Homeless in 8 days

So I’m in the middle of house hunting hell. Yes, it’s seriously hell. You’d think it would be easy. I’m in a city where there are so many transient people, surely I’d be able to find a room. Well, no I can’t. I’m a loser. Looking for a room in a houseshare is seriously like having to audition for Big Brother. Well, it’s how I imagine auditioning for Big Brother would be like. You get about 5 minutes with your potential housemates to woo them and make them remember you out of the 200 applicants they get for the room. So far, I haven’t mad much of an impression. Well, I have, but not in the right way. Last week I looked at a place that had a 30 year old female living there. She didn’t quite believe that I was 26, but after insisting I was, she seemed to believe me. We then proceeded to bond about Sex and the City and other various girly things. I thought I was kind of a shoe in, because a) she said I was looking really good and b) well, there is no b and although it was way out of my budget, I was going to take it. So the next day I got a text message from her saying she was really sorry, she had given the room to someone else, but if I wanted, we could go out for a drink sometime. A drink? I don’t want a drink, I want a freakin’ bedroom! Ugh. I also saw another potentially good place which was just down the road from where I am living now. I made the mistake though of telling the guys that I really liked watching this show about midgets on tv. The delivery of the story was atrocious, which I acknowledged and they did too, we all laughed, but now I am thinking they where laughing but thinking this girl is a freak. I got an email saying they really liked me but they had given the room to someone else. It's not you, it's me. That old chestnut! Last night I got asked if I stole and then if I screamed in the middle of the night. I mean seriously.

Now, I am truly getting desperate. I am like one of those 35 year old women who go out on the prowl at every available night out sporting a black leather mini skirt and their black backpacks that were kind of cool in the 90’s but are now the equivalent of happy pants. It’s like going speed dating. I’m meeting someone (or sometimes 5 people), thinking we get along and maybe we have a future together, imaging what it would be like to live with them, and then BAM, they don’t call. Why don’t they call? Why don’t they want to live with me? I’m normal(ish), clean, don’t have any weird habits. I know I tell pointless stories and sometimes, ok, most of the time deliver them really poorly, but they don’t know that. Ok, enough whining. Oh crap. I just realised to add to my failings in life, I can’t count either, I thought I had 14 days left. This particular point calls for more than just a ‘crap’, hmmm, ok, SHIT! Sorry mum, but it was called for.

Other than house hunting, I’ve been, ummm, ok, house hunting is all I’ve been doing. I did manage to squeeze in my first proper restaurant meal in London on Saturday night. Apparently it’s Gwen and Chris’ favourite restaurant, well, that’ according to Vic, and I’ll believe anything. It was amazing. As usual I picked the crappiest thing on the menu, but it was still good, but not as good as everyone else’s. I really need to address my order envy problem. I’ve tried copying others, but then I convinced myself that my meal is better, but it never is. Why try and be different? When it comes to ordering out, individuality over way overrated. Speaking of food I am undergoing a challenge this week. I am not going to eat chocolate for 7 days. I tried going without for 3 days last week but failed miserably. It was embarrassing. I know where I went wrong, it was the caramel Mc Vitties. Damn that caramel biscuit that so cleverly holds the biscuit together when you dip it in your tea. But now there is pride and money at stake. I will overcome my weaknesses and show those non-believers that I can do it.

Wish me luck.