In other news: I finally found the perfect apartment on Capitol Hill. (My grand plan is to move into the city, and rent out my condo in Bethesda). I've been looking pretty much every Sunday afternoon.
So I finally found the perfect place: a gorgeous one-bedroom basement apartment with a fireplace (working!) and loads of light, on a much sought-after block.
See? Who would ever guess this is the basement??!
Silly me, I figured that owning my own place and working at the same company for 12 years would make me a shoo-in for any apartment I wanted. The world was my oyster! (Within a certain price range.)
Not so much.
I got turned down.
It's not enough to get rejections from match.com, now I'm not good enough to RENT TO?
I don't think the owners even checked my credit, because they said they'd charge $35 to do so, and I never heard from them.
I'm so naive.
Apparently, they just did not like me. (I know, it boggles the mind.)
Some days I wander around thinking that I'm the only one who doesn't know what the answer is.
I wish someone would spill the beans.
Feel free to leave it in the comments.
We used to have to get up at six in the morning, clean the paper bag, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down t' mill, fourteen hours a day, week-in week-out, for sixpence a week, and when we got home our Dad would thrash us to sleep wi' his belt.