"Cause we're all better off in New York . . ."

By the time Jane and I completed our brisk walk through Bed-Stuy, the soft glow of post afternoon euphoria was quickly fading. Not only were we a couple of One Of These Things Is Not Like The Other white girls, but the dude who was supposed to show us the apartment was no where to be seen leaving us to hang out on the stoop for 30 minutes.

Only hours earlier I had been having one of the Best Days Ever.

I skipped out of work at 3 pm for a "late lunch", making the short walk to the Apple Store to see Doves play a free acoustic set. (On my way there, I saw Jake Bronstein crossing Houston Street.) For those who don't know Doves, they are a three peice band from Manchester, England. See the grainy picture above that only I will enjoy.

The combination of having an email conversation with someone from a NY marketing agency about my design work, eating sushi, and playing hokey from my horrible job for 45 minutes had put me in a very very good mood. Even the new Harry Potter trailer managed to stoke this sort of rare faith that we actually were better off in New York. I grinned as I walked up Broadway to meet Jane, Stevie Wonder blaring on my iPod.

Back to Bed-Stuy. Oh, my mistake. "Clinton Hill."

I have to admit, I was excited about this apartment. It looked so nice, had solid walls, and marble fireplaces. Nevermind that it was five blocks south of the Bedford-Nostrand stop, a fact that might give some people pause. I don't need to live in some trendy place -- my budget pretty much prevents that. But I do have a hard and fast deal breaker:

Will I feel safe walking home by myself at night?

I have to say, I wasn't really getting the safe vibe. The walk down Bedford Avenue was more than sketchtastic. That and the bedrooms were twin-bed-and-no-room-for-anything-else kind of TINY. Marble fireplaces be damned.

I heart apartment hunting. Jane and I are going exploring in Bushwick on Sunday.