The other day I posted something I sort of regret. I say sort of because there is always noise in my head shouting me down and it’s embarrassing. But I shared it anyway because I thought, I know this is a thing that does happen and I know there are people of every color and exoticism with cool-funky names that feel they were rejected before they were even let in the door.
The noise in my head that kept me awake: we didn’t get the apartment even though we make more than enough $$, exceed every single qualification, and offered to pay the first year upfront.
My head: did the owner see my name (Rudolfo Martinez) and decide, ‘too ethnic, hell no’?
Me: No way. It’s a sellers market and they’re just going a differenr route.
My head: right.
My head: right?
Me: fucking hell if I know.
It turns out it was likely just noise. The owner is away in India living the joie de vivre that Parisians are famous for (and one of the most appealing things about the entire Parisian experience) and has not gotten back to our agency. The rejection came from the property manager as a proxy so our agent went above them because they have a soft spot for (TGB) because she is such a sweetheart and a badass. True story.
So, the world is not always a bad place and I just let the stupid shit in my head win a minor battle for a short time. I figured, if nothing else, by sharing this with you you might feel a sense of relief that you’re not the only one who sometimes spins in a mindfuck of your own creating.
Yesterday we spent the day looking at apartments. The first one was in the 3rd arrondissement – which is my first choice of arrondissements. So we walked from our airbnb in the 11th down to the third through all of the wonder that is Paris Fashion Week. It was drizzling and overcast so when I saw a woman in big sunglasses walking towards me it struck me as a bit odd. Then it hit me. I looked at her lips to be sure I wasn’t crazy. Those gorgeous, full lips confirmed it just as I walked past on the narrow sidewalk, brushing arms. I just brushed arms with Anne Hathaway. Whatever happened the rest of the day, this day was already a win.
We made it to the apartment and waited for Melissa, our Mila Kunis clone of a relocation manager.
Anne Hathaway is on my list, you know.
Yeah. She’s on MY list too.
Melissa arrived. The apartment was modern, quiet, and tucked away. It was perfect to me. To me. Boys and girls, I don’t make it a habit of dispensing relationship advice, but here is one thing I will tell you: when you move to a new city with the person you love, make sure the place you pick to live feels like home to the twos of yous. If you love it and your partner doesn’t, you won’t love it for very long. It has to feel like home for both of you.
After some time looking at this place I loved, we went and had lunch with a cat.
The first hour at lunch this little girl came and sat at my feet and ignored literally everyone else. Then I send a couple photos to the insta and she’s all, deuces, dis my new person. So, yeah, that was a self-esteem crusher.
At lunch our relocation team sent us two more apartments so we hopped on the tube and headed to the 16th. That line from The Police song comes to mind when I think about that ride on the tube: packed like lemmings into shiny metal boxes…
Anyway, we made it to the 16th. The apartment is across the street from a bistro and a massive hospital. It’s a block away from a massive square, but far enough back to be so very quiet. It is not far from where they’ll be doing a lot of Olympic activities. It’s modern and swanky overlooking a street that is old timey and very Parisian. I wish this was in the 3rd, I thought but did not say.
TGB loved it. I liked it a lot.
We walked the neighborhood and I realized I have already become very familiar with this arrondissement. In fact, my tendency to just walk with no real destination in mind has made me really learn a lot of layout of Paris already. And then it hit me, I can be in the 3rd in 20 minutes on the tube.I can be in the 7th in 20 minutes by foot. This town is all so close.
That apartment was pretty fucking cool, I thought.
Our relocation team wanted to know if we wanted to submit our dossier.
You don’t love it.
I didn’t say that.
I don’t want you to just accept it because I love it.
I would never do that. I can hop on the tube and be anywhere in this city in minutes. It’s quiet. Dexter has a nice size deck and cannot see or fall onto the street. We have everything we need walking distance from home.
Should we?
So we did.
And now we wait.
