I put my apartment on the market and went to North Myrtle the week Bear Stearns imploded. I came home to Lehman. I have been losing money all year but never grasped that the two were correlated, or that my losses were anything more than temporary. Such was the size of my investor’s ego. Why was I sure that Manhattan apartments were going to come down without truly bad things happening?

I feel guilty to be so psyched and happy when in reality I should be crazed and staying up all night. Yes I am coming into more than pocket money less than life changing money this week. Every cent was earned and is very needed now.

I was just beginning to understand the economy was truly becoming bad, and was planning on taking it off the market and getting some kind of social worker/legal/research job as I’m licensed, have certification and much experience in all three and sometimes together when I got this bid that was too good to let go. I knew the people/person would pass the board, no trouble and these days it’s important to be as obsessive as I was and let the realtors know exactly what I wanted in bidders. Obsessive might not be the right word. “Single minded” comes to mind. So few could pass a board easily now.

Wow. All that’s finished. I’m mostly packed. The moving van comes Tuesday. I’m leaving the apartment a day early so the buyers can do a walk through in an empty apartment—I’m a bit confident in my product.

Wow. I have three days to play tourist.

I have no idea how I will feel when I no longer own this apartment. I will be staying at my friends’ townhouse and I do so love it but it’s not mine.

It feels so strange to be in a position to buy a house in this time of uncertainty and loss. I refuse to apologize as I will have to do massive economizing and feel like Eva Gabor in Green Acres without the money or the farm. OK I don’t feel like her.

I feel truly great and feel just a tinge of guilt over that

This day began horrible yesterday when I went for a mani/pedi. I wrote a post about it but in the scheme of life it’s very unimportant.

I thought that I was through with my New York apartment except for packing. My friends were going to take over dismantling the wall unit, redoing the wall and painting the living room.

Only my building doesn’t let contractors work on Friday’s. New rule I was unaware of. My building insists that contractors buy building specific insurance–I was aware of that but nobody believed me as most buildings don’t have that rule.

I’m paying the profits before I even get them. Then my building takes two percent in what’s called a transfer tax. Add six percent to the realtors, and that’s eight percent +without even thinking, and trust me I’m trying not to.

I am totally not relaxed and feel that all the good these months have done for me have been mitigated. I should have said that if they wanted the apartment they take it “as is.” But no.

I don’t feel grateful to have sold in “these difficult times” as the $400 rebate check from Mayor Bloomberg always says, for owning and paying way too much in taxes.

I was feeling nostalgic for Manhattan; I was feeling that my entire identity was as a Manhattanite. I was devouring any junk I found on Manhattan and was wondering if I would feel like an outsider looking in

I have lived in Manhattan over half my life and in the city for most of it. That gives me bitching rights for the rest of my life.

I haven’t left here yet and can’t wait to return.

I think I’m allowed to sulk about this. If the damn contractor had only listened to me and did only the renovations I told him to do in a timely manner I would have at least been in contract by now. But no he had to express his artistic side and then go into a major depression while he had my money.

It’s cost me a lot to have a valueless apartment and until the apartment goes into contract I believe its value to be zilch. Actually it costs me over $1200 each month so until I sell it has a negative value.

Excuse me for not appreciating my surroundings today. This is a big chunk of my future I’m focused on. For reasons that will be explained in my article that will be published in July I don’t have the greatest work record.

Which makes me laugh half the time as I have coordinated more projects for well known progressive agencies for free or minimal money always because the person they hired for mucho money couldn’t do the job. The “great” jobs promised me never came through. Still I believed. I am an absurd optimist and have no idea why.

It’s the reason I don’t do volunteer work anymore. I was always so nice, so smart, so able to do the work, so willing to work extra hours, so good, such a great trainer and motivator, and just a tenth of a beat off. I’m not even sure that I appeared that but I must have had a sign “take advantage of me, please.”

I could afford to do this in the late 90′s and early 00′s, but now I have a reached a point where my future is important to me. I was never poor in youth and don’t want to be in older age.

When I learned about non verbal learning disorders (NLD) so many things began to make sense. Honestly I don’t feel as if I truly suffer from most of these problems anymore as I learned to compensate years ago but never quite trusted my “compensation” techniques. I was told I hadn’t learned to compensate but to cope yet when I thought about it or discussed it with other doctors it was the same thing.

Still I let the testing psychologist play a too large role in my life. I decided not to see him as there would be no satisfaction in that. When I Googled him nothing came up and I know people with his job love to be published or have publicity or….

What could I say? I’m Pia Savage and you’re not? My blog was a monster for almost two years until I decided to tame the wild courting as I was truly seeking my destiny? I have had over 50 article published under another name, and am beginning to be published under Pia?

Ultimately I would have just satisfied my thirst for revenge and to show him how wrong he was when he pronounced me profoundly learning disabled.

That’s different than being given a mental illness diagnosis as it’s basically saying I’m unable to learn; to be a productive member of society. i have something that can’t be cured with medication and therapy.

I should have understood how wrong he was when I went to grad school and graduated with a 3.84 cum and outstanding field placement evaluation but grades feel worthless when you hear students tell professors they will only settle for “A”s and don’t feel they have to work for them. It was social work school and the height of political correctness and I feel so gypped of a chance to have really excelled in a difficult program. That was my neurotic need, and I realize it’s partially absurd and partially reality based. Grad school should be intellectually challenging. Not just the full year research course, ego object and self, and my independent study on elder abuse.

One big measure of my life is thin, average, a bit heavy, etc., and those were average, thin years. Age hadn’t caught up with me and my fellow students thought of me as younger than I was, brighter than thou or the one who would be chosen to lead presentations as I would know everybody’s part (if it didn’t pay I was brilliant at it) and selfish as I said I wouldn’t have kids. I never gave my age or the reasons why.

Given my history–and I haven’t told much of it though this blog seems endless–I think I deserve to be paid for many things. I don’t believe in unpaid internships or field placements. I know I was exploited. And if you’re going to have a volunteer “save” a project, you better find money in the budget to pay her.

I can’t believe how I undervalued myself and let myself be used and tossed. I won’t say the names of the agencies as they’re good ones with new staffs. I always feel that I should be apologizing for not doing volunteer work but I promised myself I won’t until I’m paid well for something or am old and need something to do.

I was reading a board where people with NLD were talking about the hard time they had getting jobs. I never did. My father would scream at me to work for the phone company when I would work for a company that worked for the phone company and the managers would tell me to apply. I didn’t understand that if they told me to apply they would serve as my references, get me the job, be my rabbis so to speak.

Clueless, I’m so clueless when it comes to myself and so insightful when it comes to other people. But that’s hard to understand and I’m sure most people, who don’t know me personally, think I’m clueless when it comes to other people.

I am different than many people with NLD as I work well by myself but equally well or better with people–large groups of people. I’m not reclusive nor a solitary person though I have always required a day or a night of alone time

I decided to devote the next three months to writing a book that tries to explain NLD by telling my story. The whole story from childhood to now. I know three months isn’t enough but it would just be a first draft and I’m told that one of my problems is I never mastered the necessary shitty first draft.

It’s easier to work on this outside New York and now that W–the male half of my landlord/friends–installed a router I can work from the patio. I bought ergonomically correct beach chairs as the first possession for my new home I hope to buy in the fall or winter. And I might buy a house as long as it’s in a condo community or has pebbles instead of grass and the community has a pool.

Please hope that my apartment sells. I deserve that. And I deserve to go into the later part of my 50′s knowing that my older age will be secure. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with liking money or the things that it brings.

When you have the scattered work record I have you have to worry about the cost of health insurance and getting sick. When I’m eligible for Medicare I expect to have pay a lot for a supplement. I have never believed this is an easy country or that you get something for nothing. I have never lived off the “system” and never want to

Damn I wish that quarters spent doing meaningful internships, field placements and volunteer work counted for Social Security. More than that I wish I hadn’t undervalued myself.

The real estate blog I read was filled with people exuberant over the “death of the Manhattan real estate market.” One man in particular has been all over the threads and in posting so much spreads negativity.

He has a very vested interest in seeing others suffer as he wants to buy at depression prices. He cashed out. Or something. You never really know who commenters are. I gave up on political writing for large blogs a long time ago (as defined by the “youthful age of blogging”) because so many commenters had an agenda and would refuse to listen to any other POV. They and a few other people know everything and they know it well.

If they did, they would understand that a bad housing market is good for nobody as is a bad stock market which does go hand in hand. I caught this man talking about putting 250K into the stock market instead of a down payment. He mentioned putting it in one stock that would pay eight percent therefore paying $20,000 a year in interest.

In that one statement he showed ignorance in everything that he was trying to be an expert in. Nobody puts or should put that amount of money in one stock, one stock fund, bond etc. The 250K–put in a diversified portfoli– might go up but will probably go down. Therefore eight percent is eight percent of a lower number that is probably constantly changing and can’t be reliably predicted this year. He created a perfect stock market scenario which is exactly the opposite of what he says for the real estate market. You can’t have it both ways.

But what do I know? And for the record I don’t comment on that blog. It’s not worth it.

These people don’t seem to understand that that many of us bought not thinking of an apartment as an investment but were forced to by the very media that now tells us we never should have thought that way. And the psychology of entitlement that pervaded this country.

I never bought into that. I have never felt entitled to anything including being comfortable with my own intelligence and/or talent. This lack of feeling entitled caused me to wait too long. Or maybe not as I priced my apartment too high for me to feel comfortable with but I did that to see if anybody would bite. It was a couple of days before Bear Stearns went under but that was one event that shouldn’t cause an entire city to give up.

I know longer no what a fair price is but I know it’s not 100% less than somebody with a comparable apartment who sold last month. I have bills to pay and a life to maintain. Unfortunately it is that simple. I don’t have a mortgage so I can afford to be more flexible than most people but….

If my apartment doesn’t go into contract in x amount of time I will take it off the market. I can’t afford to pay maintenance and rent indefinitely. A strict coop board might be forced to let me rent me out.

Personally times are very different for me than during the last recession. I’m older. I can’t afford to wait ten years for housing prices to spike back.

I think new media and the affect of it on MSM can be very dangerous. People should bear some responsibility for what they say and not be content saying “the public has a right to know.”

The public doesn’t have a right to feel fear needlessly. And so far much of what’s been happening in Manhattan specifically is very fear generated. It might be a one industry town–the stock market–but it is different for many reasons I don’t have the time to go into now.

Tosay is seventeen years since my father died. That day was also the day the government officially said the stock market began its long trip upward.

I refuse to give into either fear or depression so I’m getting my hair done. Of course it’s pouring and very cold for the South.

I think murdering a contractor who took my money and stopped working and kept begging me for another chance would be considered justifiable homicide. I don’t want to get into that mind frame.

We are all in this together and we have a responsibility to look for answers that help all of us, not feed our own agenda.

This is long and maybe a bit verbose but my heart is bursting. I forgot to say my apartment’s 600 square feet. Everything I did was with tricks and gives an illusion…

In Manhattan it’s always been about real estate and always will be about it. A good apartment with that intangible “wow” factor brings up the apartment’s worth immensely. Today’s consumer might be perfectly prepared on paper, but falling in love is falling in love whether with a person or an apartment.

*Actually I met them yesterday.

Ten years, seven and a half a months ago, on my birthday, I circled the ad that led to the first apartment I found that said to me: WOW, I HAVE TO OWN THIS.

Daddy today’s your birthday–where ever you are. Up there somewhere with mommy, you two are smiling at me, and saying: see every detail does count.

Making the decision to move was difficult. Renovating almost impossible as no renovation story runs smoothly. But it’s oh so worth it when realtors I respect come and are trying not to show how “wowed” they are

Other people need realtors to tell them what to get rid of, how to renovate, how to stage the apartment to look incredible. I’m great at that last one, and sweated the first two for four frigging months.

The realtors I’m going to sign the exclusive with couldn’t hide their enthusiasm. It has that first most important thing–light, air and views. It’s a luxury renovated apartment with every detail thought about. After moving in I bought a metal very high double bed that takes up no visceral space. The bedroom that looked so small when I first saw it looks immense. It’s divided into bed, TV and reading areas.

I hate couches, that have great lines, next to walls. But my “great line” tiny couch looks great next to a wall. I made the living room look lofty and wonderful. The newly sanded herringbone floor shines. There’s a great dining area.

The colors on the walls aren’t my colors. The furniture, glass and pottery collections scream “Pia” the walls didn’t have to.

The realtors were oh so psyched when I said I would leave my stuff though I won’t be here during the sale process.

Again usually they tell people to take away cherished things. Again it was the opposite. They even love my gigantic CD collection–see daddy buying musical CD’s can pay off as much or maybe more than the type of CD’s you espoused.

The wall unit I had made is now worth I don’t know how much but a lot. Lucia designed it to my concept. It’s unique and it’s wonderful. Again the realtors were salivating. Oh, realtors have been salivating over everything. True confession: I’m not ready to leave the wall unit, but it will live on in pictures. Many many pictures.

It’s a difficult apartment to price as it’s so unique and I understand that. That’s why I was sooooo obsessive about the renovation and why everything had to be so perfect.

Rafe came in when I was meeting with the realtors I’m going to marry until the apartment is sold. Of course they were charmed by the Latin Paul McCartney of the hair industry–sometimes he looks like the Latin Elvis before the white suit–yesterday he looked just like Sir Paul. If the buyers are new to New York or whatever, I’m going to throw in free hair cuts, dye jobs, highlights. Rafe’s salon just celebrated its third anniversary. We spent many a night here discussing whether he should or shouldn’t open a solo salon. Rather he’s the solo owner with many many hair stylists. I’m waiting for my consultant fee. It’s a success. A great one!

I think the realtors wished Rafe came with the apartment. My sweet Latin platonic lover who still asks after all these years just to keep in shape. Love his wife and respect the sanctity of marriage so…..Yes of course I have been tempted but….

The realtors said they usually ask for closets to be cleaned, for things to go into storage, but in my case everything almost is perfect. They asked I take off the window screens. I’m getting the apartment deep cleaned and the furniture steam upholstered but I had told them that before they came. I told them I needed them to tell me what to do.

I actually needed them to tell me to stop looking for faults or things to be redone and they picked up on that immediately. It was cloudy when they came, and they laughed at me for saying the apartment should be shown in the morning exactly when the sun comes out. I did tell them I’m leaving as I don’t want to mess up the apartment or let my control freak ways ruin their sale.

It was very cloudy when they came, and they loved that, for if it looks so great in a gray cloudy sky….True confession: I will probably never have ever this much light and sky again and have loved every second of it. It will bring in more money.

I only have one closet but it’s as large as many Manhattan bedrooms, with a bureau, many shelves and much room. I had it made shortly after closing. I believe the storage cage belongs to the apartment. Have to find that out, but I’m almost positively sure. The storage cage costs every month but is cheap for one and is in the building. It’s another thing that makes the apartment worth so much more. That and the perfect closet. And so much more I intuitively knew makes a Manhattan apartment worthy.

I had a show me the money, I will believe it at the closing attitude but I can’t help but be psyched. I wasn’t a bitch during the renovation but there were things I insisted be done and other things I insisted be done over.

For months I lived in discomfort. With the bedroom as a supply closet. I can give classes on how to get exercise from using a remote as the TV was close to the bed and the remote had to go over the gunmetal foot bed. I forgot how beautiful “my stuff” is, until I had things brought back up from the storage cage.

Yes daddy you raised two daughters who get mired in details. But nobody ever complains when we finish a project. I hate or not to say this but we might be better at it than you. Because you saved everything, I save just enough.

I love you daddy. I love the world today. I wish I hadn’t woke at five AM, but this weekend is for rest and relaxation. This coming week is for hard work with movies thrown in, next weekend for parties, and then North Myrtle….

Oh daddy I turned into a good photographer. The realtors were mesmerized by my slide show. I’m leaving the desk top during the sale process and they will have the slides going….

Daddy you were the first of two great men I know to be born on February 16. Oh my obsessive perfectionist father you raised two daughters in your image. Perfection is more difficult for me than for Elka in most cases. But when it comes to selling an apartment, I know just what to do.

I have to send a birthday ecard to the man who shares your birthday. You knew him well and like me knew he was going to grow up to be somebody special, maybe even important. When his “big deal book” comes out in the fall, there will be something written by me in the book.

I talk about being a child with dyspraxia/non verbal learning disorder. I am so proud of how I “turned out.” Many or most other people with this disability couldn’t have done what I did and will always do. I am house proud daddy.

I hate to analogize a person’s worth to their house, especially in times like this. But this is Manhattan and I found this apartment on my own. One of the reasons I loved it so much was I knew it could be recession proof. I had no idea in 1997 how much real estate would go up–but I did think I would be squeezed out, if I hadn’t bought exactly then. I was proven right. I had no idea we would have the government from hell, and America would lose its cache.

But I had faith in Manhattan and The Upper West Side. I live in a perfect looking building in the heart of an incredible area–too busy for me but not for other people. Oh daddy I won’t miss Fairway–you would have hated it and been attracted to it at the same time. It does have the freshest fish in New York–”study” after “study” shows that.

I’m scared I’m going to jinx this by saying more. I can’t put in pictures. But after the closing…..I hope within the next several months, I will put in many. Including one of the building itself as this is a big deal hot building. I do have pictures in the blog that show many buildings including this one.

Last night I relaxed for the first time in months. My darling Rafe was a photographer for NASA. He took many many pictures and will come back when the sun is out. We sat and ate Greek food from New York’s best taverna. He hooked up the stereo–listened to Levon Helm, The Subdudes and Warren Zevon–three people and or groups I have made him listen to over the years. Somehow I added Dion to the equation–Dion, a Bronx boy and ultimate New Yorker at heart.

I miss the city already but will be back often. New York you will always be my home. I join many of the realtors “arty” clients in moving to The Carolinas. Daddy I know you thought people should never leave New York, but you died in 91. I know you would think differently now.

Here I’m a person with assets who feels poor. Many New Yorkers feel the same way.

There I will be a person with even more assets who doesn’t feel poor. This isn’t a political post but a happy one and I feel oh so happy this morning as I watch the sun begin to stream in.

Happy birthday, daddy, wherever you are. Happy birthday you other person. You have played many important roles in my life since I was eighteen and you were nineteen. I am proud of you. I am proud of me. I’m proud of us both, separately and together. Many people thought we were immature and would never amount to much. Our parents never stopped believing. And we left the rest as they staggered, not near the finish line. We were slower but we persisted. Yes this century belongs to us. Yes we can!!!

Obviously there’s nothing more important to a New Yorker than finding realtors who share our vision. I watched these realtors sell apartments and thought they were the most clever and the best. I feel so validated and that might be immature but it’s a New Yorker’s dream. They know the building. They have all the info. They know they can sell it. I dare not dream of the price. They brought comparative apartment info–but once they saw it, said it was unique, and the comparisons are just the merest of guidelines.

I am unique. I own a unique apartment. Now all I can do is have a bit of faith….That’s hard, almost impossible for a control freak like me but….

Now I leave it in their more than capable hands.

Yes I can!!!! Yes we can!!!!!! (My political statement for the weekend.)

I will be writing about the sale process from my perch in South Carolina

Somebody close to me believes I have no patience and expect people to do things when I snap my fingers. Most other people, close to me, think I’m a total jerk for having so much patience.

I should be submitting. I’m not for many reasons including paralysis, and fear, not of being rejected but of life itself. It seems as if it’s an endless to do list that I never come close to completing. The new sub contractor is supposed to be here at noon. “Do you have a point list?” my best friend asked. “Uh, if a point list is what’s to be done than I have it.”

I’m now supposed to add contractor language to my language skills. I live in a world filled with competent achievers who bitch about being disorganized. They have no idea what it’s like to live in an organizational black hole. They have no idea what life looks like when it seems filled with tangled wires I can’t untangle or find a home for.

I can’t seem to find my voice. It’s drowned in a sea of self-recrimination. Problems I thought were long ago solved are rising to the surface.

I’m depressed. For the past month I have been fighting the depression but I can’t any longer. I have been reintroduced to dyspraxia.

It’s really the spatial and organizational part of non verbal learning disorder. Wow, maybe I can go to a conference and meet other people who never learned to run

It’s also called clumsy child syndrome which makes real sense when you’re an adult. But I’m oh so familiar with the symptoms. And I refuse to let it take over my life. I have allowed enough extraneous stuff rule the past several months.

I have spent most of my life faking normal. I had no choice and I had certain personality and physical attributes that allowed me to do this with ease. What’s adorable at 30 isn’t at 50 or maybe I no longer see myself mirrored through loving eyes.

For reasons I have stated too many times I chose the solitary existence, the road with less bumps when I spent so much of my life navigating dead men’s curves. That might have bought me time and some peace but I miss the thrill of the curve

I miss the girl I was who was so filled with wonder, anticipation and joy. I miss too much living without a master plan

It feels easy to retreat into paralysis. To say I just can’t do this. I can’t do that. It goes against my entire being and yet….

The sub contractor was just here. He doubts the under sink cabinet can be replaced without taking apart the granite and eight sided sink. I replaced the pipe at my expense though it was the building’s responsibility. The floods that happened internally in the cabinet happened because of the pipes. That would make it the coops responsibility to fix but as I fixed the problem their insurance won’t cover it.

I have no frigging idea why I listened to them when they asked me to replace the pipe. Never do yourself what is somebody else’s responsibility in the first place.

I’m sticking to my two week deadline. If it can’t be done, I will have them make it look good. I fell for a good looking apartment.

I didn’t get my mail yesterday so I didn’t know that my bank had bounced my health insurance check. This was very confusing as they included my balance which was more than ten times the amount of the check. The balance reflected this check as having been paid. With me so far? Good because I’m lost.

By the time the woman said they would refund the $25 service fee I was laughing too hard to listen. She began to laugh, as she tried and failed to come up with some excuse for the bank. I have no idea why I found this so funny tears were coming from my eyes. We were both choking by the time the call ended. She dispensed with the usual formalities as she was laughing too hard. The letter told me that I qualified for a credit line. That I have one and the amount was mentioned a few sentences down. I scanned it in both to keep it and as proof that not every problem in the world is caused by me.

It turned out that they actually resent the check to the health insurance company with an explanation. Still I know I will have to spend an hour tomorrow straightening this out. Epilogue: it’s a dull and dreary day and I can’t deal with health insurance companies. If they cut me off, I will….

I’m truly tired of this bank making mistakes that I have to straighten out. They seem to especially like to bounce or lose then find checks to health insurance companies–the one industry that will cut you off before the due date. It’s no longer a New York bank but is very much associated with New York.

I can’t wait to officially move and cut all ties to it. To truly go on with my life I have to leave the New York area.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Work begins on my apartment tomorrow. The guy I hired, to oversee it and hire the others, is the son of the man who named Talking Heads. My deep love of music and Talking Heads–late 70′s–80′s played no part in this decision really. He happened to see a book an old beloved friend of mine wrote that has pictures of many Village musicians on the cover. He said “that person looks familiar. Is it?” “No he is___” We have been finding that we know many people in common.

I admire women who can take care of twins and three other kids while selling a house, buying a new one, working full time, and are deeply immersed in a new relationship. I’m not one of them. Recently I have begun to give myself permission to be imperfect.

Beginning to give myself permission isn’t exactly allowing myself to screw up. It’s so hard to be imperfect and want to be perfect.
here were many Talking Heads “psycho killer” videos to choose from, and most sounded more professional and more Talking Heady–but only the one from CBGBs would do. Really the New York I love lives on in many memories.

I can’t seem to face up to the facts
I’m tense and nervous and I
Can’t relax
I can’t sleep ’cause my bed’s on fire
Don’t touch me I’m a real live wire
Psycho Killer
Qu’est-ce que c’est
fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run away
Psycho Killer
Qu’est-ce que c’est
fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run away

You start a conversation you can’t even finish it.
You’re talkin’ a lot, but you’re not sayin’ anything.
When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed.
Say something once, why say it again?

Psycho Killer,
Qu’est-ce que c’est
fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run away
Psycho Killer
Qu’est-ce que c’est
fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run away

Ce que j’ai fais, ce soir la
Ce qu’elle a dit, ce soir la
Realisant mon espoir
Je me lance, vers la gloire … OK
We are vain and we are blind
I hate people when they’re not polite

Psycho Killer,
Qu’est-ce que c’est
fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run away
Psycho Killer,
Qu’est-ce que c’est
fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run away

oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh….
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=agXsxYiMZZA&rel=1]

I’m anxious. At one with Streeteasy.com which has real prices, how long apartments languish for, reductions in price, pictures of apartments, sometimes videos, and floor plans that do or do not have square feet. It lets me see what I should expect. My apartment is larger than some on sale in my building, and smaller than one. It has one more bath than all, and more marble and granite. I know marble and granite’s so yesterday but I’m not going to change it, just buff it. My apartment had its walls skim coated in 90 and they are still in excellent condition. Just look tie died from the floods.

Floods aren’t a bad thing. They allow the steam risers, something I never heard of until last year, to be replaced with the building’s insurance. The building is making a schematic of all pipes. This is a well run building. The super is an expert in floods and in luxe pre-war Manhattan buildings that’s what counts.

It took me weeks to get the nerve to go to the storage room. In my imagination it’s a huge scary place where everybody’s cages are more organized than mine. The reality is different, but I literally get sick before I go down each time. Last week I became sicker than ever.

On Friday I cleaned out the storage cage. Apparently clothes from Studio 54 days are in vogue. Many books were ruined by the basement flood. But I did it. And formed my storage cage theory of life. When you’re ready to tackle the impossible you will. No matter how scary it feels at first.

Today I was too antsy to stay here. I was going to go a movie, one of my Monday afternoon guilty pleasures, but there wasn’t a movie I wanted to see badly enough for $11.75, no Fandango. They’ll be on pay per view soon enough.

I wondered the streets keeping myself outside of stores as I’m into getting rid of things, not adding. This holiday season will be on the cheap. I’m also one with Morningstar.com and don’t see any good signs.

When I point out the newish West 72nd Street subway stop and park to people who aren’t Manhattancentric or didn’t live her then, they don’t see the beauty though it looks like a Nora Ephron movie set. They don’t know it once was called Needle Park, see Panic In Needle Park one of the most underrated movies ever. Logically to me Panic… reminds me of my father as he knew Jerry Schatzberg, the director.

I guess my father knew him during his photographer days as he knew many, but I remember him telling me a story involving Schatzberg and a porn film, Elka don’t read this, that my father somehow was involved with. Apparently people did porn films for tax write-offs but this one was a success. I remember reading an article in Playboy about it. I could be wrong but I’m 99% sure it was Schatzberg though it’s in nothing official about him and frankly I didn’t feel like delving further.

This Island is filled with real people and ghosts. My father’s ghost being the most preeminent. Last week
The Times had an article on high stakes poker games that made them sound sleazy. I don’t know when my father’s game began, sometime before I was born. I do know he met many of his clients and friends through it. I imagined it to be like Felix & Oscar’s game. Though I knew there weren’t people like Murray the Cop. It began at an Ivy League club and moved to apartments. For most of my life it was on Monday night, then Thursday.

My father and I had a standing dinner date. He would go through food phases. One year it was all Shun Lee Palace when Ed, Shoenfeld was maitre de and the nation’s first Jewish Chinese food specialist, though some would argue we all are. He would come sit with us and tell us stories. Probably my father told more stories.

In the 80′s there was a cheap chain of seafood restaurants Hobeaus,(each restaurant had a different name, and once Lucia and I had an inadvertent lobster fight that people applauded) that everybody went to including us, when we didn’t go to Faye & Allen’s or a few other pricier ones. My sister lived in The West Village and my father was determined to eat in every restaurant in it.

Toward the end of my father’s life he began to revolt against pricey restaurants and we would usually go to Ottomanelli’s Cafe a chain of Italian past restaurants based on a butcher shop.

When I think of my father I think of restaurants, poker, New York and so so much more. I went out, and go out all the time, and will never classify myself as a “foodie” a word I disdain as it implies and infers being better than others. When really most Manhattanites live their lives in some restaurants or others. I don’t find it exciting or interesting anymore. There seems nothing left to be discovered. Nothing new. I like bistros, tavernas and diners though I can live without actually being in them.

I’m jaded. I know that. When you live in Manhattan for most of the past 32 years and can’t get excited about restaurants it’s past time to leave.

There are so many other ghosts. I used to have lavish parties when I lived on East 63rd. An old friend asked the other day if I still make rice with vermouth and I had to dig deep to remember that dish I invented. I used to read cookbooks for fun, and substitute ingredients. White vermouth, something I have never been able to abide straight, is great for cooking as it has many herbs.

I no longer eat rice, white or brown, nor do I usually eat pasta my very favorite food.

I’m trying to calm myself down by writing about my father’s ghost and food. It took me a year of searching to find this apartment. I don’t know how many apartments I saw. Most were ordinary and no amount of decorating would change that. Many were put on the market dirty and in much worse condition than I can imagine my apartment being in.

Though prices were much lower then I felt the owners greed. I didn’t feel that when I first saw this one. I saw an apartment that had been lavished with love and respect for original detail. I want the person or people who buy mine to have that same feeling. I want them to walk into the building and think “please, please, let the apartment be as nice.” It was nicer.

I know I will never be a recluse and only the doormen will know my name. I actually tried that and it didn’t work. I have too much of my parents in me. But it scares me that I take little pleasure in restaurants anymore.

I never imagined myself moving to The South. Southern Florida, yes, but I know too many people who I don’t want to reestablish relationships with. Something vapid in their values. Cousins excluded.

I’m antsy and I can’t work on the novel I’m writing strictly for fun. My head is filled with lists of things to be done. I have to decide what to get rid of; what to keep and put in the storage cage so that next week when my apartment is worked on it will be an almost clean slate. Clothes, I can get rid of in a second, but books they are hard.

I hope to look back at this time in six months and think how much easier it was than I thought it would be. I hope the person or people who buy it will be as entranced with painting it and making it into a “wow” statement as I was a decade ago. Now everybody has multi colored walls. I want them to love how secluded the bedroom feels, almost as if it’s part of a private home.

I want them to be haunted by their own private good ghosts, and when the ghosts begin talking too much or stop talking to know it’s a sign. I’m not sure what the sign means but it means something.

Days like today make me scared that I will never leave the legacy I want to. Days like today should make me appreciate life so much more. I’m surrounded by so much beauty and wish I were in the only place that will ever really be home. I have never been away before on 9/11. I think I will have to return to New York every September
I wrote this several weeks ago, and never edited it. It’s rambling but explains a lot about me–things I have never said, even. It’s a sidebar post. All side bar posts can be found under the category
“250 word rant.”

I wrote a long post. Actually I wrote three. The title now has nothing to do with the post. I just like it

Six generations of my family have lived in Manhattan. I thought it was fewer but forgot to count great grandparents and cousins kids.

I found every excuse not to leave including having to go to the most expensive dentists in New York I have finally run out of excuses

They say nobody has ever gone broke living in Manhattan. Obviously nobody has ever lived in a building where owner’s expenses went up 40% with one months notice and no meeting to talk about it. That should be criminal. It’s not.

I no longer believe in any kind of security–in all its meanings. I do believe that as long as people refuse to discuss how 9/11 hastened the ever rising costs in New York, and the lack of help available to people who didn’t meet strict criteria, we haven’t learned anything.
I can’t apologize for caring about something that changed my life.

Yet I feel self-centered and wrong for bringing this up. The story I wrote below this is much better.

I have no perspective today. At home, in New York, it’s just another day. Here I look at the American flags raised in homes that don’t usually have them and wonder the myriad of reasons for raising them. Is it pure patriotism? Do people believe we went to war in the name of 9/11? God, I hope not

This was my last 9/11 post. I too suffer from 9/11 fatigue but until I sell my apartment it won’t be over for me. I repeat myself because I haven’t done what so badly needs to be done.

As Michael Stipes says it’s easier to leave than to be left behind…. Leaving New York never easy. I saw the light fading out
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L2PGJdtqn5w]

I can and never will forget how Karl Rove purposely created schisms in America. More than anybody else in the Bush admin he tried to make Americans hate other Americans. OK, Rove unleashed truly scares me more than Rove in the White House. I’m just glad he resigned on some ground or another. Here’s John Dean, the man who brought down Nixon on him.
Courting began three years ago today. I feel like I should have had a party for it, or bought it a cupcake or something. I forgot about it until I was through with another post.

Three years in blog years is how long Bone? He has a formula for blog years.

It’s a long time. I feel as if its true birth was that November when I first discovered that people actually read blogs.

It was a plain vanilla Blogger blog without even a template. Still people read it. I was beyond shocked. When I had it designed Blogger comments couldn’t be exported into WordPress, and I have been too lazy since then. I did keep the original Courting with its incredible url, freenynyfrombushtoday.blogspot.com. I didn’t know that people would read my blog, but yes I am proud of having the cojones to make up that url. The sentiment is even more meaningful today, and I am proud that so many people have joined me in it.

Of course I thought I could change the url at whim but Blogger didn’t allow that. I was a true blogging novice. Now….

I would get comments telling me to move France, and other really stupid things. Knowing nothing about blogging at the time I ignored the comments.

Once I hit BE blogging overtook my life. And changed it. I found that people liked or didn’t like a quirky New York blogger. People reacted. Truthfully I think that’s what most writers care about most. Though I’m not comment driven. I am feedback driven. There’s a difference.

Courting has never had a theme. It’s not a niche blog. It gets the shit out. Sometimes posts work wonderfully. Other times they totally bomb. I have never cared about that.

I should have a selected Courting posts page, but as I said I’m lazy, and immersed in other things.

I didn’t mean to become a political blogger. I don’t even like politics. But I would write the most innocent things and the radical right took it personally. Damn I believe in The First Amendment. All five parts.

Until after Katrina, the radical right thought that they owned the blogosphere. They felt free to descend on blogs as if they were vultures. Maybe they were. They would tell me if they didn’t like my moral/values. Hello? And they have great ones?

In America we don’t censor. I wish that I could say that with certainty. But then I think of my favorite two minutes of the day. Letterman: Great Presidential Speeches, and all is right/wrong but at least funny.

There is room in the blogosphere for all views. I had a personal enemy. Or she declared herself mine. I can’t get into that. I have noticed that she’s trying to write personal essays instead of just truly sick “Dems don’t deserve to live” posts. She ain’t doing a great job. You have to have some talent to write real posts that don’t just sling venom.

It’s easy to say: I hate. It’s not so easy to try to understand other people’s POV’s. I think I have done a good job at that. I like many people on the right. We’re all people. We all bleed red.

Actually I will take a true Conservative any day over a liberal who just talks about hating Bush. That accomplishes nothing. My original blog url got me noticed. It was an accident. It was the Repub convention and I didn’t have a terrace or a window that faces the street so I couldn’t put up a banner. Plus the coop board would have probably evicted me. We’re not allowed to have personalities.

I haven’t kept up with all the changes in blogging. I wish that I had the time. No, I kind of like doing it the old fashioned way.

I’m sorry if I haven’t done your meme, but uh…And I don’t guest blog right now. I might in the future but uh…..It’s nothing personal. Just that I have finally remembered I set out to write a book four years ago.
Can a blogger blog in mime?

I think I would like that for awhile because this blog did take up so much time.

At first I forgot I had other goals. Then I hated my writing. It’s not good for a writer who has a blog to be so introspective about her own writing. Maybe it is. Maybe it means that I’m learning to look with objective eyes
Today I love my book more than I love my blog. It says a lot of things I have never said here. It’s a coherent story. Or so the Wombat says. He’s a good editor. Better than good.

I have learned that I have a knack for PR. Wish I had known this 20 years ago. But something else I have learned; things happen for a reason or when you’re ready. It doesn’t matter if you’re 30 or not.

If I succeed and I plan to, there are two teenage girls who are old enough to understand how much I have put in to my work. They will understand the importance of having a dream and sticking to that dream. They will understand that most people aren’t overnight successes but work damn hard I think that will be my happiest accomplishment.

One of the teenage girls is old enough to read my book. Her mother said she was laughing out loud. That means a great deal to me because both she and her mother love me so they don’t want to see me hurt. They’re not ones to give false praise.

That’s why my book is so important to me. It’s my chance to show the world that a babyboomer, with the same face she had in high school but better checkbones, can have a quirky, edgy, funny coming of age book published.

She says hopefully. She really still isn’t sure it’s any good. She’s never sure of anything but her love for certain people, for this country, and for the planet we inhabit.

It’s my bloggiversary. I can be as maudlin, non-linear, support the troops by bringing them home, as I like.

After I began blogging and hit BE I read many blogs that had “rules” for blogging. They would say what they liked and didn’t like and expected all people to do the opposite. That made me angry because I have never been a rules girl, blogging is a new medium, and I thought, hell, they hate this–I will do it. Or more usually, I did what I wanted to do.

The blogs that told people what to do, I don’t see most of them around anymore. I’m still here. I don’t usually tell people how great I am but uh…I have had more mainstream publicity than most people. My blog has made me known.

Wow, that does feel kind of exciting. I have to qualify everything. Scared of jinxing my life and my writing world.

Thank you all who have read my blog and reacted in comments, emails or silence. There are many people that I owe my new life to. They know who they are, and will be acknowledged when I have more to say.

Back in the days…when I was young
I’m not a kid anymore
But some days I sit and wish I was a kid again
I wonder why it’s often said that my life’s
A fairy tale and everything is so right
I wish that you could know the truth, yeah
My life is real so please don’t get it twisted
Problems the same and got to be dealt with
These are the things I wish you knew, ooh yeah

KARL ROVE, WHO CAME INTO MY CITY, THE CITY THAT WAS ATTACKED, AND SAID “LIBERALS WANT THERAPY FOR TERRORISTS”, RESIGNED TODAY. THERE MIGHT BE JUSTICE IN AMERICA. This is so meaningful on so many levels because New Yorker’s wanted Bin Laden–remember him, hung, and much more.

New York has been screwed often in the past six years. We were the city that was attacked but the government treated us as the enemy, with Rove as the mouthpiece. People finally understand. Yes they do. Everybody has their person in this admin they chose to do something to do when the revolution comes, as some people I know would say. Rove’s mine… He personifies evil to me.Cooper maybe your daddy will get his….