Three apartments; no luck. The one bedroom I was so determined to love and secure TODAY because it was affordable, and allowed for Nugget, and would get me out of Lauren’s living room was so shady I didn’t even go inside. At least a month’s worth of garbage of inexplicable origin was blocking the door–physically and aromatically. The second was even further north in a decreasingly safe direction. I realized I can’t just sign on for a place for an entire 365 days just because it’d get this nearly unbearable process over with. If I have to talk to ex-boyfriend the entire way through the ghetto to feel safe, I obviously can’t live there. I mean he’s not always available and my hands freeze the moment I remove my gloves to dial. These conditions aren’t conducive for lasting patience or perseverance.
I’m in the kind of cold that slaps you in the face when you walk outside, and I always seem to be walking upwind…both ways. Walking in and out, and in and out, and riding up and down on the subway, and back and forth, and so on tempts me to settle. Putting the apartment scavenger hunt to death is even more tempting when it means I can focus more attention on finding a job–at least a part-time job to start saving. But not even that temptation would lead me to agree to my third option today. I found a very affordable room right by where I used to live with two really nice girls, but the bedroom is railroad style (a.k.a. it serves as a hallway between multiple rooms), has no laundry, and is a 15-month commitment to exclude Nugget. N-O. I can’t give up my son to live cheaply, because true value is found in relationships…and my dog’s is my most dependable one… A reality reaffirmed by yet another friend coming to town, planning to meet, rescheduling meeting, and ultimately canceling.
Dear acquaintances who wish to visit and use the first person you can think of that “lives” (ok, stays) here: Just because I’m unemployed doesn’t mean I have all the time in the world to traverse all over Manhattan to meet you in the ever-changing moments that you’re free. Sincerely, your once good friend who moved and consequently never heard from you until this visit became an idea.
Just needed to get that off my chest. To keep this day consistent with the prior events and the days that have gone the same before, I purchased the cheapest bottle of wine upon my mom’s recommendation for relaxation and brought it back to find I have no idea where my hostess keeps the cork screw. Before panicking I checked all the typical cork screw spots, every drawer, every cabinet, every utensil pot. As a last resort I texted her while she was out for her dad’s birthday as the wine was intended to accompany my homemade pasta and was well deserved as I finally cooked my own meal. She directed me to her fancy version of a cork screw: The Rabbit. This device is supposed to reduce the wine opening hassle to a three second forgetful inconvenience, but I gave the Rabbit multiple attempts and to no avail. An hour later (pasta long gone in tupperware, relaxation a mere tease of the past) she arrived back with her parents who I hadn’t seen in eight years. The wine fiasco would have to wait.
My hostess’s dad made several comments about making it in New York and how if he could do it I certainly could (intermingled with countless, “It’s a touch city” reminders). My psuedo-roomie warned me her dad was justifiably tipsy from the birthday dinner (ugh, my wine!) and typically gets excited when he has an audience. This was moments before he chose to unzip his pants and pull his boxers through the opening to show her friend and I the Manhattan-themed underwear Lauren had gifted him, because telling us about the present just wasn’t enough. He had to prove it. I had no problem at all with this (after the boxers were all he revealed) as it was the funniest thing that’s happened all week. The visit with her parents was a nice touch to an otherwise discouraging day, and concluded with advice from the birthday boy about connections and networking. This reminded me that I had let my apartment failures overshadow the invigorating news that one of my favorite college professors sent my resume to her friends in the city. I may be cynical, but I unabashedly get my hopes up at any bit of hopeful news, particularly if it contributes to the apartment or job extravaganzas (see how much more positive and fun that sounds than mere “searches”).
I’m trying, but I have to fight the slump and keep my mind from slipping into bitterness. For instance, I saw one of those Swiffer commercials about ditching your old duster, and the duster wakes up from a bad dream, and upon seeing the duster in bed my immediate response is, “Great, even a duster has a home,” and that kind of thinking only hinders the process, excuse me, extravaganza. So hopefully my connection’s connections will help, somehow, and my pep talk helped my mood at least. Only once the parents left, roomie broke it to me that the wine had a twist-off top. Such is life…well, my life.
2 apartments to view tomorrow, still at 32 resumes sent. Fingers crossed and getting tired.