Brooklyn Bound!

It begins. It’s moving day. This is the weekend I leave my small, disgusting upper west side apartment and move to Brooklyn. It might be my last night sleeping in my bunk bed! I’ve already started the process:

Step 1: Wake up, drink coffee made to the intensity of rocket fuel in underwear with roommate #1.

Step 2:  Stop at the delicious and comforting Absolute Bagels to try to bring about a will to live.

(Last night, after going out to gay clubs with my Aussie friend, I found myself bent over the toilet, vomiting whiskey and sushi around 2 am. I also put at least ten $1 bills into a gay dancer’s G-string. This is the sort of nonsense this girl gets me to do.)

Step 3: Go to the bank and withdraw money needed for paying roommate #1 for the bills, his bed, money order for the security deposit on my apartment, and for paying movers tomorrow. I’ll basically just be hemorrhaging money all weekend.

Step 4: Buy boxes, collect things, and pack them up. Roommate #2 finally gave me back the glass from my picture frame that he’s been borrowing to do lines of cocaine. My laundry is in process at the laundromat, and otherwise I don’t have a whole lot of stuff strewn about the apartment.

Luckily, I haven’t acquired much living here, but I always tend to drag out the entire process of packing. Man. I hate moving.

Cool as a Cucumber... In a Volcano.

Not to be used near eyes.

It has been brought to my attention via a friend of a friend that Potentially Successful Date Guy was still sleeping with his ex as recently as a couple of months ago, and likely still is. So now I am slightly less confused, but definitely more upset. It makes sense why the friend zone thing is going on if he’s got a side dish. (Who is a model, no less. ) 

I want to act like it’s no big deal, but we’ve been friends for a while now (or so I thought) and friends do not fuck each other, literally or otherwise, so this seems like he has been lying to me from the beginning, which is quite a while. Grand. Looks like using Burt’s Bees chapstick on the chapped area near my eyeball will not be my only regret today… since it is stinging and minty now. 

I think my pride is a bit more stinging though… I am not a very mellow person in these sorts of

My homegirl.

situations, particularly when I feel like an idiot. Then I tend to go a little crazy. However, I think we are a long way from the days of destroying gifts and returning the pieces to the giver in a plastic bag. That was SO 4 years ago on a very specific instance of jealous, unleashed anger.

In this case, I want to find out if this rumor is true, if it’s still going on, and come up with a mature adult-like plan of calm confrontation where I walk away without swearing, crying, or being otherwise pathetic. It’s particularly hard if it’s true, because it means I’m losing a friend as well, and I don’t have that many in NYC. But quality over quantity.  And I can go back to relating to Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know” which is my karaoke jam. There is a silver lining!

Just Be Cool

Going to start tweeting again. Decision was made this morning after I finally remembered my login that I made about 2 years ago. I figure I have enough un-related ideas that are not long enough for a blog that I can start letting them seep out on other social media outlets. Follow @Allie_Bowie if you dare.

I was about this cool at breakfast

The way the rest of the night went down with my roommate and his girlfriend was that after enough crying from his end, he finally figured out how to unlock the door and then they were both in there for a while. At 3 am, all I wanted to do was brush my teeth, but luckily I had an emergency toothbrush and travel size toothpaste in my purse just in case. Ironically,  I still got to put them to use that night and brush my teeth over an unfamiliar sink- it’s just it was the one in my kitchen (full of dirty dishes, no less) instead of Potentially Successful Date Guy’s bathroom.

While dodging dishes with my toothpaste spit, my roommate emerged from the bathroom, tear-streaked and naked from the waist down. We stared at each other for a second, then he screamed “Oh my GOD!” and then stumbled to his room. His girlfriend followed, rolling her eyes and carrying his pants. I miss that.

The following morning I went to breakfast with Potentially Successful Date Guy. We had a good time and chatted about upcoming plans and his variety show. I told him I was moving to Brooklyn and he should come visit me when I’m settled in. He said he’d get his passport. I told him how very Manhattan of him that was to say. I tried a bite of his breakfast risotto, and he paid for breakfast. Very date-like, but I still can’t figure out if I’m in the friend zone here or what.  I went for a kiss at the end, which seemed well received, but may have gone a bit better if we weren’t both wearing hats and therefore bumping into each other awkwardly with them.

When Underpants remain Under Pants

Not to be totally tragic, but F*&#! My brilliant plan about breakfast didn't work. Potentially Successful Date Guy has to go home, clean his apartment, have a friend over tomorrow, and THEN has some free time to go to breakfast. The only reason I told him we could have breakfast later in the day was so that HE could sleep in.. I'm free all freaking weekend!
Easter Candy doesn't appear to be filling the void. Guess I will have to sleep in my sexy lace underpants by myself. And my current roommate and his girlfriend are home now.


While  I listen to him moaning "Why? Why? WHY? " in the bathroom and vomit and complain with the shower on, I get to talk to his girlfriend, who asks him to unlock the door so she can come in and help him. I miss having a partner in crime. Even though I never open up to anyone to this extent, I always think that someday I will meet the person I am comfortable talking to about body insecurities and running around in naked abanodon with who will still want to be with me for the rest of the night afterwards.


I'm so lonely. This sucks :/

Lucky Day!

WELL!

What with the way things are going today, I am definitely feeling optimistic on my chances of getting lucky with Unsuccessful Date Guy tonight, who will be referred to as Potentially Successful Date guy from here on out. Here are the reasons that things are going well, and therefore making me believe this streak will continue:

Actual sign that sold me on the apartment.

The big one is- Today I found the apartment I will be moving to! It is in Brooklyn, NY. Clinton Hill/ Bedstuy area (which actually means nothing to me, as in my desperation I didn’t do much homework on the area). What I DO know is that I have hot roommate chemistry with the girl who lives there, we will be on the first floor of a brownstone, I can fit a queen sized bed in my room and we have separate bathrooms! Outrageous for NY. And only one transfer for me to go to work! Also, apparently someone in the neighborhood is giving away free hot dogs, which is clearly a sign from God that it’s meant to be.

Relating it to Potentially Successful Date guy- he apologized for taking forever to get back to me and we have arranged a breakfast date for tomorrow morning. Brilliant! As I am going to the variety show that he and his best friend host tonight, it would be quite easy for me to suggest a sleepover to make breakfast tomorrow that much more convenient AND since the show is downstairs in the same building as his apartment, it’s too easy! (Much like my sad, celibate self in this case)

The only thing that may thwart this plan is my preparedness. Everyone knows that if you go “too ready” everything will be jinxed for sure! Presently, I am wearing hot red lace underwear and a nice bra (not one of the gross nude colored ones with no padding that I typically wear) and I actually shaved my legs and underarms completely. Due to not liking the itchy growback phase with pubic hair, I’m sporting a “soulpatch” of sorts, but it’s still groomed enough that I am probably dooming myself to another night of solitary lameness. The fact that I regularly carry an emergency toothbrush in my purse almost guarantees I will never come into any action. 

Oh well- I can still hope! If I don’t come back to my apartment tonight, things either went really well (went home with Potentially Successful Date Guy) or really, really badly (got kidnapped during some process of commuting to the show). Wish me luck!

Impending Homelessness

Well… no progress to report in the apartment hunting realm of my life. I have been scouring Craigslist fruitlessly all week since the adorable, gay-man –filled, apartment of my dreams went to another guy. I’ve now sent out something between 20-25 emails, and recently got a raise at work so I can look in a higher bracket of apartment expenses, yet the only responses I can get are from a girl who will not give me her phone number (and who I suspect may not have excellent command of the English language) and a Hungarian couple in Queens who work for the circus or something. How cliché Craigslist of them.

Potential Future Roommates

It seems unbelievable to me that myself, a full-time employed, clean, considerate, girl of nearly 25 cannot find a ROOM in an apartment for under $900 a month in New York City with anyone who does not seem unbearably sketchy. I’m normal! Well, I wouldn’t send them a link to this blog necessarily, but my shenanigans are endearingly awkward for the most part. It doesn’t have much effect on my home life. (Save for the last post where I began crying all over my roommate about my first world problems… perhaps I will not list him as a reference.)

I’m trying to think of some good alternatives, in case I am not successful in finding an apartment in a week. Here is what I’ve come up with so far, in order of likelihood:

1.       SRO. Single Room Occupancy. Basically it works like a dorm- you provide proof of employment and have some references, you receive a furnished room, a communal bathroom (typically same gender), and sometimes some meals are included. It will feel like a weird blast from the past, but at least it’s legitimate and could work for a short time.
2.       Summer Sublets. There is always the option of finding a less permanent arrangement for a month or two while I continue to look. And I can tolerate anyone, even the Hungarian trapeze couple, for two months.
3.       Youth Hostels. Hotel alternative for poor people. I feel like the ones in Europe are safer and a bit more mainstream. I’ve seen the hostel situation in NYC. Not cute.
4.       Couch surfing. Friends in NYC who would put me up for a few days include:

·         A nearly 50 year old gay fashion designer from Portland

·         A Broadway marketing girl in Queens who went to highschool with my sister

·         A 45-year-old former stripper who carries a knife in her bra and used to work at my restaurant. She also has a rabbit, two mice, a turtle, two cats, and a 30 lb dog freely roaming her apartment.

·         A jewelry designer who lives in California and keeps an apartment in the city, but creepily has requested that I share the bed with him when he’s in town visiting (says he’s just kidding, but I doubt it)

·         The early-thirties Jewish nephew of another guy in the diamond district who never fails to attempt to molest me when he drinks. He has a studio, which he generously offered to share.

5.       Sleeping under my desk. Our office is under construction (ie covered in dust) and I don’t know what I would do with my stuff. Also, I don’t think my boss would go for this plan.

Clearly, none of my existing choices are optimal. Apparently, all the normal, clean, responsible, non-creepy roommates are unavailable in the NYC area.

Moving, Dating, And Other Disasters

I am so hungover today. First and foremost, let me mention that I did not move back to Portland. Upon careful consideration, I decided I had nothing going on for me back there that should compel me to move back to the West Coast where I would probably develop seasonal affective disorder and hopefully drown from all the rain.

So I stayed in NYC and decided to move on to full time employment with the diamond dealer.

However, yesterday was terrible. I found out that the apartment of my dreams (which I have had multiple interviews with all of the roommates for) will not be mine. They went with another candidate, stating that they would feel more comfortable living with another guy. Then the guy that I recently went out with has NOT called me back after several days (indicating that it is probably our last date) which really bums me out as well. The reality is, I need to learn to accept rejection better, but I take it way too personally, so yesterday my Aussie friend said we should go out to cheer me up.

Although my memories of last night are patchy, here’s what I remember:

I left to meet up with my Aussie graphic designer friend yesterday after work. We hopped in a cab and headed down to Mulberry Project, this lovely, classy little speakeasy in Little Italy. After dropping about $80 apiece on drinks, we decided to hit up another spot. However, by this time we were both quite buzzed and in an unfamiliar neighborhood, so we ended up wandering around in a large circle on the lower east side, smoking cigarettes and considering places to go.

Finally we found a cab and had him take us to a bar my Aussie friend likes called Boxers. It includes bartenders with ripped abs wearing nothing but their boxers, undoubtedly her brilliant plan to get the Unsuccessful Date Guy out of my head. And that actually worked out pretty well. We negotiated our way into getting enough quarters to play a few rounds of pool and drank a few more drinks. At some point the bartender offered us shots, and it went downhill.

Upon taking the shot, I promptly vomited behind the bar, continued to drink the drink I had been drinking before, and then audaciously left my phone number on the bill when we left…. Apart from the fact that no bartender would call a drunk girl who had practically deposited a distillery on him, we were at a gay bar and our bartender was probably not even into women.

Sadly, my friend’s iPhone was stolen while we were dancing around the pool table, a fate I recently shared when I visited my sister in Florida. I left a voicemail demanding the thieves to bring the phone back (although retrospectively, this made no sense as they wouldn’t know the code to check the voicemail.)

Then we snagged a cab, where our driver was incredibly rude to us, and after dropping my Aussie friend off, took me home, where I yelled at him for being rude and threatened to report him for it. In fact, I actually attempted to do so when I went inside, but was too drunk to make much sense of the requirements for filing a formal complaint against a New York City taxi driver.

My roommate unwittingly asked if I wanted anything from the bodega across the street and I began crying about everything- the apartment, the date that amounted to nothing, the vomit behind the bar, the rude cabbie… He told me it would be okay and I went to bed, naked and alone, and forgot to set my alarm.

I was only 10 minutes late to work today, but woke up and rushed out the door without bothering to shower first, so I suspect that I still smell like the cigarettes from last night. At least not the tequila vomit though, as I did have a chance to brush my teeth. There is still blood on my foot from some unknown source, and I’m fairly certain my boss knows that something went down last night, but at least he’s being nice about it.

I’ve decided not to file a complaint against the cab driver. I think having a belligerent passenger, such as myself, yelling at him at 2:30 am on a Tuesday is probably punishment enough. And I need to more closely consider getting my shit together and possibly taking a sabbatical from drinking.