I had thought, way back in November, that 2005 was going to be full of promise and excitement. Okay, so we are only what? 20 days into the year, but so far it is proving stressful.
In the last two weeks I have moved apartments—after being given a 60-day notice to evacuate my last apartment because it is being turned into a “luxury condo” (how they plan to sell a very small one-bedroom apartment is beyond me). I do feel that the word “luxury” is being thrown around too easily these days (see: eluxury.com, “luxurious accommodations,” “luxury sofa,” etc.)
Here are some fun things about my new apartment:
1.The Hallway: One of the reasons I nearly did not take this apartment is that is it in a very old apartment building and the green linoleum hallway looks like something out of a cross between “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” and “Barton Fink.” That may be because the two doors at the end of the hall--which face each other diagonally--create a fun optical illusion where it seems the hallway goes on for some sort of hellish green linoleum eternity. I suppose I could run down the hallway screaming “I’ll show YOU the life of the mind!!!!” ala John Goodman, but I’m not sure other residents are ready for that.
2.Fire Escape Entrance: Miracle of miracles the elaborate scaffolding-style fire escapes along the side of my building are not simply for show, but are used as entrances by the residents—which I’m sure violates all fire codes. It’s very dramatic for me to come in and out this way so I can, depending on my mood, pretend to be a) “Rent” cast member b)Holly Golightly or c)any Broadway musical/film made in the 1960s. I am currently penning my own ode to rental destitution which I hope to sing to my neighbor downstairs who has a sticker on his window that reads “American by Birth Southern by the Grace of God” complete with Confederate Flag.
3.The Broiler Rack: I need not use a cookie sheet for my broiling needs. Hallelujah!
4.No Peephole on the Door: Every time someone knocks on my door I have to simply believe they are who they say they are. Like when the Ron Jeremy-esque handyman (how sad that without even buying porn we can all know what this man looks like. A sign of the apocalypse I am certain) came to fix my shower the other morning and woke me from my peaceful slumber by banging on the door and yelling “MAINTENANCE!!!” like Animal from “The Muppet Show” and then broke the chain on my door in his enthusiasm to fix said shower. It’s just like the land shark skits on old SNL, but better because it’s real.
5.The Handyman: A different one from above. I suppose he was flirting with me when he kept telling me about all of “the great things” about the building the day I moved in. He listed such things as “the laundry room!” a lack of insects and rodents at the top of his list. I, of course, assumed that he was simply waiting until night to come hatchet me to death or, perhaps drug and keep me as his Laundry Room Princess like any good Lifetime movie plot. I know, I am arrogant when it comes to assuming everyone has an elaborate plot to kill me.
6.Velma Look-a-like Girl at the Realty Company: Even when she showed me the apartment she had about as much enthusiasm as a very bored voice over an intercom. Yet, she wasn’t rude. Whenever I call—whether to drop off my rent check, wish her happy holidays or complain—her voice tells me that I may as well have asked her “Can I stop by the office later and poke out your eye with a dull popsicle stick?”
7.The Cabinets: I think they may have been purchased from the set of “The Great Outdoors.” They are wood, have crazy Colonial (as in Paul Revere) looking handles, and definitely were purchased at 1950s Cabins ‘R’ Us.
8.The Guy Downstairs: He plays guitar under the fire escape/entrance stoop, smokes cigarettes and smiles blankly at everyone. Oh, and he looks like Charles Manson.
9.My Gay Dining Room Set: Donated by my very thoughtful cousin and his boyfriend I am now the proud owner of a metal and glass dining room set complete with chairs that look like giant paperclips and leopard-print chair covers. I love it. I have decided that I should just decorate my apartment totally ‘80s. It would only require buying a few Nagel prints, some pastel pottery and removing my couch cover to reveal the flamboyant floral “Golden Girls” print beneath.
Why is it that no matter where I live, I always seem to be living in 1970’s New York City?
I want my gossip! - 2005-08-17
Goodbye, BGT! - 2005-08-08
hell hath no fury like a awriting workshop - 2005-08-01
My Love Don't Cost a Thing - 2005-07-14
Kiss My Grits! - 2005-07-06
