Moving sucks. Packing sucks. Unpacking sucks. Finding a new apartment sucks. Handing over a shit ton of money sucks. I've moved 5 times in the last 9 years. 3 of those times have been in the last 4 years. I'm over it. It was never my intention to move that much. My first apartment by myself is known as the Rape Tunnel. I lived in the basement apartment of a small building, and although it was just the right size for 1 person, it was in the basement. Anyone remember the bum who lived outside my door for a week? I do.
This last move I got roped into because living in the city with a friend sounded like so much fun especially since I never got that college dorm experience. Boy was I wrong! You never know a person until you live with them. True fucking story. I got my dorm experience. Crazy girl roommate with her crazy dog who used to shit on the living room floor every freaking day. I paid for this decision by having to foot the last ConEd bill (which miraculously dropped almost $100 after she moved out) and Time Warner bill(which included the $15 worth of movies she ordered the week before she left). She also took with her my favorite cutting boards and ice cream scoop and the whole supply of Vodka (I've slowly been noticing things missing as time passes so who knows what else I'll discover to be missing). I'm gonna let that be my parting gift to her. Hopefully she remembers me every time she chops on my beloved bamboo board....
I also got to experience what it was like living with boys. I can now check it off my list and I know what to expect from my future husband. This building looked so shiny and new on the outside when we first got here. And just like with everything that looks good on the outside, I found it was rotten on the inside. This saddens me especially since this apartment was supposed to be lived in for at least 2 years. Apart from the ceiling leaking, and doorman calling me at 4am to profess his love for me, and the shady management company, and the memories that were made here, I don't regret it one bit. The last 13 months have been a learning process and I learned a WHOLE bunch. I actually noticed this building about 3 years ago. My friend Nicky Nice lived on this block and I saw it every time my express bus from the Bronx went down 2nd ave and I always wondered "who the hell lives in this out of place building in the middle of Spanish Harlem??" I soon found out. It was also never our intention to look this far past 96th street. It was a fluke. But I think it was meant to happen. I was always supposed to get here at some point. Because if we've learned anything over the years, we've learned that EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON!
And now I have to go through the whole process of finding a new place and deciding if I want to stay in Manhattan or go back to the Bronx. I know it would be cheaper and quieter and probably bigger in the Bronx but I want to cry when I think about leaving this stupid island. This is where my friends are and it's so convenient to get anywhere and I'm sad to think about the 40 minute commute and the crazy people on the 6 train that I'll have to endure. I've looked for the last week and have seen only 1 apartment I would want to live in. But I fear it is out of my price range and although I would have a roof over my head, I probably would not be able to eat or go out EVER. I'm conflicted and stressed and just want to find somewhere to live. And once I do, I'm not leaving for a while. The next place needs to be my home.
So, we'll see what happens and where I end up. Moving is an excuse for another infamous Natasha party so expect the 'fuck you stupid building beach party' on August 27th. You've been warned....
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