Not in my house, you won't!
They say after planning a wedding, moving is one of the most traumatic things you will ever experience in your life. As C and I will hopefully have moved into our new apartment by the new year, I'm starting to agree.
I don't think I'm prepared for this. I've lived in my current apartment for 9 years. 9 years!!! Apartment-dwelling in Manhattan is like dog years, so I've really lived in it for something like 60! I have a lot of emotional and mental ties to that place. I was practically a wee sprog when I first moved in, and now I'm married with a dog. Wait a second - how did all that happen?
But my apartment has seen me through the years. Different jobs, boyfriends, impromptu parties, and meals with friends - we're talking a lot of memories. When everyone would come over to pre-party before going clubbing. The time the blender exploded raspberry daiquiri like a self-propelled rocket all over the ceiling. The time I stayed awake all night, hugging Zoe-dog, both of us quivering at what we thought was a mouse shrieking in pain. Turns out it was the battery in the smoke detector dying.
And the neighborhood. Don't even get me started. Where else am I going to get ribs as good as Brother Jimmy's? Investing the energy to discover new favorites in a new neighborhood just seems so exhausting at the moment. And what about Mike, the eccentric owner of the pet shop that Zoe loves to go to? Who else is gonna comp her the free doggie biscuits? And being so close to Central Park where, if there's a blizzard out, we'll find ourselves in a snowball fight with 30 other strangers, some of them in Santa suits?
I need a 12-step program for what I'm about to do.
I had to show our apartment last night to a potential buyer. It was a last minute thing, so I had to race home yesterday and deconstruct the bomb that hit our home Sunday night. This would be the one brought on by the trashy magazine/sloppy pajamas/ice cream-induced wallowing frenzy that was Moi. And I had to do it less than two hours.
When this girl walked in, she was like the ghost of my brother's ex-fiance come back to haunt me. Aside from being unnaturally thin, she was her doppelganger - a yenta in Juicy sweatpants, Juicy bag, and her cell phone permanently attached to her ear. She gave me a dismissive wave as she walked in, making me feel like I didn't exist in my own home. I instantly disliked her and wondered could I vote her out of my apartment if she decided she wanted it? I proceeded to show her around, which wasn't going to take very long as my little piece of real estate could probably fit in your living room.
M: "Here's the kitchen, where we recently purchased new appliances and re-tiled the floors-"
Girl: "Oh, I'd rip all that out anyway and make it a walk-in closet."
M (eyes bulging as I recalled the time and effort invested into re-doing the kitchen): "The gas line is in here."
"Yeah, and?" She blinked at me, not pausing to think that one false move with the gas line and she'd be taking off into the sky like a firecracker with a French pedicure.
Moving on, I talked her through the rest of the place, not that she heard me because she kept answering her cell phone and promptly cutting off whatever I was saying. Coming upon the antechamber to the bathroom...
M: "And here is the dressing area-"
Girl (eyes widening and smiling): "Is it a walk-in???"
M: "No."
Girl (gives a disdainful sniff): "How big is this apartment anyway? I thought it could be converted into a 1 bedroom?"
M: "Did you even read the listing?"
Girl: "No, I just saw the pictures. It's 'cute', but it's not for me." (She made air quotes when she said "cute". For that, I could have tackled her Juicy-swaddled ass and force-fed her a double cheeseburger from Jackson Hole. With mayo.)
M: "So you didn't read the listing and you were 45 minutes late, when I mentioned on the phone that I had dinner plans with friends right now?"
Girl (shrugging shoulders): "Stuff happens, you know?"
M (grabbing the back of her shirt): "That's it - you get out of my apartment right now! You and your walk-in-closet obsession have wasted my time and don't deserve to be in here one second longer!"
And with that, I dragged her across the apartment, opened the door, and threw her out into the hallway, Zoe-dog barking her approval throughout.
Okay, well, I didn't. But I soooo would have loved to!
I don't think I'm prepared for this. I've lived in my current apartment for 9 years. 9 years!!! Apartment-dwelling in Manhattan is like dog years, so I've really lived in it for something like 60! I have a lot of emotional and mental ties to that place. I was practically a wee sprog when I first moved in, and now I'm married with a dog. Wait a second - how did all that happen?
But my apartment has seen me through the years. Different jobs, boyfriends, impromptu parties, and meals with friends - we're talking a lot of memories. When everyone would come over to pre-party before going clubbing. The time the blender exploded raspberry daiquiri like a self-propelled rocket all over the ceiling. The time I stayed awake all night, hugging Zoe-dog, both of us quivering at what we thought was a mouse shrieking in pain. Turns out it was the battery in the smoke detector dying.
And the neighborhood. Don't even get me started. Where else am I going to get ribs as good as Brother Jimmy's? Investing the energy to discover new favorites in a new neighborhood just seems so exhausting at the moment. And what about Mike, the eccentric owner of the pet shop that Zoe loves to go to? Who else is gonna comp her the free doggie biscuits? And being so close to Central Park where, if there's a blizzard out, we'll find ourselves in a snowball fight with 30 other strangers, some of them in Santa suits?
I need a 12-step program for what I'm about to do.
I had to show our apartment last night to a potential buyer. It was a last minute thing, so I had to race home yesterday and deconstruct the bomb that hit our home Sunday night. This would be the one brought on by the trashy magazine/sloppy pajamas/ice cream-induced wallowing frenzy that was Moi. And I had to do it less than two hours.
When this girl walked in, she was like the ghost of my brother's ex-fiance come back to haunt me. Aside from being unnaturally thin, she was her doppelganger - a yenta in Juicy sweatpants, Juicy bag, and her cell phone permanently attached to her ear. She gave me a dismissive wave as she walked in, making me feel like I didn't exist in my own home. I instantly disliked her and wondered could I vote her out of my apartment if she decided she wanted it? I proceeded to show her around, which wasn't going to take very long as my little piece of real estate could probably fit in your living room.
M: "Here's the kitchen, where we recently purchased new appliances and re-tiled the floors-"
Girl: "Oh, I'd rip all that out anyway and make it a walk-in closet."
M (eyes bulging as I recalled the time and effort invested into re-doing the kitchen): "The gas line is in here."
"Yeah, and?" She blinked at me, not pausing to think that one false move with the gas line and she'd be taking off into the sky like a firecracker with a French pedicure.
Moving on, I talked her through the rest of the place, not that she heard me because she kept answering her cell phone and promptly cutting off whatever I was saying. Coming upon the antechamber to the bathroom...
M: "And here is the dressing area-"
Girl (eyes widening and smiling): "Is it a walk-in???"
M: "No."
Girl (gives a disdainful sniff): "How big is this apartment anyway? I thought it could be converted into a 1 bedroom?"
M: "Did you even read the listing?"
Girl: "No, I just saw the pictures. It's 'cute', but it's not for me." (She made air quotes when she said "cute". For that, I could have tackled her Juicy-swaddled ass and force-fed her a double cheeseburger from Jackson Hole. With mayo.)
M: "So you didn't read the listing and you were 45 minutes late, when I mentioned on the phone that I had dinner plans with friends right now?"
Girl (shrugging shoulders): "Stuff happens, you know?"
M (grabbing the back of her shirt): "That's it - you get out of my apartment right now! You and your walk-in-closet obsession have wasted my time and don't deserve to be in here one second longer!"
And with that, I dragged her across the apartment, opened the door, and threw her out into the hallway, Zoe-dog barking her approval throughout.
Okay, well, I didn't. But I soooo would have loved to!
posted by Currin Girl at 12:17 PM
5 Comments:
Hi M.
Its a common problem. Its your HOME so how can you let it go to someone you don't like? The RIGHT person will love it as you do.
Scamp
I think the better question is where you're going to find enormous straw-filled kegs full of booze and toy crocodiles.
I agree, Scamp - anyone who lives in that apartment after me is just gravy.
Bryan, I couldn't help but notice you skipped the Fishbowl and went straight for the jugular. Yes, I speak of The Almighty Trash Can, which has slayed me many, many times.
I recently bought a teeny weeny studio apartment and it tickles me to think that one day I may have to share it with someone else. I smell the premise of a sitcom in the works.
Whatever happened to the woman who stopped you and C on the elevator and made you a "soft" offer on your place 1yr ago? I would try to market your crib to the people who already live in your building.
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