Starting a Bronx tale

I’ve lived in my current apartment for three years, which in New York years, is really like 10. With my roommate getting hitched, and our lease up in the fall, it’s time to move on. I love my neighborhood, but I’m ready for a change. And since I don’t have the energy, patience, or courage to start a new life in another city, moving to another borough is sort of the next closest thing. And I’m moving to the Bronx at that, which really will seem like another world.

I lucked out this move because I’m moving in with someone I know who happens to have a great apartment at a dirt-cheap price. (It’s not Manhattan, but hey, I’ll get my own bathroom!) But I also lucked out because I’m avoiding the whole NYC apartment search ordeal, where you have to fight tooth-and-nail to get a cardboard box with no closet space and a shower in the kitchen. The ordeal also involves avoiding shady brokers, emptying your savings account to hand over first and last month’s rent (plus a security deposit), and running to all ends of the city to see apartments during open houses. I’ve also realized, just through a very preliminary search on craigslist, that people use the desperation of apartment seekers to their perverted advantage. I’ve seen apartment postings for free rent in exchange for a “friends with benefits” arrangement (but I would get to pick the day of the week — gee, thanks guy!) or reduced rent in exchange for household chores that include “cleaning, cooking, answering phones, massage, etc.” The sad thing is that the apartment hunt here is such a pain in the ass that I actually thought for a New York minute, “I wonder if he means therapeutic?”

Thankfully, I avoided all the shady craziness. I don’t think my virtue is worth an onsite washer-dryer or walk-in closet. I just dread the physical move now, but hopefully I’ll be able to hire some men with a van (probably hipsters from an emo band who use their equipment van to make money on the side) for relatively cheap. Watch out Yankees, here I come.