When I was 24, I rented an apartment on North Harvard Street in Allston with two friends from college. They found the place while I was working abroad, and I blindly signed the lease, seeing it for the first time on move-in day in September. I enjoyed our living arrangement, but time exposed differences in lifestyle, and by June there was talk of change. They didn’t kick me out. They did, however, inform me that they were moving elsewhere. Together. Without me.

So there I was: working two jobs and taking home less than $500 a week, no place to live come September, and not a friend in the world except my landlord, Joey, who sometimes stopped me on the front porch to complain about my roommates leaving him searching for new tenants. I considered staying and finding new roommates, but Joey said he preferred to rent to a group of friends “to avoid issues.’’

So I turned to Craigslist.

Scouring the “Room Shares’’ section for appealing, affordable options in Boston was exhausting, but much harder was crafting responses. At first, I offered only an introduction with contact information — expecting that would be enough to get a showing — but found that for every 10 e-mails I sent, only one or two were answered.

I realized that I wasn’t the only eligible roommate in town. My main competition was other millennials, all fresh out of college with new jobs, prepared to pay rent as high as their hopes. Our collective competition, however, was those pesky baby boomers, fleeing the suburbs and looking to replace their McMansions with low-maintenance condos in the city.

I put more effort into my e-mails, infusing them with detail and personality. But each time I would wonder: Too much detail? Too much personality? Should I keep things hush about my current roommate breakup and subsequent abandonment issues? Should I admit I watch “The Bachelor’’? Will my enthusiasm seem desperate?

I was desperate. The housing hunt was like high-stakes online dating. All I had to go on were a few paragraphs on a screen, but if I didn’t find a match soon I’d be homeless. I needed to stand out. “I have a really nice toaster,’’ I added to my e-mails, hoping my possession of a basic kitchen appliance might give me a boost.

After nearly 10 days of responding to listings, Kate in Allston invited me to see her place. Her ad boasted a room in a four-bedroom apartment steps from the T for $900 per month, plus utilities. It was out of my price range, but so was everything else. I’d heard that the rule of thumb was to spend less than 30 percent of your income on rent. The $30,000 a year I was making at the time meant I should spend up to $750 per month, but the average cost of a room was almost twice that: $1,314. That average increased to $2,009 in the final quarter of 2015, according to Reis Inc., a realty data firm.

Kate greeted me in nothing but an oversized T-shirt. The roommates included a couple of part-time bouncers and full-time stoners, plus Kate’s live-in boyfriend and two angry cats. The apartment was covered in paper decorations left over from birthday parties and dust. Kate thanked her boyfriend for cleaning up before my arrival. I chatted for a while but left knowing that I wouldn’t be back.

Next came Lindsay. She advertised a room in a six-bedroom house on Quint Avenue in Allston for $933 per month, plus utilities. I was skeptical because in my experience, big houses on that street were home to keg parties. I was pleasantly surprised when I entered the neat, comfortable space. The roommates were friends from college, and as we talked, I decided I would fit in nicely.

Lindsay agreed. She e-mailed to invite me for drinks with the gang — even though they offered the room to someone else. “We can still be friends!’’ she wrote.

I saw six other places: some nice but expensive, some affordable but beat up, others too far away. It was hard to tell a worthwhile lead from the ads. Not everyone was exactly whom he or she claimed to be.

Julia wrote: “Carrie, Miranda, and Charlotte looking for their Samantha!’’ The reference to the popular TV show “Sex in the City’’ turned me off, but also made me feel like it was a safe option. Julia turned out to be a 40-year-old woman who won the house in her divorce. The other roommates were middle-aged men from Ireland. I still think back and wonder which guy was supposed to be Charlotte.

At the end of July, exhausted by my quest, I saw a mirage in the vast desert of Craigslist ads: “Private Bedroom in a South End brownstone on Appleton Street, $625 per month.’’

I decided that this was either the living situation of my dreams or a false ad meant to lure women into a murderous trap. I’d heard horror stories about scams, and this place certainly seemed too good to be true. It occurred to me that the surprises out there could be more dangerous than the ones I had encountered.

According to Lieutenant Detective Michael McCarthy, Boston Police spokesman, when checking out housing through an outlet like Craigslist, it’s best to take someone with you or at least make sure someone knows where you’re going.

I wrote my best e-mail and — yes! — they wanted to meet me.

I arrived on time, but found myself standing in a line with six or seven other candidates nervously awaiting their interviews. I stood there on the nauseatingly charming front stoop and felt my hopes shatter. My interview was a blur. On my way out, it occurred to me that I never told them my name, and much worse, they didn’t ask.

Less than four weeks until move-out day: I’d had just about enough — and then came Kevin and Dave. I had resorted to posting an ad begging for housing, listing my only requirements as “roommates who don’t care what I’m doing with my life’’ and HBO. They promised to be a perfect fit. And — most amazing — they offered what seemed like the second-best deal in the city: a master bedroom with a private bathroom, private entrance, and balcony on West Eighth Street in Southie for $725 per month. “But how?’’ I asked.

“Our landlords live in Connecticut and have no idea what this place is worth,’’ Dave explained, “and we’re not going to tell them. Are you?’’

It was two years of South Boston bliss before the landlords voyaged up for a visit and swiftly decided to put the place on the market. Dave and Matt (the roommate who replaced Kevin) invited me to look for a new place with them in the area, but staying in Southie would mean nearly doubling my rent. I couldn’t afford it.

A work friend agreed to rent with me, and in an effort to find something affordable fast, I somehow persuaded her that East Boston was the new South Boston. She was skeptical, but with newly renovated places popping up for around $800 per month, she agreed to give Eastie a try. We found a three-bedroom undergoing renovations and signed before seeing the floors installed.

We were missing a third roommate, so I returned to Craigslist. The difference was, this time I was the one weeding through responses: too boring, too demanding, no furniture to contribute. And we were rejected by prospective roommates: too small, too far from work, not interested. In mid-August we heard from Chelsea, a woman our age willing to take the smallest room and sign the lease without seeing the place. Her desperate enthusiasm? Just right.

Alison Amorello can be reached at amorelloap@gmail.com.