Luck

I don't believe in luck. I know I'm pretty blessed. I know that I had no control what so ever to be born into my family, and that its only by they're good grace, that I've been afforded all the opportunity in the world. Life, isn't as some would suggest a game of chance. I think that our every move from the time we're cognizant of actions and consequence are mapped out. Maybe that's just me. I know for example, I have worked relatively hard in certain areas of my life. Education and Career have always taken presidence over cultivating friendships, or relationships. These last few days has taught one interesting lesson though. One is never more important than the other.

The term its not WHAT you know, but WHO know is probably the most over used term in the English language. The irony in it all is that its 100% true. What you know counts. Regardless if that knowledge is learn in higher institutions, or on the streets, if you've got the smarts God gave an ant, you're generally on the right path, but WHO you know, well that counts a whole hellova lot too. Recently on my quest for a apartment in Paris, I came across a woman who was subletting her amazing 75m^2 apartment for a remarkable amount of 500 euro/month. I knew it was too good to be true, but I also knew that it was too good not to at least inquire on. After a few exchanges, of credentials, it looked like, my supernova dream of landing an apartment, that NOT only had a bathroom INSIDE the apartment ( which is RARE in Paris) but this space, also had a separate kitchen, living room, and a dining space. WHHHHHAAAAAAATTTT bring the beat back. Queue Omarion. Do the dougie. Drop it like its hot and pick it up like it cool girl friend, I had found it. The French apartment, the one you read about, the one that makes your fool ass think you can pick up and move to France. Yes, the one overlooking the Sienne, L'arc de Triumph, and the Tour Efiel all together. Yes, ladies and gentlefolks THIIIISSS was the apartment of everyone's dream. I don't care who you think you are, but if you saw this apartment, you'd be right beside me doing your own version of the end zone dance ( i.e. the cabbage patch). But alas, it was like I thought earlier - tooo goood to be true. Folks that false advertise on craigslist should be brought out back and beat with a fire hose. To quote T.I " how you gon' do that now huh". I knew it had to be good to be true, all of my Sid senses were on full alert. Location, space, and rent fee were all abnormal. Not to mention cable, light, heat, and internet were included in the rent. Most of the apartments that I'd looked at before were half a sardine can that I couldn't hold a third of my shoe collection in. It wasn't until Martin, my French/German "uncle" for lack of a better term really pointed out all the inconsistencies that I climbed down off of the horse I road in on and took a deep waft of all the shit that he left for me.

There is no dream house. And if there is - it is WAY, and I mean so far out it might as well be on the moon, way out of my financial restraints. The hunt continues, for a place which I desperately need and a job, which I DESPERATELY need. I'm glad Martin let me know what the real deal is. I'm so glad to know him. I'm so glad that even though I was ready to send this woman, man, demon from the deep nearly $3000 he stopped me and really made me question if this was all on the up and up. I guess, I'm lucky after all.