Phase Three.

I chose to name this blog what I did mostly because I'm not creative, but also because I started writing this blog to document a big year for me. We're entering part 3 of the year: where I move to Washington, DC, and actually start work as a lawyer (that's if I pass the bar).

This past weekend I went to DC to find an apartment, and I got one within a day. It was actually the first one that I looked at. I had scoped it out online first, and thought I might like it, so I had scheduled an appointment first thing in the morning. I've done an apartment search in New York, where apartments get snapped up faster than Britney inhaling Doritos, so I was well-prepped.

I liked the place, but I just wasn't sure. I got the leasing agent (who couldn't have been more than 15 years old) to hold the place until 3pm. Normally, you're supposed to put down a deposit of several hundred dollars to keep an offer open for 24 hours or so, but I got him to hold it for a few hours for just the application fee of $50. That turned out to be my saving grace. I noticed as I was walking out the door that the person after me asked the leasing agent whether I had taken the apartment.

So then I looked at a few more places. One had a living room the size of a shoe box with the bedroom the size of Florida. Another faced the back alley where the garbage dumpster was. Both were about the same price as my first place. So yeah. I wanted the first place. But I forgot to mention that that morning, I had actually bumped into a friend of mine who happened to live in that apartment. I couldn't ask her about it in front of the agent though, so I decided to call her later... only I didn't have her phone number. From about 2pm on was a mad dash to call everyone I knew who might know her number, and thankfully, I got it. She gave me the real go ahead, and I took the place.

At 3:01pm, as I'm signing the lease, the dude who had the appointment after me walked in to see if I had accepted the lease. Me: "Sorry, well, not really, but good luck." What else do you say?

So now I'm one step closer to taking over the world. There's one tiny problem: I've been Googling my apartment complex (it's easy - in DC every apartment has an ostentatious and unnecessary name like "The Croydon" or "The Gables"), and there are some heinous reviews of the management company. I mean downright nasty. I wasn't planning on naming my apartment because I don't want you, dear reader, to stalk me and kill me and take my super-awesome DVD collection, but if the internet turns out to be more prophetic than personal recommendations, you can count on me ripping the company a new one. You're on notice, The _____.