apt. hunt continues

Last night I put a deposit down on an apartment. A massive 1bdr. apartment, in a fantastic neighborhood, with a laundrymat 2 doors down. I can handle 2 doors down. The space needs paint, and a fresh grout job in the bathroom. But, by the time I put the deposit down, I'd psyched myself out not to care. I thought things like "Paint? You LOVE painting. You were MADE to paint these cupboards something resembling Pantone 383C... or maybe 390C."

Did I mention that by the time I climbed the train to head back to NJ, that I'd already mentally decorated the place? Because I had.

First I'd tackle the kitchen and the bedroom and then I'd work on the hallway and living room next. Anyone that visited between now and whenever I finished said living room, was just going to have to suck it up and deal. Afterall, that's why God invented air mattresses. I'd graciously decided to overlook the fugly linoleum in the hallway, remembering that CB2 now carries FLOR tiles, and that CB2 just opened a store in Soho. If CB2 didn't have what I wanted, I could hit up Ikea, which in addition to air mattresses, is God's other gift to housewares.

So I guess, it shouldn't surprise me that this morning the landlord requested a broker's fee. Which basically equates to 2K getting shot straight down the crapper in the apartment that I have already decorated in my head.

And now I'm cranky, having to decide whether or not just to bite the bullet and go for it. Or go with option B) which involves me fully embracing my dutch instincts and telling the landlord where exactly he can stick his effin' fee.