Hear me now: I am about to make a huge mistake.  I am on the verge of getting my own apartment.

Yes, after living in four different apartments in five years – all with roommates – I’ve decided to strike out on my own.  For better or worse, I am going solo. 

My roommate Brian and I are parting ways after four years of living together.  I won’t eulogize our roommateship here, but I mention it now only to convey that we are ending it amicably, without bitterness or resentment or debt and only two punches thrown in four years (both from him punching me, both aimed at my neck, both misses by a wide margin).  Not too shabby.

The impetus for our split is my desire to live alone, which is rooted in no reason aside from, "Well, I just want to."  I’ve never lived alone in my life and I’m at the point where I can (barely) afford to do so, so I’m going to do it.  And then I plan on immediately regretting it.  

The first negativo about living alone is that I’m going to be lonely as a mother fucker.  I am a pretty social person, so I like being able to come home, eat some shit meal, heat up a pint of ice cream, and shoot the shit with a roommate.  This, of course, doesn’t mean I’m a good friend or anything like that, but that I need someone around who will listen (or pretend to listen) to me talk.  So I know I’m going to be lonely when I’m on my own.  Hell, a few weeks ago, Brian was in Hawaii and I was bored to shit without him.  I know that sounds horribly gay, especially when you consider that every Tuesday night Brian and I pull our mattresses in the living room and have a slumber party, but I told you – I’m a very social person, ok?    

But the lonliness I might be able to get around.  The second bad thing about living alone is more universal and more problematic to me: the cost.  

The cost of apartments in NYC are astounding.  I’m going to tell you how much I’m looking to pay a month for rent for my new own apartment, and those of you reading outside of the greater NYC area are going to shit yourselves.  Then you’ll inundate me with emails telling me I should move.  Then you’ll never donate money to me again (not that you’re donating now – that $6 a month I get in donations is good for exactly one pint of Guinness a month, way insufficient).

I’m looking for a one bedroom apartment in the $1800 range.  Yes, gasp, yell, and scream all you want, but that’s really how much it costs to have a one bedroom in NYC.  But please do NOT think I’m rich.  Admittedly, I’m no longer poor, since I’m back at work, and I have some money from my projects.  However, I’m only working four days a week as I continue to work on my stuff, which means I’m only getting 80% of my salary. I got paid a little bit for my projects, but those of you who’ve been reading for a while might remember that I took four and a half months off work to work on said projects.  I left my job in late September, I finally got project pay in March.  During that time, I tore through my savings, ran up massive credit card debt, and borrowed money from gambler friends.  So less than a week after finally being paid, most of the money was gone.  Now I’m back to "surviving" mode. 

This is very reason why living alone is going to be such a bad decision.  It’s pretty much going to cripple me financially.  For some reason, I’m not able to quantitatively process how much this is all going to cost.  Not only will I be paying more in rent, but all the bills will be on me and me alone.  I am totally unconcerned with this.  This part of my brain, the one that computes finances and contacts the Worry Department, just doesn’t work (along with the "It’s not ok to store ejaculate in Snapple bottles under your desk" part). 

Add to that that I’m terrible with money.  An example: I had some friends up in NYC this weekend and we went shopping (or rather, they went shopping and I walked around in stores staring at attractive women and making moaning sounds).  I remember looking at a $300 pair of sunglasses and thinking, "You know what?  $300 isn’t that much money for a pair of sunglasses.  I mean, sunglasses are an investment, you know?  And you don’t have to just wear them in the summer.  So if you wear them for a whole year, that’s less than $1 a day.  Not bad at all."  Had I had the money, I probably would have bought those $300 sunglasses.  Never mind that I don’t wear sunglasses, or that prior to seeing them I had no desire to buy sunglasses, or that I really need new shoes, since there are holes in the bottom of my shoes that are so large and deep that I can’t wear them in the rain, lest my feet get soaked.  I would have certainly bought those fucking sunglasses if I had the money.  

So I’m not rich and I suck with what little money I do have.  I didn’t want to even tell you how much I was planning on paying per month in rent.  The only reason I did tell you how much I plan on paying is because I turn to you, dear readers, for help. 

*****************

I have seen about a half dozen apartments so far, and none have been even close to being livable.  The best of the bunch was a $1700 "gem" at 10th and 1st.  I love that area – good vibe, a little sketchy, nice local bars – so as I walked to see the apartment, I hoped and prayed that it would be just good enough for me to live in.  I’m not looking for elegance here, just enough space for me and my stuff.

It was not to be.  I should have guessed the place was going to be small when after entering it I had to walk down a ten foot hallway that was so shallow it was rubbing against my shoulders as I walked.  The good news was that the apartment was clean.  The bad news was that if I wanted to live there, I’d have to throw out my books, my desk, half of my clothes, and get a single bed.  So, um, no.

And that one was the best.  The worst was a $1550/month apartment in the east Lower East Side.  When the super opened the door, one word came to mind: junkie.  It looked as though a junkie had lived in the apartment.  I’m not talking about a junkie living there in the 1960′s, but rather a junkie living there this morning (actually, it looked more like a junkie died there this morning).  Adding to the apartment’s charm was the shower, which was in the living room.  Yep, on one wall of the living room stood a tub with sliding glass doors and a shower.  Shell-shocked, I walked into the bedroom.  I opened the door to what I thought was a closet and saw…a toilet.  A fucking toilet.  In the bedroom fucking closet.  So that’s a) a junkie vibe/look; b) the tub in the living room; and c) the toilet in the bedroom closet.  For $1550 a month.  But hey, at least the Lower East Side is cool.  Well, three years ago it was.    

So I’ve only just begun my search, but I feel like I might do something crazy.  Something regrettable.  Something entirely out of character.

I might move to Brooklyn. 

The logic behind the Brooklyn move is that, well, you can get a pretty nice fucking place in Brooklyn for $1800.  Hell, you can get a pretty decent place in Brooklyn for about $1400, which is music to my ears. 

The downside?  It’s Brooklyn.  It’s far.  It’s big.  And most importantly, I don’t know anyone out there.  True, I only have about four friends in Manhattan, but if I move to a nice place in Brooklyn, it will surely be my Fortress of Solitude and Jerking Off Four Times a Day.

And I know nothing about the geography of Brooklyn.  In my first year in NYC, I lived in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.  I know only that this area is way too fucking far away for me to live.  When I look over the Brooklyn apartment ads on craigslist, I have no idea whether I’m looking at apartments located in Bill Cosby Brooklyn or Biggie Smalls Brooklyn. 

So I might do something crazier.  I never thought I’d write these words, but…I might move to Hoboken.

I know, I know – nobody hates Hoboken more than I do.  It is a town filled with 26 year-old Jersey-born and bred frat boys who work in finance, love Jager bombs, and wear stripped shirts – and the women who love them.  Moving to Hoboken would mean that my social life would undergo an amazing transformation (and I don’t mean amazing as in "good" or "awesome", but rather "what a total fucking difference and this stinks").  I mean, my god, I’d live in Jersey.  New Fucking Jersey.  And by choice!  Not under duress or because I had to!  I would choose to live in New Jersey!  Good god!

(I must be losing my mind.  I need a minute here.)

(…)

(…)

(Ok.)

The positives?  Like Brooklyn, I can get a decent place for my spending limit.  But Hoboken has another factor.  One of my best friends from college lives in Hoboken.  Another one is moving there in a few months.  So if I were to live in Hoboken, I’d have two very good friends living there with me, two guys I’d feel comfortable calling on a Tuesday evening, saying, "Clear your schedule for the night – we’re getting fucked up!"

(But again – it’s Jersey!  My stomach is getting upset just thinking about it.)

My fourth option (after continuing the search, moving to Brooklyn, or moving to Hoboken) is staying in my current place, sans Brian.  Don’t get me wrong – I do not like my current place.  There are way too many tourists and Chinese people, no decent bars, late night pizza places, or diners, and the temperature fluctuations nearly kill me every time I get sick.

But I’d rather not be bothered with this whole thing.  I have a lot to do this month, and looking for an apartment does not appeal to me very much.  Not only that, again it goes back to money.  If I use a broker, I will need four months rent up front (first month’s rent, one month broker fee, two month’s security).  So if I’m looking to pay $1800 a month, that’s $7200 I’d need right away.  Which, as you might guess, I do not have lying around.  That means I’d have to call home to borrow money either from my dad, who’s been out of work hurt since 2001, or my mom, who works two jobs.  Not really an option.

So if my landlord agrees to knock down the rent a bit, I might just stay in my current place.  Brian’s looking to move out anyway, and I can turn his closet-like bedroom into an office (read: sex den).  But odds are that my landlord is not going to lower the rent, so I’m not sure how viable this option is.   

*****************

So as you can see, I’m totally fucked and completely clueless.  When I first decided to live on my own, I thought to myself, "I don’t care what the apartment looks like – I just want it to be in a cool area."  This was important to me.  If I was going to live alone, I needed to be surrounded with things to do to occupy my time.

But after seeing places, my reasoning has turned to, "If I’m going to spend fucking $1800 a month on rent, my place better be nice."  I can not, in good conscience, justify paying that much money for a shithole.  Indeed, the saddest part of seeing the LES apartment with the crapper in the closet is that someone would eventually pay $1550 a month to live there.  The landlords have all the power, because everyone wants to live in NYC. 

With no where else to turn, I’m throwing up a hail mary to you guys.  If you are in the apartment game or know anyone moving out of their apartment, please let me know.  Here’s what I’m looking for:

• one bedroom (not a studio)

• available May 1, but can do immediate for the right place

• somewhere around $1800 

• with a living room (not a kitchen/living room) 

• no broker fee if possible

• below 34th Street, but not in the Financial District 

• preferrably in any of the following areas (in order): East Village, West Village, Alphabet City, LES

• sexy hot neighbors who live to fuck bloggers

• if you know of a great place in Brooklyn or Hoboken, I’m willing to listen, but am still focusing on Manhattan right now

I don’t think this is asking too much.  Literally, about 1.5 million people live in the area in which I’m looking for an apartment, so there have got to be some vacancies.  But, since God and I are feuding (again), He’s not going to help me out here, so I turn to you, my loyal, wonderful, good-looking, intelligent, well-endowed readers.   

In the meantime, I’m going to continue to search craigslist.  Not so much for apartments, but for lovers.

(I mean, have you read the "Casual Encounters" section?  It is FULL of penis.  Full of it.  Where the hell are all the women looking to give blowjobs over lunch?  Does anyone know of that website?  I mean, fuck.)