It’s Britney, Bitch!

While other butches and femmes blogged about DOMA, Prop 8, Bloomberg’s annual BBQ to celebrate LGBT Pride at Gracie Mansion, their favorite candidate for city council (mine is Yetta Kurland. Vote for her on 9/10, you all!), International Femme Appreciation Day (yesterday), and a long etcetera of thought-provoking topics, I have been looking for an apartment.  Contrary to popular belief, I don’t have a butch sugar daddy footing my rent & bills and I’m not making a living from my writing (yet), so I’ve been working full time and spending the little free time I had visiting shitholes and going on American Idol auditions… I mean interviews with prospective roommates.

Apartment hunting in NYC has gotten more ridiculous than ever. You would think that after Sandy some of the move-in requirements would have been softened, but it’s just the opposite. If before Sandy management companies asked you for 2 months of rent upfront, now they are asking for a minimum of 4 months. Before Sandy, the standard income requirement was 30x the rent, now it is 40x to 50x the rent AND a guarantor who makes 80x the rent. (The only person I know who makes that much money is The Traveling Butch and I’m not asking her to co-sign/guarantee/sponsor/help me on anything).

Then there is the never-ending list of paperwork (credit report, 2 months of bank statements, 2 years of tax returns, reference letter from your current landlord, reference letter from your employer, 2 to 6 months of paystubs…) that leaves you wondering if they would like to see the results of your last pap smears too. Oh, and as many interviews with the board members as they want. Requirements I would understand if I were applying for a loan or buying an apartment. I don’t understand why I have to jump through hoops to sign a 1 year lease. I really don’t.

Don’t get me started with potential roommates – from the Chinatown “lesbian” with a live-in boyfriend to the Village gay ex-priest with framed photos of the Pope all over the apartment to the Murray Hill self-proclaimed “neat freak” whose apartment reeked of cigarettes and mold to the “too-cool-for-you” Brooklyn kids that forget they’ve told you they have found someone else and email you 5 weeks after your interview to see if you want to go see their apartment (my inner Miley Cyrus was like “what?!”) to the ones who don’t want you to cook in the apartment to the ones who don’t want you to have people over to the one who tells you she has found someone else who won’t be in the apartment because of their schedule the day you were supposed to go pick up your keys (my bad: I forgot I was supposed to pay rent but not actually spend any time in the apartment)… Total nightmare!

Anyhow, I wasn’t finding anything that I liked and I go a little crazy when I don’t write. So, for my own mental sanity, I’m taking a break from apartment hunting till after the summer and I’m back at what I do best: writing and shaking my ass to Britney Spears half naked in my living room!

3 thoughts on “It’s Britney, Bitch!

  1. Oh I feel your pain! When I lived in NYC I chose a TINY railroad sublet rather than room with anyone.

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