Let me preface this blog by saying I have quarter sized blisters on both of my feet and the area where my upper thighs connect to my asshole has been rubbed raw.
My lease is up in 28 days and I need to find another place to live. I could stay in my current place, but feel I should live somewhere new every year in order to really experience every place New York has to offer. Unfortunately I feel like a rich suburban teenage trying to move out for the first time without the comfort of mommy’s tit and daddy’s wallet, because I live in the most amazing place and am paying absolutely nothing for it (I talk a lot of shit and I’m good at it. Therefore, great place, cheap rent). The problem is I really can’t move up from my current state. What I pay now to live on 7th and Bedford would get me a small place in Bedstuy or East Harlem (The Realtor I met in Harlem last year had a red bandanna on his head, a hunting knife in his sock, and kicked down the door of the apartment I wanted to see. I told him I was going to look a little more before I commented to anything). But since I’ve grown a custom to living in a 20 somethings paradise, I think I’ll be upping my monthly rent.
Today I started with some two bedrooms in Murray Hill(east 30’s) that were all six story walk ups, and the size of a perfume kiosk in the mall. But what they lacked in size, they made up for with the aroma off soiled milk and raw fish in the hallways. From there I profusely sweated my way back to the subway, conveniently located three hours from the apartment, and headed up to a little piece of paradise called East Harlem. Though I don’t know fluent Spanish I did understand when a 60 year old 6′6 Spanish man, wearing only cut off jeans and a Puerto Rician flag around his neck called my lady friend, “Snowflake”. And then said something in a deep Spanish/Pedophile accent like, “OYE Cinderella, why don’t you let down your hair and let me climb up to your castle? I’m serious. Pedo mama, I’ll cook you Empanadas”. Even the apartments in that neighborhood were out of my budget.
I then walked through Central Park and headed towards West Harlem where I met a very paranoid Jewish Realtor. Even though I had his number and used to multiple time to call him, he insisted that I never leave a message, he would only call me using a private number, and when I finally got to the office he peered through the third story blinds for an hour before unlocking the 40 something locks he had on the door. We talked for a little and after realizing I too was Jewish he spent the rest of the time trying to convince me to become religious. Actually after the second apartment he said, “how about I show you apartments another day and we can just go back to my office and I’ll teach you about Judaism”. I smile and accepted, but told him I just ate a huge pork sandwich and thought I would be against God’s will if I spoke religion before it digested(I would never eat swine). He cracked his knuckles together and walked away. I wasn’t to interested in West Harlem anyway.
The sun began shinning as I hoped on the C train and headed to Mid Town West. I saw some wonderfully expensive places that too were six story walk ups, but at least you walked up to something sexy. New wood floors, bedrooms the size of bedrooms, and a bathroom that I can stretch my arms out…well not all the way, but coming from what I’m used to this was Devinne. I know living there I would surely be apartment poor, but at least I’d feel rich while searching for food in my cherry wood cabinets (Though there wouldn’t be much food in the cabinets since the grocery stores in Mid Town West charge admission just to get in).
I ended the night off back where I started, BROOKLYN. I saw some Polly pocket sized crap boxes about twelve blocks from my place. It was 10pm and I woke up at 9am, after getting home drunk at 4am the night before. I was beat. I took my shoes off, I took my shirt off, and I walked into a bar to order a picture of Brooklyn’s finest ale. Before I got to a booth, a bouncer slapped me, grabbed me by the ear and told me to get the fuck out of the bar. I left…but I peed on one of its walls outside. I win…but I still need somewhere to live.
Thinking About Moving To China,
Daniel Dickey
Related posts:
