I think if I were to add up the number of miles I've walked between yesterday and today, it would be at least 10. At least. Maybe a little less. Maybe like 7 miles. AT LEAST FIVE MILES. The sausages attached to my hips are under serious distress.
The apartment search is not going as well as I'd...no, it's basically going exactly the way I expected it to go. Who am I kidding? We've seen at least 10 apartments in the last couple of days and the findings have been nothing short of disastrous. Either the place is a) complete and utter shit for a price we'd like to pay, or b) amazing, for a price we'd never pay (and that was only one place). I suppose that's the way life works though, no?
Worst place so far: This one place. This. One. Place. It was horrendous. I'd met the girl while I was looking at ads on Via Zamboni, the University street littered with apartment ads and dog crap. She seemed nice, kind of hippie-like, but she told me I should come take a look at her place. She was renting out a bed in a double room for about €230, so I'm like, "Fuck yeah, I'll come see your place." So I went to go see her place. Immediately regretted this decision. She greeted me on the second floor of her building, holding a cigarette, and I knew immediately that these, on average, next five minutes were quickly to become no more than one and a half. Long story short: BOY, WAS I RIGHT! The place didn't really have a door...or, it did, but it led right to a balcony, which then led to a doorway into the actual apartment, from which was hanging a series of...let's call it a bead curtain but made of dreadlocks. That's honestly what it felt like. Her boyfriend or whatever was in the living room, ALSO smoking and sitting on the dish rag that they call a couch. He was ugly and I was not happy to shake his hand. The bedroom was huge, but dark, and creepy and I think the bed Bernard Madoff is currently sleeping on in FCI Butner Medium (yeah, I looked that up) is probably a hundred times nicer.
The bathroom looks like an outhouse during a WWII air raid, I DON'T KNOW, but it was nasty. The kitchen is a closet. I think the girl (her name is Eleonora - the visual you are getting is spot-on, actually) is quite desperate because she immediately bombarded me with, "So, do you like it? Do you not like it? Do you like it?" and I'm like "...Bro, I don't think a homeless person would live in this place...but yeah...I...like...it...but I'll just...I'll call you..." and then I ran the fuck out of there. Ran. I ran so far away.
And that girl had acne. From what I've observed so far, Italians don't really have acne. The fuck?
That was the worst place today. There were others that were almost as bad. I think the more I see apartments, the more I realize I want to live with boys. This makes no sense because boys are generally messier than girls, but I've just felt really uncomfortable with the girls. And the guys which I've met while searching have been really great. When I keep searching tomorrow (BTW I am upping my price and I am upping it hard. I'm upping it so hard, it's gonna need a wheelchair. Holy hell I need sleep!!!!!) I'll be less picky about gender of current inhabitants. Which is going to make my parents overcome with joy.
The BCSP is having a pizza party in 20 minutes. I need to shower. Bad.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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