a snooty New England dog, sporting an L.L. Bean raincoat. There must be dog lovers here. I refuse to leave my poor dog (who has already had to suffer through a friendly, yet nonetheless traumatic custody battle and a year with my parents and their crazy dog) for another one of my escapades. I was determined to find a dog-friendly, affordable place to live.

Fast forward to the Saturday before I move. NE boy calls at 8:30 am and wakes me from a desperately needed slumber. "It's been a long time. Glad to hear you're doing well. Oh, you're moving to Boston. Congratulations, that's great." With what I'm sure was a sheer look of sadness, terror, anger, and confusion, I hung up the phone. I turned over in bed, and went on to my trusty friend, craigslist. I find a posting for a room to sublet in the city. Gay friendly. SIGN ME UP! Anyone who knows me knows about my absolute acceptance - and celebration - of this lifestyle. I make the call. It's all set. I am going to be the "Jack Tripper," 21st century style.

I meet my first roomie, who we'll call "John." He is awesome. He's got an amazing spirit, is working hard towards becoming a designer, and thinks I have a good fashion sense. I don't think you have to know me to know that immediately won my heart! My other roomie, "Andrew", is super quiet and keeps to himself most of the time. I was here for at least 2 days before I even met him. We had an informal meeting in the kitchen last week, and they told me how much better it is now with the other roomie and his stinky cat gone. So, it seems like we're just one big, happy JP family.

Now if only we could do something about that lingering cat urine smell...