Ryan and I are going on a trip next week to Boston where Ryan has a job interview. Last summer when I was just a few months pregnant with Charlie we went to Boston and had a lovely time imagining that we lived there and were subway experts (Except for the one time when we had to get on the train without a valid ticket because our all-day pass didn't apply to above ground trains or something like that. It was extremely unclear at the station and the driver looked at our tickets and then motioned angrily at the little machine where you're supposed to put, I don't know, tokens or something. That time we acted like we didn't know what the crap we were doing. And possibly we pretended not to speak English).
I'm sure my shorts and flip flops gave us away as tourists. Or maybe it was the way we giggled with excitement every time the train came into the station with that big burst of warm air blowing all the discarded Dunkin Donuts cups around.
That's me at Harvard. I convinced Ryan that this would be clever and artistic.
So while Ryan's at his interview, my job is to look for an apartment where we can live if he decides to take the job. I will have Charlie with me. What a great way to practice for my future of urban stay-at-home-mom/freelance scientist! Free from the constraints of driving, the city is at my doorstep offering a buffet of educational and cultural activities to enrich Charlie's mind! Except after Ryan talked to a realtor today the search area has been widened from just Cambridge and Somerville to most of the eastern half of Massachussets and also part of New Hampshire (where maybe we could afford rent AND food). Do I need to mention that I currently live in a state where you can drive for twelve hours and not cross into a neighboring state?
This is where my dream of efficient urban living begins to get a little shaky. Mostly because the thought of hauling Charlie around two of the original thirteen colonies BY MYSELF is s-c-a-r-y. I take my dog with me when I have to go to the mailbox by the meth-lab apartments less than a hundred yards from my front door for heaven's sake.
I'm hoping we can find a rental agent who will walk around with me and prevent me from taking Charlie into a crack house. Or from giving up and signing a lease on something that costs $2500 a month and is described as "ultimate bachelor pad, river views, mirrored ceilings, black marble jacuzzi in living room" strictly because I can see Whole Foods from the front door and wouldn't have to walk far at night if we needed something. Although Charlie would love it if we had a "pool" in the living room, Ryan would not be pleased.
I should go now. I have to go buy some dark "don't f*** with me" city clothes. And practice not smiling at every damn thing I see. And looking for apartments that are just ghetto enough for us to afford.