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| Forest Park |
St. Louis is an awesome city. It has this cozy, homey feel, and yet it's still this huge place with skyscrapers and expensive parking and a zillion people (and a Macy's, thank god). The university is nestled on the Northwest side of Forest Park, which, imho, is 4,000 times more beautiful than Central Park could even wish to be. The neighborhood I decided I want to live in is called Demun, about a 15-minute walk south of WashU to the West of the park.
It. Is. Beautiful. Seriously. Tree-lined streets, quiet, adorable little coffee shop on the corner. I'm obsessed.
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| Demun |
Now, because STL is a 10-hour drive from Auburn, boyfriend and I had to plan our trip and our apartment showings in advance. We had three showings scheduled: one on Saturday and two on Monday.
The first place we looked at was a condo high-rise with park views (if you rent a two-bedroom. Always read the fine print, guys). It had a big, clean laundry room and a bitchin' fitness facility in the basement, a doorman, and updated kitchens and bathrooms. It did not, however, have overhead lights. Which was very strange. It also had window AC, which is fine, but the bathroom was very far away from all of the AC units and thus I do not want to imagine how hot it would be in Summer. Actually, Winter is probably a bigger concern in MO.
It was expensive though. Upwards of 1,000 a month for even the smallest unit on the lowest floor. Not great. But still an option when split between two people.
After we checked that place out, we made a pro and con list. You know me and my obsessive organization. Then, because it was only 11 a.m., we took a little tour around the city. We went to Soulard Market (not the best idea to visit a crowded outdoor market in 96 degree heat with 87% humidity, by the way), got ooey gooey butter cakes, hit up Ted Drewes for some frozen custard, and got mac n cheese in University City. Then we got sun death and went to bed at 8:30 and I forgot to call my dad on his birthday. I am the actual worst.
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| And this is only one of the wings at the Soulard Market... |
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| Ooey Gooey Butter Cake (yes, that's the real name) |
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| Typical Ted Drewes line on a summer night |
The showings on Monday proved much more interesting. We scheduled some showings with a realty company that my parents and I had checked out when we were in STL in April. They seemed really legit and had amazing apartments for reasonable prices. One of the apartments we wanted to view rented before we got to STL, but we still had one more to see.
So we arrived at 6219 Rosebury Ave at 8:45 for our 9:00 showing. Early to a fault, dude, always. The agent calls us at five till nine and says, hey, so the two-bedroom you wanted to see is actually rented. Which was super shitty news because we were, you know, sitting on the steps outside the building. But they said they could show us some more apartments, so we went up a block to meet them on Northwood Ave.
There, Mr. Hughes showed us a one-bedroom apartment that could fit, possibly—it would be tight, a midget and maybe one couch. We told Mr. Hughes that it didn't make sense to show us apartments that are half the square footage of what we told him we were looking for. He then told us that they only had one two-bedroom left and it was in another neighborhood. We figured, why not take a look?
Mr. Hughes offered to drive, which was super nice. Except that immediately upon entering his vehicle, we were high. His shiny, new, leather-seated cadillac REEKED of marijuana.
Like, if you are a working professional and are going to offer to drive your clients to a destination, maybe don't hotbox your caddy, you know?
He also wore loafers without socks. Just in case you were wondering bad this guy could really be.
The he took us to an apartment that was so run down I could hardly believe it was standing. The kitchen was indescribably terrible. The floors creaked. The tile was cracked. It did have central air, so I guess that's nice.
It would have been nicer if they'd had it turned on for showings when it's nearly 100 degrees outside.
He then took us down to what boyfriend christened "the rape dungeon," wherein sat a few moldy washing machines, storage units that don't close properly, and the entrance to an underground parking garage. Now, the steps down to the garage were concrete and covered in water, and they ended in a large puddle that was deceptively deep. Boyfriend said, "That's dangerous. There should be a drain here." Mr. Hughes said, "Yeah.....I'll have to get someone to mop that up."
Here's the clincher. The apartment, with access to the rape dungeon and the slippery death stairs of doom, would run you $1,050 per month. Plus $50 per month to park in the garage. Plus $15 per month to use the security system that is already installed. Plus a $40 application fee. Plus a $20 cosigner fee. Plus a $30 fee for a background check. Plus gas, electric, and wifi.
Are. You. F*@#ing serious.
Thanks for letting us ride dirty with you, dude, but no thanks.
So what DID we put down a deposit on?
An almost 1,000 square-foot two-bedroom convertible on Rosebury Ave for less than $900/month. It has no dishwasher, the oldest stove known to man, and a bedroom so tiny I might not be able to use the closet once my stuff is in there, but it's so charming and wonderful and the landlady is professional and super cool. She called and asked another tenant/friend if we could look through her apartment because they were doing work on ours and it was hard to walk through it. She reassured us that she would get another stove. She told us about the other tenants to reassure us that it was a quiet building. And if she was a raging pot head, at least she didn't smell like it.
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| Our new place!! |
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| Boyfriend and I in front of our new apt building |
