State of the Brownpau

Self-Portrait It’s 80°F out today, the first really warm day of the year. The air conditioner is running.

I’m still looking for a job. Mid-April is my deadline, by which point I have to be earning a fulltime paycheck if I want to continue eating. My resumé is out there with a bunch of applications, and I scour SimplyHired, USAJobs.gov, and Craigslist everday for new positions. One good lead fell through, but something new popped up — just as I was writing this post, in fact. Hopefully I’ll know by the end of the day.

Last week I found a new apartment — right here in the building I currently live in. Amy and I have been hunting all over the Rosslyn-Ballston corridor for a place to live after we get married: something Metro-accessible, reasonably clean, cat-friendly, with at least one bedroom, and affordable enough that we can save up to finally buy a place over the next couple of years. Nothing of the sort, of course; Arlington and DC rents are through the roof in any place that isn’t roach-infested or crime-ridden, and very few apartments within our meager price range would take cats. Then I found that a 1BR right in my building was about to open up, and we realized that deep in our hearts, we like this place a lot better than anything we’ve seen in Arlington: it’s cheap, the neighbors are great, the location is right beside Capitol and museums and Metro in a safe neighborhood, and management will let me keep my cat. So next month, I move down a few floors, to prepare a room for my bride.

I was up in New Jersey with Amy’s folks over the weekend: met with a maitre’d to talk wedding reception stuff, finished up some premarital counseling (but there’s one more session with my pastor here in DC too), got a new pair of casual-use shoes on clearance at a DSW somewhere on Route 22, ate more White Castle, tried a rare House Sirloin at Applebee’s, and listened to Diggers.

So basically I’ve got to move to a new place, find a new job, and get married, all in the span of about three months. I often joke that I’ll have run out of hair by summer.