Is there anything so marvelous as New York in the spring ti--- AAAAAAAAAGH!

It’s that time of year – the sun is shining, the birds are singing, the magnolias are in bloom, and I want to tear my hair out by the roots. Why? Because my lease is up.

There’s a reason why every New York blogger writes about moving and apartment-hunting at some point in their (lonely, blog-based, insipid little) lives. Namely, because it sucks.

I’m not sure if it’s the same in other cities. It’s not clear to me whether in, say, Cincinnati, looking for and then moving into a new apartment is an ordeal worthy of documentation. For the sake of Cincinnati-dwellers (Cincinatters? Cincies?), I hope it’s not. I hope that you open the newspaper, immediately locate advertisements for several apartments that are in the neighborhood and price range you want, make appointments to see them in an orderly manner, and ultimately, like the porridge-snarfing bear of yore, find the one that’s Just Right.

For the sake of readers who aren’t NYC-based, I must tell you: Here, there is no “Just Right”. There is only, “Affordable, Sort Of” and, if you’re lucky, “Affordable, Sort Of, And Also Not Visibly Infested With Cockroaches, Though They Are Probably Just Hiding.” To hunt for apartments here is to spend weeks on the verge of complete hysteria. Actually, it recently occurred to me that looking for an apartment in New York City is probably a lot like being part of an underground terrorist splinter cell—the sense of impending doom, the slew of unfamiliar numbers in your cell phone directory, the dashing out on a moment’s notice after a man who speaks heavily-accented English has insisted that you need to meet him over 90 blocks away right now and that you had better be carrying $1000 in cash.

And because I don’t actually want to phone it in like everybody else – by ranting about brokers’ fees, or complaining that West Bushwick doesn’t really exist, or expressing plans to quit the game entirely and just sleep on the couches of accomodating friends and/or strangers – I’m going to ask you guys for a favor: Sit tight. Sit tight, be patient, and once I have ceased freaking out I’ll come back with a really good story.

In the meantime, please enjoy this quickie installment of “Dear Googly”:

Oh, my.

Well. Dear Googly is not judging you, of course, my dear. I understand that life is difficult and full of challenges, and that sometimes the internet is the only place where one can turn for answers. But it seems to me that, confronted with something as concrete (and, I would imagine, clearly evident) as “STAINS ALL OVER MY FACE”, I would hasten to make a first stop elsewhere. Please, get your stain-covered self away from the computer, and seek real help in the acquaintance of 1) a bar of soap, or 2) a doctor.