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It’s a serendipitous story, really.

The boyfriend and I have decided to move in together. You see, the whole conversation wasn’t really a conversation. It was a “I really need more space, you’re taking up my space, let’s find a bigger space” chat. And then the Craigslist quandary ensued. We bookmarked apartment after apartment. All over the city. Most of which were way out of our budget, but we wanted to see if we could make it work.

We went and visited a few — and let me tell you, the rental market in San Francisco right now is insane. Even if we were the first people in line at a showing, with all our paperwork ready to go and our checkbooks out, we still wouldn’t get a call back. There was an open house that literally had 30 people waiting outside to see the apartment.

It was nasty. And I was over it.

Over lunch at the Bistro in Nordstrom, my good friend Julie announced she and her boyfriend were moving to London. I couldn’t have been more excited for her — and we all know how much I love London. I told her I would definitely be out to visit.

Several days later, it dawned on me. I sent her a gchat asking what she was planning on doing with her apartment. I had never been to Julie’s apartment, but knew she had a big one bedroom just a few blocks away from my current apartment. She invited the boyfriend and me over to check out their place and see if we were interested in moving in after they moved out.

So we did. And while we were there, we learned (and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t put two and two together), Julie’s boyfriend’s family owned the building. Her boyfriend showed us several apartments in the building, but we fell in love with Julie’s apartment. It was within budget. It was so.much.bigger. than my current apartment. It was perfect and it felt like home.

After a year and nine months with my boyfriend, we signed a lease. One year. In a beautiful one bedroom apartment, that fell into our laps in the most unexpected of ways.

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