Let me just say this: I had 3 weeks to move from Florida to Maryland. A few of those days, I was in California and my only resource was Craigslist. Normally, I would be okay with this because the website had yet to fail me. Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?
When you look a person’s apartment, they put on a show. They may shower, clean up the place, bake something… I don’t know, but they put on a show. No one really has an apartment clean ALL THE TIME. Well, I saw my share of apartments. The first apartment I saw was fine… minus the fact that the Washer and Dryer were half the closet, and I was told that I could never have anyone visit. The next few were nothing to write home about.
Then, I came across an apartment complex I thought I really liked. It was one of those apartment complexes that has a fancy gym, pool, beautiful grounds… you the deal. Well, I met this guy who was looking for a roommate. Let’s call him Chris. The only weird thing, at first, was that I had to meet him at 7am. Yes, 7am. Being the Cuban girl I am (I’m allowed to stereotype myself), I got there around 8:10a. As soon as I got off the Metro, I met Chris right by the exit. Chris was a fairly good looking guy (read: not a psycho) and seemed very well put together. We walked up to his place. He had a very odd decorating style. The furniture was fine, the apartment was fine, but he had pictures of boys around. No, I’m not saying he was a sexual predator, but he just appreciated youth. I’d call Chris the Artist who just really liked to take pictures of boys. Nothing gross, this guy wouldn’t hurt a fly. He just wanted to show the different walks of life… among boys.
I didn’t move in.
The second place I looked at was in the same complex. The girl who I met seemed really sweet at first. She was close to my age, but she was very quiet. I figured people are shy when meeting a stranger for the first time, but come on! When meeting a potential roommate, you need to get ALL.IN.THEIR.BUSINESS. You are sharing a home with someone for crying out loud. I guess that’s where the first mistake came. I didn’t really get a true sense of who I was moving in with.
And this is where the story begins. I moved in. 4 months later, I moved out. The next few blogs are about some of the fun and games (for lack of better words) that went on during my… 4 Months in Rockville.