Well not quite. But eight people, most of them teenagers, got shot a few blocks from here Monday night, just a few minutes before I got off the train from work. Which is a sign, I think, that it's time for me to move the hell out of this neighborhood.
What to do next I'm not sure. Hoboken is right across the river in jersey, it's a little cheaper and it's adorable so I'm looking into moving there. Though I'd gladly move to the upper west side or of course to the east village if I could afford it. I would really like to live with someone else but subletting is going to be hard because I'm kind of a prisoner of my furniture. So if any New Yorkers/Jerseyites are reading this and looking for a fun, responsible roommate with a full apartment's worth of furniture, give a girl a holler.
Showing posts with label I miss the east village but not enough to pay 2K a month for a studio. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I miss the east village but not enough to pay 2K a month for a studio. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Mi casa es ... mi casa
Welcome to my first New York apartment.
"An art deco gem," wrote the broker who showed me this place. "The envy of its neighborhood."
I live on the 3rd floor of this art deco gem. Or something like that.
The curtains are a work in progress. I temporarily gave up on them when I got sick of hitting wall studs.
My kitchen is tiny, but it does have brand-new appliances.
Why is my kitchen tiny? Because it's part of the living room!
This is where the magic happens. By 'magic,' I mean the writing of this blog.
Sadly, that is all the photos I have because Blogger doesn't like verticals and I'm too lazy to take more. When/if I get it finished, I'll post more pics or maybe a video.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Adventures in Speed Dating
Today I went speed dating. But first I had to find something to wear. So I went to "New York's best kept secret": Century 21 in Lower Manhattan, the big daddy of discount designer stores.
Century 21 advertises "fashion worth fighting for." I would imagine, judging by the number of people in the store on a Tuesday afternoon, that fisticuffs could ensue on weekends. It's like an upscale Gordman's that runs its fitting rooms like the TSA. I bought a jacket, a T-shirt, a long-sleeved shirt and a dress for less than $80.
This took me much longer than I thought, and it's a half-hour train ride from my apartment, so I was scrambling to get ready by the time I got back. The bar where speed dating was, incidentally, was about a block from where I stayed when I interned last summer.
I was late. And a little scared. But I thought dammit, I did not take the train (two of them actually) all the way to the east village in the snow just so I could turn around and go home. So I went in and they were just starting.
"I thought you were going to stand me up!" said my first "date." There were 15 guys there but we each had seven dates. We sat down at a table and talked about stupid random stuff for about five minutes until it was time to switch, another guy sat down at my table, and the process repeated six times (down to the details of most of the conversations.) At the end of each date, we filled out a piece of paper with our name, the date's name and whether we wanted to see them again.
The age group was 23-33, and most of the guys I talked to looked like they couldn't have possibly been young enough for that age range. One asked me how old I was as soon as I sat down at the table. Four or so had jobs with some permutation of "finance," "software," "production" and "engineer" in the title (not that there's anything wrong with that). One asked me how the skiing was in the mountains of Wisconsin. Nice guys, all, but none for whom I felt, pardon the cliche, that spark. Of the seven guys I talked to, I checked "yes" for one of them. And that was only because I was trying to be open-minded.
At the end, we each got an envelope with our matches. Or in my case, a sheet that said 'sorry, you don't have any matches. Please come again.' No big loss, really.
And then I started talking to one of the guys I hadn't gotten to "date." And we ended up having a few more drinks and walking to the train together. Did we have a nice conversation? Yes. But is there potential? No. Am I picky? Yes. But is there hope for me? I hope so.
Century 21 advertises "fashion worth fighting for." I would imagine, judging by the number of people in the store on a Tuesday afternoon, that fisticuffs could ensue on weekends. It's like an upscale Gordman's that runs its fitting rooms like the TSA. I bought a jacket, a T-shirt, a long-sleeved shirt and a dress for less than $80.
This took me much longer than I thought, and it's a half-hour train ride from my apartment, so I was scrambling to get ready by the time I got back. The bar where speed dating was, incidentally, was about a block from where I stayed when I interned last summer.
I was late. And a little scared. But I thought dammit, I did not take the train (two of them actually) all the way to the east village in the snow just so I could turn around and go home. So I went in and they were just starting.
"I thought you were going to stand me up!" said my first "date." There were 15 guys there but we each had seven dates. We sat down at a table and talked about stupid random stuff for about five minutes until it was time to switch, another guy sat down at my table, and the process repeated six times (down to the details of most of the conversations.) At the end of each date, we filled out a piece of paper with our name, the date's name and whether we wanted to see them again.
The age group was 23-33, and most of the guys I talked to looked like they couldn't have possibly been young enough for that age range. One asked me how old I was as soon as I sat down at the table. Four or so had jobs with some permutation of "finance," "software," "production" and "engineer" in the title (not that there's anything wrong with that). One asked me how the skiing was in the mountains of Wisconsin. Nice guys, all, but none for whom I felt, pardon the cliche, that spark. Of the seven guys I talked to, I checked "yes" for one of them. And that was only because I was trying to be open-minded.
At the end, we each got an envelope with our matches. Or in my case, a sheet that said 'sorry, you don't have any matches. Please come again.' No big loss, really.
And then I started talking to one of the guys I hadn't gotten to "date." And we ended up having a few more drinks and walking to the train together. Did we have a nice conversation? Yes. But is there potential? No. Am I picky? Yes. But is there hope for me? I hope so.
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