I'm hunting for wabbits!

I was really excited about apartment hunting. I was going to pick out 8 places and spend the day looking at each one, take pictures, make the pros and cons list and I was going to end up with a really kick ass apartment in Atlanta. I was going to be ITP (Inside the Perimeter for those not hip with Atlanta lingo.) Moreover, I was going to live in Midtown. I would delight in watching your eyebrows raise as I say this to you. I was going yuppie with a touch of hip hop. Immerse myself in urban culture. Get those season tickets to the ballet at the Fox that I've been talking about for years. This was it. Time to take the plunge.

Apartment hunting is not fun. I somehow forgot my previous experiences of residence shopping. My MO would be to look at exactly 3 places, get disenchanted and pissed off, then get the very next place I look at, regardless of price and appearance, just to be done with the whole thing. How did I forget this?

The first place I went to was $100 more a month than they advertised on the Internet. When I brought this fact up with the lady, she laughs at me and tells me they haven't had that price in years. When I am debating bringing business with you, do not laugh at me. It pisses me off and results with me becoming a raging bitch. Raging, as in I have no problems with public humiliation. With her, I just pushed the papers away and told her I wasn't interested and left.

The second place looked a little run down, but it was cheap and in a good location. After exchanging e-mails with the leasing manager, I popped by to check it out. He informs me that they can no longer lease because they are going to be demolished at the end of the summer to build a retirement community. Why he couldn't say this in his e-mail the day before is beyond me.

Already this isn't fun. I want a kick ass place. So I decided to get a Realtor that specializes in apartment rentals. His name is Antonio and he's gay, he told me so within 3 minutes on the phone, but I already knew that when his flamboyance actually oozed out of my cell phone and manifested itself into a shirtless YMCA construction worker before me.

Reasons why I love having a gay Realtor:

• He's memorized which apartments are within walking distance of which bars.
• He says things like, "My ex used to live there. He's a bitch, but the apartment is lovely."
• He knows what areas of town are becoming popular before anyone else does.
• He also knows what apartments are majority gay or straight and if the guys are hot or not.