keys to the kingdom

I'm really kind of ticked off by this whole "Barracks Row is the new Logan Circle, which was the Adams Morgan, which was the new Georgetown" phenomenon of DC real estate.

First of all, we are not New York. Thank God. I will never live in New York because all its young, overeducated, snappy people can talk about is the superiority of their particular slice of burrough, just to justify making them feel better about paying $1600 a month for a shitty studio over an Indian restaurant.

"Sure," they say, smug glances sliding up and down your Gap-clad body, "Everything I own smells like curry. But it's so much better than living on the Lower East Side, that gentrified hellhole. Astoria is where it's at, bitches."

Second, the investment required in real estate requires a certain flexibility when it comes to judgment. If I'm signing a year-lease for a place, you can bet your ass that the question "Whatever will others think of my neighborhood?" has only slightly more relevance than "Are the closets big enough for all my diamond dog collars?" Roll your eyes at my total lack of coolness when it comes to my CD collection (currently holding two different casts recordings of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat), but when it comes to the ass-expensive property for which one pays, merely nod your head in sympathy that one must fork over such outrageous sums in order to live in a great city.

I will never judge anyone on where they live in an urban area (though if you voluntarily reside in, say, Cleveland, you can bet your trucker cap I will). Ballston, Silver Spring, U Street, whatever floats your boat and allows you to find what you want.




Like, for example, an adorable one-bedroom English basement in Eastern Market!

I knew it was meant to be when I stood outside the door waiting for the real estate agent and heard the birds in the front yard tree squawking "PIT-EUW! PIT-EUW!" Growing up, the tree outside my bedroom window housed a family of these exact same birds. Normally I hate anything that wakes me before 11:00 and is not Jake Gyllenhaal, but for some reason I really liked that birdcall. Very silly, but the familiarity of it was the universe's way of telling me "So what if you can't really afford to live here until you get your raise? RENT THIS HOME."

And so that's what I did.


Oh, and you Yahoo searchers are still pervs, and were absolutely no help.