I should explain that I have changed the bottom of this post every day for the past six. I also wrote another post, put it up, then put it in draft as I’m having ten zillion anxiety attacks at once
November 23, 2007 — Chances are you will do something outrageous today, something even your closest friends think is evidence that you have finally lost your mind. They’re wrong, of course. If anything you have finally discovered your true self and intend to follow your dream without fear and without seeking approval. Good for you.
November 24, 2007 — You need to overcome your fears and you need to overcome them quickly. For some strange reason your worries have got out of hand of late and the result is paralysis – you cannot move one way or the other. Trust that life will always support you, then make a supreme effort to get moving again
On the sidebar is a new chapter and link to a page for Colliding Worlds–the page has a summary and explanation
Ten years ago today I officially moved into this apartment.
In all that time I have never had a real conversation with the girls who live next door. Everybody calls them “the girls” and nobody has ever exchanged more than a “hello” with them.
I have tried. I’m at my best in elevators. For some reason when everybody else freezes and looks at the floor, I become positively chatty. There’s always something to talk about. I like my building rep as “best person to be stuck on the elevator with.”
I’m a weather fanatic, so….How something was wrong on the streets for about a month and I couldn’t put my finger on it until yesterday–no leaves had fallen. Men in soft Italian leather shoes love that to be noted. I can get almost anybody into a conversation, but the girls…
They listen to the news, and more news and more news. They over boil cabbage for six months a year. They burn toast badly, or don’t clean out the toaster when it needs to be. This presented a problem my first morning as I thought my friend set my apartment on fire. He didn’t.
We share pipes–my extra bathroom and their kitchen. I have had at least five rock floods, with rocks coming up my bathroom basin and shower drain. None of the building staff has ever figured out exactly what causes it. They don’t want to gross me out but they think they throw kitty litter into their kitchen sink. That is weird and rather gross.
I will never get to know the girls next door, and don’t think I’m missing much. When they do listen to music it’s always classical. Not that there’s anything wrong with that but I like rock and blues. Actually four out of the five apartments on my wing exist on a steady diet of classical. I can hear it when I’m waiting for the elevator. My friends tease me for being the trailer park trash of the wing.
I once met a wing neighbor when I was walking home from a three hour Tom Waits concert. I thought I had just had a holy experience. She thought the riot police should be called. She’s younger than I am. To have never heard of Tom Waits is beyond my belief. At least she talks to me. When speaking of her to Lucia I call her part of “the white bread family” as they’re so bland.
They do fight a lot and not just behind closed doors. Once Lucia and I were sitting on her stoop eight blocks and two avenues from here and I heard familiar voices. We looked across the street. Husband and wife sans son were going at it heavily. I guess they thought they were far enough away from the building. In New York you’re never far enough away from people you might know.
It’s an urban myth that you never run into people you know. I constantly do. During the club years, people were always stopping me: “You’re, you’re…” Most times they knew me from the club. Other times I passed as a generic soap person. I wish that I had been able to play off that but I was too shy.
People have always taken me for hard and cold. I gave off the aura of being unapproachable when I so badly wanted to be approachable. I’m older now, sort of wiser and yet still do at times.
But put me in an elevator.
I’m not a romantic. Actually maybe sadly the opposite of one. When I left a comment at Cooper’s blog defending benevolent sexism, I was really defending my using men to help me with everything to do with selling this apartment. When I bought it was an all woman thing except for the seller’s realtor. I’m bad at accepting any kind of help. I think I should do it all myself. This move has me crazed and I find myself accepting any help. I find myself obsessively making arbitrary deadlines based on nothing but a feeling that I have to get it on the market before the end of the year.
I read blogs, magazines, newspapers and various websites. It feels as if everybody thinks they’re an expert on some subject or another. If every American who claims expertise truly was, then wouldn’t this country be in better shape? Reading all this works me into a state of paralysis. I was reading a real estate site that I love as it gives real prices, days on market etc. However the comment threads are dominated by idiots. I wanted to ask real questions but didn’t see the point as I would be told to buy gold. That has nothing to do with the questions that I wanted to ask. I think we suffer from too much bad information.
I wanted to ask how monthly charges that are out of proportion with the square footage or one bedrooms on other lines affects the selling price. I wanted to ask if people have experience with strict coop boards that have never sold to a non American citizen and seem to be very arbitratory in who they let buy for a primary residence and even more arbitarary in who they let buy for a second home. Buying gold isn’t the answer to these questions. The expected downturn in bonuses might or might not play a part. Do people think that prospective buyers who were going to buy a 900K one bedroom might buy one that’s less money but in a white glove building, and the apartment will be in triple mint condition?
I thought these might be questions other people could be interested in knowing answers to. Given the comments on the threads I wouldn’t waste my time.
I’m trying to keep myself awake before going out to dinner by drinking too much coffee and singing out loud to Levon Helm. That would be good if I could actually sing. I don’t feel sorry for my neighbors. They can’t really hear unless they’re in the wing hallway, or sitting in their foyers. I truly doubt anybody is doing that. I’m the only person on the wing without a true foyer. I would be the poor neighbor, but the girls next door are renters which puts them in a whole different league.
There are only two restaurants I would break my no simple carb, no dairy rule for, and Patsy’s Pizzeria, a chain actually, is one of them. They have amazing thin crust pizza and wonderful salads. The cannolli’s are incredible. Have to resist. No, it’s Little Luce’s 17th birthday, and in her her honor….
I love my horoscope for today. My New York friendships are decades old at the least. I so love my friends who think of me as the quintessential New Yorker. That feels like a great honor as most of them are born and bred, and so are their parents who I know also.
Somebody has to be the first to leave this amazing and amazingly overpriced city. By leaving New York I will have the financial freedom to follow my dreams. Not only will I have more money from the sale of my apartment and spend less on on a townhouse but the cost of living is drastically lower.
When I read charts that show what the average babyboomer has and how well they can live, I have to factor in the Manhattan equation. Were I too move to Santa Monica, which I’m not, I would still get more for my money. So yes I’m obsessed with getting out.
Little Luce and I spent a couple of hours figuring out weird things about my Imac. She’s kind of an expert and it wasn’t just me. Wow do I feel great. And feel great about what I didn’t understand and do now.