My First Post From My Own Place!

Here I am in my new living room. It's starting to become home. I have my issues with it, don't get me wrong, but I'm starting to be comfy. My biggest issue with the apartment is the shower. As it sometimes just doesn't really exist. There I am covered in shampoo and soap enjoying a sunny morning with Mark and BAM the water disappears. I panic, I hyperventilate, I cry, I scream, I moan I knew I didn't want to live here. Eventually Mark goes downstairs to tell the super and in so many words we were told to deal with it. It's just like that here.

So every time I take a shower I pray. A lot. I enjoy the feeling of the water dripping soooo gently that it sometimes feels like someone is peeing on me. Goodbye lovely hair, goodbye volume, goodbye ever using conditioner again for fear that it won't ever rinse out.

Otherwise we've got all the modern luxuries (minus an elevator). Vinnie is here tormenting us with his high-pitched screams. He's so co-dependant that we're tempted to get a parakeet to keep him company. Should we name him Claude for Monet or Pablo for Picasso as Vinnie is for Van Gogh? I think we should wait until we're at the bird store and see if a Claude or a Pablo just make themselves available.

However I'm on limited speaking terms with Mr. Vinnie right now. For the past 6 months this bird has been madly obsessed with me. He went from never addressing my existence ever to coming out to my finger, sitting on my knee, trying to feed my finger by birdie regurgitation, and standing on my shoulder so much that it became scabbed and tender. But Mark ends his time at Trader Joe's, spends four full days home and suddenly it's Jamie Who? He won't come out to me, he attacks my finger, he's mean to me. I'm heartbroken. I feel like a mom the first time she hears her own child tell her that he hates her. It might be said out of anger and immaturity but it still hurts so bad.

But anyway, now I have all this stuff I need to do: unpack clothing into my newly attained clothes bureaus, reorganize the front closet that became a 'stuff everything in there' closet, get back into the swing of cooking because we can't eat out with our limited summer paychecks. When I was living with my parent's I had nothing to do, ever, that I sat and my waistband grew. Now I just want some time to dive into a project and I have tons to do: go to work events, go to summer job trainings, babysit, set up other summer job opportunities.

At the one job event I went to I was eating a small hamburger (no cheese, unkosher!) and I feel a hand grab me. The hand of Dr. Ruth, sex and relationship expert. There she was in the flesh and with her accent making a joke of her picture in the paper and how the blouse she was wearing then was the same blouse. She was holding onto me, as if it was just us two. Fun!

The last task I fear is learning how to grocery shop in a New York City supermarket. Sure, I grew up here, but I was never on grocery shopping duty here. The aisles are small, the store overcrowded, the products limited. I miss the Raley's of my California living. I miss the massive artisan bread section, the fancy cheeses, the hummus selection of more than just two flavors, the ginormously wide aisles, the free cooking magazine released each season, the overly friendly cashiers. I'm tearing up. I'm crying.

Anyway, if you're around: you're so invited. Come over!

Bringing the Bird

Hip Hip Hooray! I was given permission today to have Vinnie live with us in our new apartment.

Basically I told my realtor that I needed a place that allowed pets and he kind of shrugged it off and said there was a law that states once you have the pet in the apartment they can't make you get rid of it. Since I could tell this guy was a total crackpot I didn't trust him one bit. I ended up reading the rule that states that if your lease doesn't mention pets at all then you have a right to obtain a pet but if it states that you can't, then you can't.
So here I am, signing the lease and there is a section that reads No Pets and this massive clause that comes after it that hints to the fact that you have to have written permission but if it's discovered that you are harboring animals (especially dogs, this lease doesn't like dogs) they have permission to cancel your lease. So of course, I start to panic.

I casually ask about the clause and the leasing agent (who was very nice) says that people in the building do have pets, the clause really exists because they want to keep people from bringing in highly aggressive dogs such as pit bulls and rottweilers. I understand that a pit bull can be a perfectly normal dog, if raised appropriately, but my neighborhood had (still has?) a bad pit bull/dog fighting reputation. So they created the approval clause because they want little old lady dogs in, scary gangsta dogs out.

So I start to really get nervous as moving day approaches because my first experience with the property manager wasn't a very positive one and I'm thinking I'm going to ask him to have a bird and he's going to say no. Just because he can. So we wait and wait and then finally I can't take it anymore and I email him asking if we can have a small, caged bird. Six minutes later he emails me: Yeah, small bird okay. Your welcome. (grammatical error his, not mine)

So, I'm thrilled. Vinnie isn't a barking dog but he's not a mute either. I'd be panicked about a nosy neighbor or a visiting super discovering him and caring enough to report his presence. But, alas, everything is slowly falling into place.

Now all I need is a bed...and a sofa...and a table with chairs...and a bureau. Or two.

It's Mating Season, No?

Goodbye Benjamins

Wow, it's been a whole month since I last wrote. Which means the few of you who actually stopped by to read have probably given up on checking in and I'm writing to myself.
Well, I don't know where to start. Mark and I finally rented an apartment. I finally got my nice sized kitchen and a view that doesn't consist of a brick wall two inches away from the window. The drawback is I'm on the fifth floor of a walk up and I'm on a not-so-charming street in my 'hood. But apparently I'm supposed to compromise so that's that.

Mark had a grump moment last week when we dropped $217 on a second lock on the door. He was reliving those charming moments in California where you rent an apartment for the rent stated, they give you your keys, and that's that. In NYC it's not like that. Apparently I forgot to mention that to him. Here in NYC you have to drop your deposit and first month like anywhere else but then there is all the spending that is really "New Yorkie".

There's the whole we want to pretend our building is secure so we put a mid-line quality lock in it and now we charge you $40 bucks just to get the key even though when you pay rent that technically means you're paying to get into the building so the key should be included.

But then it's NYC and you don't trust anyone so even though your apartment comes with a lock you need to go put another lock in your door and avoid giving a copy of the key to your super even though your lease states that you have to.

So that's another couple of hundred because I live on a not-so-charming street so I feel the need to get the higher-end key cylinder. But that's not really fair to my new street either because my parents live on one of the "nicer" streets in my 'hood and not only were we robbed once but people have been mugged in our building's vestibule a number of times during our residency here, the last one being only 2 months ago. So take that fancy streets!

But wait...more spending! You've got to buy a ghetto gate to put on your window that has your fire escape. I've noticed a lot of apartments in my current building don't have these gates on their window. It's my non-professional opinion that these are people new to the area, new to city living in general. They don't get why you would put a gate on your window. I agree, it's not aesthetically pleasing. But it's the secure thing to do, regardless of what street you live on. These fire escapes are welcome mats for the sketchy to come and see what you have to offer in your home. For my new apartment I felt it necessary to have a gate because my new home faces the back, therefore not so many eyes watching who's going in and what's coming out.

I did find a whole selection of gates that would be more appealing since they have more of a "decor" thing going but they are crazy-more expensive because they are custom made. I'm a renter, I don't need custom made. I don't want to invest in a gate that's not going to fit my next apartment. So I end up with your run-of-the-mill accordion gate but I'm thinking I'll paint it white and eventually I won't even notice it. I'll be to busy working my ass off trying to make money to pay for everything.

And what's the real kicker about all this spending to move? We signed the lease a week ago and haven't moved a single thing. Ridiculous.

But anyway...I'm watching You've Got Mail on cable. I love this movie. It's also fun just to see how dated it is. The beginning when you watch the two main characters waiting for their AOL to sign on. The sounds of the dial-up, the you've got mail voice, the shop girl who is thinking about having to move because she might lose her job. She's devastated she might have to move to Brooklyn. But nowadays in NYC people like her are clammering to move to Brooklyn...or Astoria.
I wonder what would've had to happen in my life to have moved me to a hip neighborhood in the outerboroughs. I wonder if meeting new friends or getting a good job in the city after college instead of heading out to AmeriCorps would have somehow led me to leave the tip of the A train line. Who am I kidding?! A good job! Apparently those aren't destined for my lifetime. HA!

In Summation

Our trip to San Diego was a nice week away. It's so freaking beautiful in the part we visit that upon immediate arrival you shake your head and wonder why you are living anywhere else. "Let's just quit our jobs and move back here." Inevitably one of us will utter those words.

But after awhile you get sick of it. You get tired of the SoCal guys with their strategically distressed jeans, their gelled hair, their girly flip-flops, their oversized pick-up trucks that never touch dirt.

You get sick of all the girls who look like sorority girls. The sweat shorts paired with Uggs, the cell phone blabbering, the fancy bags.

You laugh at all the tools who live in Pacific Beach and apparently think it's necessary to be covered in tattoos that have no sense, especially the words San Diego in script across the sides of their neck. Is that how you prove your residency to obtain a library card?

You realize if you're going to get into a fight with a mean old man at a coffee shop you might as well be back in NYC where everyone else would think he too was out of line. They would applaud the way you handled the situation. Especially in New York where I feel many people might've told him to go fuck himself, no matter how old he was, and I didn't utter those words but I was damn close to doing it. THANK-YOU-VERY-MUCH.

But yes, it was beautiful there as the Pacific Ocean and the stunning coast line to stroll along have nothing to do with people.
It was nice how the Family is happy to see us.
It's nice when you ask a complete stranger just enjoying the sunset to take your picture and not only does he do it but he does it twice because he doesn't think the first one came out so well.
It's nice when the girls at the Starbucks are friendly and efficient and when your masseuse at the low-key place on Garnet in PB is amazing friendly and really good at making you comfortable.

So thanks San Diego...stay classy.

FYI

We're in San Diego! More to come when I arrive back home.

A Pretty Day

It's really nice out today. I actually went for a walk outside despite my social anxiety and Vinnie keeping me hostage by refusing to leave my shoulder and knee for almost two hours. I discovered how truly amazing the weather was when I had to take the dog out for his poop.
Nothing like bagging up dog poop to think "Man, it's really nice. I should come back out and go for a walk."
I'd love to take the dog, that would be a natural choice of course, but he's 12 and doesn't like to leave the front of the building. And I won't force him because he's not a friendly dog and I'd rather not be the girl in a crowded neighborhood park with the psychotic barking dog.

All of Inwood was out. The little boys playing baseball dreaming of being SupaStars. The older men playing baseball...dreaming of being SupaStars. Lots of couples, which makes me a little sad because Mark and I never get to stroll on a nice Sunday. Or any Sunday.

And what's this on the 'soccer field'? Is this an Ultimate Frisbee League? Ladies and Gentleman when you stand on a field in Inwood and you've lived in the area your whole life, and you come across an Ultimate league, you are watching the gentrification in motion. It was freaky. I almost wanted to take a poll: "How many of you are actually from around here. Like since you were in diapers? How many? How many of you are from out West? Rural? Suburbia?"

I'm not saying it's a bad thing it's just kinda a trip to see the new face of your old 'hood. It's also weird for me because it's like my old experiences catching up with me.
After college I wanted to see what the rest of the States were like so I signed up for AmeriCorps and shipped out west. Here I am in Denver, CO and everyone wants to play Ultimate and I was like "Wha?"
So I decided it was a new experience. Something that living in Inwood never taught me. That people like to play this game. LOVE to play this game. It's what they do out here. And now they're doing it around here. It's just funny. The world gets smaller and smaller.