Eight

"Get a place with character," she says. "You don't want to be surrounded by rowdy college students," she says. "Stop being so snooty," she says. "Cookie-cutter apartment complexes are boring," she says.

Yeah, well. I should have told her to shut up. Except the she is me, and I thought I knew what I was talking about. The truth is I am snooty. I'm a stickler for curb appeal. I thought I could suppress the snob in me, and I kind of did. My new place is very rustic. I don't hate it, but it's starting to get to me. I'm starting to miss the little amenities I'd have in a nicer place.

You want to know what finally pushed me over the edge? Take a guess. The deer? Nope, I think they are so cute. The super dark nights? Nope, I either stay in or run for the door. The lack of an enjoyable yard? Nope, I can always go to a park or to campus. Here's what it was: I walked out of my door this morning and there was a tarantula on the front porch. Thankfully it was dead; I think the neighbors or their cat killed it. Rustic I think I can live with, but tarantulas are just a little too rustic.

I'm stuck here for another 11 months. If I don't see another one in that time (please, oh please), then I may reconsider moving. Otherwise, I'm outta here at the first opportunity.