Today I had to make a dreaded second visit to the Social Security Office in Brooklyn. They sent my first card to the wrong address...leaving the 'A' out of the street number on the postal envelope!
I know this doesn't sound like a story worthy of sharing with many of you, however to me, this experience felt like hell had made a special visit to Brooklyn.
When my card didn't turn up weeks after it should have, I made a phone call to enquire its where-abouts. I was told that nothing could be done over the phone, and I would have to go back to the Social Security Office.
Don't even for one minute underestimate what this trip meant, or even begin to pretend it could be so easy. Visiting Social Security requires a good 2.5-3hrs of your precious day. 2.5-3hrs of standing in a long line. One long line after the next. First you line up to get scanned in through security. This takes approximately 1.5hrs, with families and kids acting out and Mothers yelling profusely at them to "Shut-up, or we're leaving!" Good, I thought. Leave. Please, leave. Please let this line shorten just a little, and get your horrid kids out of my way.
After being scanned through security, there's false hope the line is done. But of course it's not done. You are then lead up an elevator to level fifteen to join another line. There's nowhere to sit, you're hungry, tired, hot, bothered, and the people around you are making you more frustrated than anything else.
The first time I had to come was not fun. It was 104 degrees outside (40 degrees celcius) and the industrial fans inside were only managing to blow out hot air. Of course, with impatient, disgruntled people lining up for hours, this also meant the constant huff, and puff snaking its way through the line.
The second trip was the worst of the two for me though. I was being punished by having the endure this long line, by the simple fact that they sent my card to the wrong address. Their mess up, not mine! When I arrived, I at least thought I would be fast tracked to a different line. "No Mam, you fill out that form again, you line up like everyone else." You are kidding......well no they weren't.
As I went up the elevator to the final line, two couples began a qualm about God, children, and at what age God deems people to be responsible for their own actions! One couple believed their one year son was responsible if he decided to murder another being, and the other couple believed you had to be thirteen before you were in control of murdering someone. It got really heated, with many bystanders in the line joining in on the conversation. At some point, the conversation became so insane that all I could do was laugh out loud in the middle of the line.
So 3hrs later today, I finally should have a card on its way to me.
Fingers crossed, because I think I'd rather be an illegal worker in the States before lining up to do that all over EVER AGAIN!
Friday, July 30, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
The ears on the train go POP, POP, POP!
The ears on the train go POP, POP, POP...POP, POP, POP...All the way to Manhattan.
This is a true story, and after catching the train back and forth between Brooklyn and Manhattan every day for the past month, I still find the whole experience VERY entertaining.
I live the first stop out of Manhattan, which is called Bedford Ave. In between Bedford Ave and 1st Ave, there is a moment where the pressure in everyones ears becomes just too much. And so it begins.
Many puff out cheeks. Some move their jaws in large rotations. But most commuters, in the most unflattering way possible, squeeze their noses tight and blow out like a blowfish. It is simply amusing watching everyone on the train, in sync with one another, pop their ears.
You just have see it for yourselves.
So who's visting next???
This is a true story, and after catching the train back and forth between Brooklyn and Manhattan every day for the past month, I still find the whole experience VERY entertaining.
I live the first stop out of Manhattan, which is called Bedford Ave. In between Bedford Ave and 1st Ave, there is a moment where the pressure in everyones ears becomes just too much. And so it begins.
Many puff out cheeks. Some move their jaws in large rotations. But most commuters, in the most unflattering way possible, squeeze their noses tight and blow out like a blowfish. It is simply amusing watching everyone on the train, in sync with one another, pop their ears.
You just have see it for yourselves.
So who's visting next???
Sunday, July 18, 2010
"It's just how we do it in NYC"
This was my first night out hitting the BIG clubs in NYC, and it won’t be forgotten for a very long time...
The night started out with Pre-Game (synonym = pre-drinks) at a friends’ apartment in East Village. Meet up time was 11.30pm, but when I arrived, her roomies were having a quick cat-nap. After waking them up, and getting ready, it was 12.45am before we left the apartment.
A long, 20 minute cab drive (for the 5 or so blocks we had to go) later, and we pulled up out front of Juliet in the Meatpacking District. I would like to say there’s a Sydney equivalent to this club, but really there isn’t. This would be more in line with...let's say 'the movies'.
After a two minute education lesson from the girls about ‘how things work’ in the NYC club scene, we were escorted in by a promoter, who was close friends with one of the girls. Basically, without befriending promoters, forget having a fun or cheap night out in the city.
With the promoter by our side, we were able to pass by the one hundred other girls lining up to get in. We were then escorted straight to the front of the line at the bar, and had shots (& chasers) bought for us. And then taken to a private table in the corner of the club, where buckets of ice, litres of spirits and jugs of juice were adorned across the table.
It took only fifteen minutes before I felt sorry for men in NYC. It was an expensive process for them to go out for the night. But, they had money, and we did not.
The music got our dance on, and we spent many long hours busting out the moves on the dance floor.
By the time we were ready to leave, we had mustered up a group of twelve people. The promoter decided it best to be driven by a limousine that was waiting to take in suckers like us to the next club (which was a five minute drive).
With limousines came VIP access into the next club, and no ID check. After all, if you hop out of a limo, you must be legal and you must be important; right?
This club was full of hookah’s (no, not hooker's) and once again, tables of ice buckets, litres of spirits and jugs of juice. I guess it’s just how it’s done in NYC. We had barely walked through the front door before a friend and my arms had been grabbed and pulled to a table.
“You want some hooka? A drink? I’m a promoter.”
No joke, this was all said in the one breath. My friend whispered in my ear, get his number, promoters are your ticket to fun in the NYC baby.
And so the night continued, hookah’s and all!
We rolled back to the promoters luxury apartment in Chelsea (who lives directly below Kanye West), and he ordered burgers, fries, chicken wings and spinach ravioli (odd combo, right), at 7am in the morning. Delicious.
At 8am we hopped in cab and were homeward bound. Having spent only $10 (my contribution to the cab) all night, I was one very happy lady.
I love NYC!
The night started out with Pre-Game (synonym = pre-drinks) at a friends’ apartment in East Village. Meet up time was 11.30pm, but when I arrived, her roomies were having a quick cat-nap. After waking them up, and getting ready, it was 12.45am before we left the apartment.
A long, 20 minute cab drive (for the 5 or so blocks we had to go) later, and we pulled up out front of Juliet in the Meatpacking District. I would like to say there’s a Sydney equivalent to this club, but really there isn’t. This would be more in line with...let's say 'the movies'.
After a two minute education lesson from the girls about ‘how things work’ in the NYC club scene, we were escorted in by a promoter, who was close friends with one of the girls. Basically, without befriending promoters, forget having a fun or cheap night out in the city.
With the promoter by our side, we were able to pass by the one hundred other girls lining up to get in. We were then escorted straight to the front of the line at the bar, and had shots (& chasers) bought for us. And then taken to a private table in the corner of the club, where buckets of ice, litres of spirits and jugs of juice were adorned across the table.
It took only fifteen minutes before I felt sorry for men in NYC. It was an expensive process for them to go out for the night. But, they had money, and we did not.
The music got our dance on, and we spent many long hours busting out the moves on the dance floor.
By the time we were ready to leave, we had mustered up a group of twelve people. The promoter decided it best to be driven by a limousine that was waiting to take in suckers like us to the next club (which was a five minute drive).
With limousines came VIP access into the next club, and no ID check. After all, if you hop out of a limo, you must be legal and you must be important; right?
This club was full of hookah’s (no, not hooker's) and once again, tables of ice buckets, litres of spirits and jugs of juice. I guess it’s just how it’s done in NYC. We had barely walked through the front door before a friend and my arms had been grabbed and pulled to a table.
“You want some hooka? A drink? I’m a promoter.”
No joke, this was all said in the one breath. My friend whispered in my ear, get his number, promoters are your ticket to fun in the NYC baby.
And so the night continued, hookah’s and all!
We rolled back to the promoters luxury apartment in Chelsea (who lives directly below Kanye West), and he ordered burgers, fries, chicken wings and spinach ravioli (odd combo, right), at 7am in the morning. Delicious.
At 8am we hopped in cab and were homeward bound. Having spent only $10 (my contribution to the cab) all night, I was one very happy lady.
I love NYC!
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
The Twin Cities......Minneapolis
I flew to Minneapolis over the weekend for my gorgeous God Sisters' wedding, and WOW was it a beautiful night!
I had been looking forward to this weekend since moving to the States because Mum, William & Rachel were coming over from Oz. We didn't do our final goodbyes in Sydney, because we knew we would be seeing each other in Minneapolis, so it was sure to be a fun (but short) weekend away.
After a stunningly beautiful wedding ceremony, cocktails and canapés in the courtyard, and a no expenses made reception dinner in the gallery space, we were all lead upstairs, where the real party began.
A bar, dance floor, suave lounge set-up, and amazing balcony that wrapped around the entire hotel space, and not to forget the incredible DJ who played the bride & groom's AMAZING top 100 songs picked and ready to scream through the speakers.
After but little persuasion, and upon realizing that at least twenty people were racing to the dance floor by song number one, I had dragged Rachel up with me. Right on cue of course for everybody else to sit down. She shied away for a mere 60 seconds, before I had her boogying and shaking in her very short, shift dress.
Rachel got the most compliments out of anybody ALL night. Her $23 bargain dress from ‘Forever 21’ had the bride asking if she was wearing Marc Jacobs. But no, when Laura caught glimpse of what Mummy dearest had purchased in Texas for her, we had to make an emergency “I don’t have anything ‘nice’ enough to wear to the wedding tomorrow” trip to The Mall of America. Laura to the rescue managed to find the winning number in a matter of minutes; dress, cluster of bracelets, shoes, bag; the lot!
Once we had our dance on, Rachel and myself barely left the dance floor all night long. Well, except for the occasional Grey Goose, lime & soda, and pink lemonade (or should I say, Sprite!)
Eyes were on us all night long, and we had the most incredibly fun night of our lives.
Mum shocked us on the dance floor also. We knew she loved to get down and boogy, but she was doing more than just boogy that night. She was tearing up the dance floor alongside us for many of the big hits. Alongside us, and later in the night, alongside the younger male varieties in the room. She too, had many sets of eyes on her. Go Mom!
At 12.30am Mum had, had enough. She asked William and Rachel if they wanted to leave, but they were too busy tearing up the dance floor still, so they stayed with me. It was only the party people, a whole fifteen or so of us, and William and Rachel left. Classic!
As 1am rolled around, the DJ was done for the night. We retreated to public bar downstairs where we had been for cocktails and canapés earlier in the evening. It didn’t last long though, as the heat that had been with us all day, turned to rain.
Cue for the night to end, and for everyone to head back to their rooms.
My little groovers were finally ready to go home, and so was I. But this night will be remembered as the biggest, boogiest, bestest night in the U, S of A ever!
What can I say…..The Gammel’s ALWAYS know how to get the party started!
I had been looking forward to this weekend since moving to the States because Mum, William & Rachel were coming over from Oz. We didn't do our final goodbyes in Sydney, because we knew we would be seeing each other in Minneapolis, so it was sure to be a fun (but short) weekend away.
After a stunningly beautiful wedding ceremony, cocktails and canapés in the courtyard, and a no expenses made reception dinner in the gallery space, we were all lead upstairs, where the real party began.
A bar, dance floor, suave lounge set-up, and amazing balcony that wrapped around the entire hotel space, and not to forget the incredible DJ who played the bride & groom's AMAZING top 100 songs picked and ready to scream through the speakers.
After but little persuasion, and upon realizing that at least twenty people were racing to the dance floor by song number one, I had dragged Rachel up with me. Right on cue of course for everybody else to sit down. She shied away for a mere 60 seconds, before I had her boogying and shaking in her very short, shift dress.
Rachel got the most compliments out of anybody ALL night. Her $23 bargain dress from ‘Forever 21’ had the bride asking if she was wearing Marc Jacobs. But no, when Laura caught glimpse of what Mummy dearest had purchased in Texas for her, we had to make an emergency “I don’t have anything ‘nice’ enough to wear to the wedding tomorrow” trip to The Mall of America. Laura to the rescue managed to find the winning number in a matter of minutes; dress, cluster of bracelets, shoes, bag; the lot!
Once we had our dance on, Rachel and myself barely left the dance floor all night long. Well, except for the occasional Grey Goose, lime & soda, and pink lemonade (or should I say, Sprite!)
Eyes were on us all night long, and we had the most incredibly fun night of our lives.
Mum shocked us on the dance floor also. We knew she loved to get down and boogy, but she was doing more than just boogy that night. She was tearing up the dance floor alongside us for many of the big hits. Alongside us, and later in the night, alongside the younger male varieties in the room. She too, had many sets of eyes on her. Go Mom!
At 12.30am Mum had, had enough. She asked William and Rachel if they wanted to leave, but they were too busy tearing up the dance floor still, so they stayed with me. It was only the party people, a whole fifteen or so of us, and William and Rachel left. Classic!
As 1am rolled around, the DJ was done for the night. We retreated to public bar downstairs where we had been for cocktails and canapés earlier in the evening. It didn’t last long though, as the heat that had been with us all day, turned to rain.
Cue for the night to end, and for everyone to head back to their rooms.
My little groovers were finally ready to go home, and so was I. But this night will be remembered as the biggest, boogiest, bestest night in the U, S of A ever!
What can I say…..The Gammel’s ALWAYS know how to get the party started!
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Not so clever in pleather.....
Definition: Pleather - Artificial leather is a fabric substitute for leather where a leather-like finish is required but the actual material is cost-prohibitive or unsuitable.
I have been dying to wear my pleather skirt since arriving in NY. It had been my fave fashion piece through the Australian winter, but due to the 104 degree temps in NY, it has been out of the question. Although it is a very short skirt, anyone who has ever worn leather (and especially pleather) can tell you how sticky & hot it is to wear. Even my easiest breeziest cotton skirts have been sticking to me in this weather.
This morning however, I felt the weather had dropped a little, just enough to wriggle into my fave skirt, or at least it was the closest weather opportunity I was going to get for a while to wear the skirt. So on it went, and out the door I went.
What a statement I was making!
First stop; iced-coffee from the coffee shop on the corner. A man of about forty ordered ahead of me, and upon turning around to move off to the side, he stopped in his tracks and stared me up and down. “Why do people not wear leather anymore?” He asked. “Your skirt is fantastic, I don’t know why nobody wears leather anymore.”
“I guess it’s because I’m not from here. Aussies have always had an odd spin on fashion.” I said. And so the long story of my background began. A great pick-up line from yours truly.
I then had a meeting with a designer that morning. She too commented on her love for my skirt.
The day continued with many whistles out of car windows, men stopping on the streets to stare me up and down, one female crossed over the road to tell me she loved my skirt, and many, many sales assistants commented on it also.
I began to wonder if the pleather was causing such a response because of how I looked in it, because of the sexual connotations attached to a short leather skirt, or if in fact that people just loved the skirt.
At the end of the day however, I felt rather trampish in my tight pleather skirt, catching the boggling eyes of every man (& woman) passing by, not to mention its utter inappropriateness in the cities heat.
It is with great sadness that I announce it here first; I will be waiting a little while before pulling out my fave fashion piece again.
I have been dying to wear my pleather skirt since arriving in NY. It had been my fave fashion piece through the Australian winter, but due to the 104 degree temps in NY, it has been out of the question. Although it is a very short skirt, anyone who has ever worn leather (and especially pleather) can tell you how sticky & hot it is to wear. Even my easiest breeziest cotton skirts have been sticking to me in this weather.
This morning however, I felt the weather had dropped a little, just enough to wriggle into my fave skirt, or at least it was the closest weather opportunity I was going to get for a while to wear the skirt. So on it went, and out the door I went.
What a statement I was making!
First stop; iced-coffee from the coffee shop on the corner. A man of about forty ordered ahead of me, and upon turning around to move off to the side, he stopped in his tracks and stared me up and down. “Why do people not wear leather anymore?” He asked. “Your skirt is fantastic, I don’t know why nobody wears leather anymore.”
“I guess it’s because I’m not from here. Aussies have always had an odd spin on fashion.” I said. And so the long story of my background began. A great pick-up line from yours truly.
I then had a meeting with a designer that morning. She too commented on her love for my skirt.
The day continued with many whistles out of car windows, men stopping on the streets to stare me up and down, one female crossed over the road to tell me she loved my skirt, and many, many sales assistants commented on it also.
I began to wonder if the pleather was causing such a response because of how I looked in it, because of the sexual connotations attached to a short leather skirt, or if in fact that people just loved the skirt.
At the end of the day however, I felt rather trampish in my tight pleather skirt, catching the boggling eyes of every man (& woman) passing by, not to mention its utter inappropriateness in the cities heat.
It is with great sadness that I announce it here first; I will be waiting a little while before pulling out my fave fashion piece again.
Monday, July 5, 2010
May the fourth be with you...
New York City, 4th of July!
A day for families to put their home made fireworks to the test, soak up the sun, wear skimpy blue, red & white combos, and purchase blow-up backyard pools to survive the stifling heat.
For me, Independence Day celebrated exactly that...my independence!
Independent Laura sat on Long Beach, eating foot long hero's, mixed berry fruit salads, and bucket loads of organic spiked lemonade. Simply superb!
After a lazy day having intimate relations with my air-conditioner, it was 5pm before we could muster ourselves into the car & hit the road bound for Long Beach.
The boys decided they needed beach toys to play with. First stop was CVS; the cities answer to EVERYTHING! The shelves dripped in an array of frisbees, racquets, balls, bats; you name it they had it. But in true male form, nothing was good enough for the boys. Especially after a quick iPhone search revealed that we were 100m away from Toys 'R Us...but alas, it was nowhere to be found. Thank God for the local beach shops overflowing with US flag printed paraphernalia. The boys jumped on board the US flag printed paddles & balls and to the beach we went.
The weather had cooled nicely, the spiked lemonade was working its magic, and the food was going down a treat. A beautiful night was had by all, and after an extremely giggly ride home, and an interesting trip to 7-Eleven, I arrived at my front door at 1.30am.
I decided the night was still young, and with a phone call to Eloise and a quick train trip into Manhattan, the night lingered on....
There was a rooftop with hedges, and fairy lights galore. The Empire State stood in the backdrop, glistening in all its evening beauty. Men were coming at us, from every corner of the globe. This was not a joke. It seemed we were pulling all the guys that night, but not one of the from the US of A. It seemed awfully un-independent of us, and tonight all we wanted was some American boy interaction. Jager bombs, tap waters, tip after tip. A 24hr gym, with a fitness freak inside (at 2am). A 24hr diner, that was packed to the brim, but alas, not even NYC can pull a liquor license through the night.
So the night finally ended, it was 5am. Independence day was gone, and the city was sleeping (yes, believe it or not). The sun was rising, and yellow cabs were in full abundance. So in I hopped back to my new found love, Brooklyn.
Home sweet home...and oh what a way to celebrate my independence...
A day for families to put their home made fireworks to the test, soak up the sun, wear skimpy blue, red & white combos, and purchase blow-up backyard pools to survive the stifling heat.
For me, Independence Day celebrated exactly that...my independence!
Independent Laura sat on Long Beach, eating foot long hero's, mixed berry fruit salads, and bucket loads of organic spiked lemonade. Simply superb!
After a lazy day having intimate relations with my air-conditioner, it was 5pm before we could muster ourselves into the car & hit the road bound for Long Beach.
The boys decided they needed beach toys to play with. First stop was CVS; the cities answer to EVERYTHING! The shelves dripped in an array of frisbees, racquets, balls, bats; you name it they had it. But in true male form, nothing was good enough for the boys. Especially after a quick iPhone search revealed that we were 100m away from Toys 'R Us...but alas, it was nowhere to be found. Thank God for the local beach shops overflowing with US flag printed paraphernalia. The boys jumped on board the US flag printed paddles & balls and to the beach we went.
The weather had cooled nicely, the spiked lemonade was working its magic, and the food was going down a treat. A beautiful night was had by all, and after an extremely giggly ride home, and an interesting trip to 7-Eleven, I arrived at my front door at 1.30am.
I decided the night was still young, and with a phone call to Eloise and a quick train trip into Manhattan, the night lingered on....
There was a rooftop with hedges, and fairy lights galore. The Empire State stood in the backdrop, glistening in all its evening beauty. Men were coming at us, from every corner of the globe. This was not a joke. It seemed we were pulling all the guys that night, but not one of the from the US of A. It seemed awfully un-independent of us, and tonight all we wanted was some American boy interaction. Jager bombs, tap waters, tip after tip. A 24hr gym, with a fitness freak inside (at 2am). A 24hr diner, that was packed to the brim, but alas, not even NYC can pull a liquor license through the night.
So the night finally ended, it was 5am. Independence day was gone, and the city was sleeping (yes, believe it or not). The sun was rising, and yellow cabs were in full abundance. So in I hopped back to my new found love, Brooklyn.
Home sweet home...and oh what a way to celebrate my independence...
Thursday, July 1, 2010
LG hits NYC...
Night # 5 in NYC & I sadly find myself sitting on the couch in front of the tele with a tub of Ben & Jerry's 'Fish Food' Ice-cream! For those of you lucky enough to know what I'm talking about......YUM!
Since arriving, it has been a complete whirlwind. Not the first week of New York everyone is expecting me to be having - believe me! It is not all Upper East Side, drinks by the pool, parties right through til morning, and men hanging off every limb. The reality of week number one in NYC has been spending countless hours every day in a relationship with craigslist.com finding an apartment, and then coordinating inspections of the apartments - up to six on any given day. Sounds easier than you may think.
In Sydney, the prospect of going to six inspections on a lazy Saturday is normal. You casually wake up, go to brunch, then hop in the luxury of your car and away you go; hopping from one place to the next. For me it has been a little harder. Still deciding if I want to live in the East Village or Brooklyn has certainly made things harder too, as it has meant hopping back and forth on trains between Manhattan and Brooklyn. And of course, as chance would have it, inspection times always happen to pan out that one will be in Brooklyn, then one in Manhattan, then Brooklyn, then Manhattan, Brooklyn, Manhattan! Exhausting! Plus, inspections can happen on any day, and at any hour. One person wanted to swing by at 11pm Tuesday night!
At least now I am a pro at getting the train! I know which stop I'm hopping on at, which stop I'm getting off at, and even how to get to the station from my (temporary) residence in Brooklyn.
A few quick laughs about my house hunting experiences;
1 - A room in the East Village, which when I arrive, I realise the term East Village has been used VERY loosely. It is at the furthest point of East Village, and is in fact at the edge of Alphabet City; the part of town where things begin to feel a tad sketchy. As I continue walking street by street, further and further from the desirable end of the East Village, I find myself standing opposite the apartment. A group of six large men are sprawled across the front steps that lead up to the building. They have stocking cut-outs, fitted over their bald heads. Tattoos cover every visible inch of skin; which is a lot of skin seeing they all have their shirts off. They are sitting on the steps in such a way, that they have gained complete ownership over the steps and anything beyond the steps. They looked very gang-like, so I continue around the opposite corner and don't look back. I write a text to the owner of the apartment letting them know I won't be coming, as I have found myself another place already. Cheeky.
2 - This is the 6th inspection I have set up, and I have seen a lot of crap by this point. This time on the Lower East Side, and once again the term has been used very, very loosely for the border of China Town. One of the tenants leads me up to the ninth floor...all walk-up stairs...I keep telling myself I love stairs, but this was a lot of stairs. We reach the front door, eventually, and he swings the door open. "Watch your step". There is a ledge right at the front entrance that I have to step over to get into the apartment (hazard for those big nights out). He knocks on the bedroom door where another room mate pops out of. "This will be your room." As in many Manhattan apartments, all that fits in the room is the bed. I don't even know how they managed to maneuver the bed into the room, it is sitting in there so snug. There are odd looking cabinets attached the the walls with her belongings in them. Nails are coming out of the wall at the back of the cabinets (yet another hazard). I can barely see the room due to the amount of clothes and objects flung across the room. I am taken out to the kitchen that looks burnt to a crisp. Literally. I don't think it's safe to cook anything in. "Where is the toilet?" "Down the hall" he replies. "And so it's just you & me then?" "Oh, no, it will be the three of us." Hmmmm. There are only two rooms though. As the feeling of a squatters town hits home, I decide it best to leave the premises immediately!
More stories to follow...
Since arriving, it has been a complete whirlwind. Not the first week of New York everyone is expecting me to be having - believe me! It is not all Upper East Side, drinks by the pool, parties right through til morning, and men hanging off every limb. The reality of week number one in NYC has been spending countless hours every day in a relationship with craigslist.com finding an apartment, and then coordinating inspections of the apartments - up to six on any given day. Sounds easier than you may think.
In Sydney, the prospect of going to six inspections on a lazy Saturday is normal. You casually wake up, go to brunch, then hop in the luxury of your car and away you go; hopping from one place to the next. For me it has been a little harder. Still deciding if I want to live in the East Village or Brooklyn has certainly made things harder too, as it has meant hopping back and forth on trains between Manhattan and Brooklyn. And of course, as chance would have it, inspection times always happen to pan out that one will be in Brooklyn, then one in Manhattan, then Brooklyn, then Manhattan, Brooklyn, Manhattan! Exhausting! Plus, inspections can happen on any day, and at any hour. One person wanted to swing by at 11pm Tuesday night!
At least now I am a pro at getting the train! I know which stop I'm hopping on at, which stop I'm getting off at, and even how to get to the station from my (temporary) residence in Brooklyn.
A few quick laughs about my house hunting experiences;
1 - A room in the East Village, which when I arrive, I realise the term East Village has been used VERY loosely. It is at the furthest point of East Village, and is in fact at the edge of Alphabet City; the part of town where things begin to feel a tad sketchy. As I continue walking street by street, further and further from the desirable end of the East Village, I find myself standing opposite the apartment. A group of six large men are sprawled across the front steps that lead up to the building. They have stocking cut-outs, fitted over their bald heads. Tattoos cover every visible inch of skin; which is a lot of skin seeing they all have their shirts off. They are sitting on the steps in such a way, that they have gained complete ownership over the steps and anything beyond the steps. They looked very gang-like, so I continue around the opposite corner and don't look back. I write a text to the owner of the apartment letting them know I won't be coming, as I have found myself another place already. Cheeky.
2 - This is the 6th inspection I have set up, and I have seen a lot of crap by this point. This time on the Lower East Side, and once again the term has been used very, very loosely for the border of China Town. One of the tenants leads me up to the ninth floor...all walk-up stairs...I keep telling myself I love stairs, but this was a lot of stairs. We reach the front door, eventually, and he swings the door open. "Watch your step". There is a ledge right at the front entrance that I have to step over to get into the apartment (hazard for those big nights out). He knocks on the bedroom door where another room mate pops out of. "This will be your room." As in many Manhattan apartments, all that fits in the room is the bed. I don't even know how they managed to maneuver the bed into the room, it is sitting in there so snug. There are odd looking cabinets attached the the walls with her belongings in them. Nails are coming out of the wall at the back of the cabinets (yet another hazard). I can barely see the room due to the amount of clothes and objects flung across the room. I am taken out to the kitchen that looks burnt to a crisp. Literally. I don't think it's safe to cook anything in. "Where is the toilet?" "Down the hall" he replies. "And so it's just you & me then?" "Oh, no, it will be the three of us." Hmmmm. There are only two rooms though. As the feeling of a squatters town hits home, I decide it best to leave the premises immediately!
More stories to follow...
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