A Wolf By Any Other Name Is Still An Idiot

I called one company and said “I’m a convicted murderer and child molester, and just got out of prison. I have excellent credit, though.” They said “come right in, we have several luxury apartments that can suit your needs.” One of the apartments they showed me had a special playroom for children! I found the following person via a recommendation from a friend; I should have known better. With the stress of trying to get an apartment, I forgot the most important factor-my friend is an idiot. " Applications are always cash -- I will give you a receipt. There is a studio coming up On August 1st that I think I mentioned yesterday. Here is the info for it: 184 West 70th Street. STUDIO, Apartment #8H $2,195 Doorman building, has small gym and laundry in the basement. Great, super great UWS neighborhood. Please try to take a look at this apartment. I will be sending you information as I find it. And, please let me know how you're progressing. Best, Name Withheld For Fear of Lawsuit." “small gym” turned out to be 2 of the first step machines ever invented (busted) and a hamster spinning on its wheel, in the basement. “Laundry” was a giant sink in the basement. Were those giant cockroaches, or laundry concierges? Turns out this person is trying to pocket 150 dollars of my hard earned cash (called an "application fee", non-refundable, of course, even if I didn’t get the apartment). They were trying to get an additional referral fee from a building that I found myself on the internet, and visited 2 weeks before I ever heard of them. There was no application fee if I applied directly with the management company, and negotiable rent. While trying to bilk me, this person didn’t even show up, but sent a dim witted assistant who went upstairs without me, leaving me sitting in the lobby with a nasty doorman. He finally showed me 2 dumps, and didn’t mention that rent was negotiable. The apartments were bastardized with cardboard walls and tiny square footage. My boot boxes are bigger than these apartments. It’s too bad, because from outside the building is beautiful. The assistant looked at me like I was crazy when I said it was stupid to pay 150 dollars, cash only, to possibly be rejected. That I would get a receipt seemed to make him think I’d find it less reprehensible. Thanks, pal. Nothing I’d like better to be reminded, in writing, that I was stupid and/or desperate enough to be ripped off by the likes of you. He urged me to apply, and asked “Do you want me to call the broker?” I said no and got out of there. As I walked away, discouraged, I remembered the events of my prior visit to this building. A tenant cornered me and advised that it was a very young crowd and management didn’t care at all. The one honest doorman said “Things get reported when I’m here, but I’m only here 3 days”. The other doorman has the personality of an undertaker on valium. My subsequent internet research confirmed that management rents out the vacant apartments to tourists, has open scaffolding and code violations, and treats tenants like crap. The broker sent another email today, urging me to apply for the apartment. I told her that I wasn’t in love with it. Here’s the nonsense I got back. . . "Thanks for getting back to me -- here's how I see it -- 1. You can "apply" for that studio and I can do my best to see you are "accepted" or 2. You can apply for the one you really like. I keep on thinking that if you are accepted by one landlord in the same neighborhood, you will have a better chance at getting an apt of your choice -- my opinion. Looking for more apts without knowing if you will be accepted isn't a great strategy. Ok -- let me know what you want me to do. Best, NWFFOL" ***Ironic- why is it that the worst people sign their e-mail “best”?

More Craigslist Madness

$1500 Upper West Side housing wanted. Date: 2009-07-21, 2:14PM EDT Reply to: hous-uzjkh-1281480746@craigslist.org Very small person looking for place in doorman, elevator, prewar chest of drawers with ample closet space and plenty of natural light, a la Kramer, on Upper West Side. Kramer's chest of drawers preferred but will accept similar chest of drawers. Will pay extra for top drawer; I realize this is penthouse location. Breakfast or wake up service not needed, but I will not tolerate gas, snoring or excessive noise from other tenants. I trust that my Rottweiler will not pose a problem. it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests *************************************************************************** (e-mail to undisclosed recipients, a/k/a everyone, received immediately after I posted my ad) Hello! Just incase you need help moving, I run a small Moving and delivery service and can help you move. Best, R **************************************************************************When they conclude with "Best", it's always the worst.    _______________PRINCE WITH A VAN, READY TO GIVE YOU A HAND *************************************************************************** Running a close second: Responses that arrive 30 seconds after the posting appears. Speaking of the devil: Hi, Are you still searching for an apt? this message was remailed to you via: hous-k9nsn-1284682751@craigslist.org. “No, in the 30 seconds since I posted the ad, the apartment fairy magically appeared and presented me with a lease for a prewar, 1 bedroom apartment in a luxury doorman building. I’m moving in 5 minutes.”

First Of Many Craigslist Postings

$2200 little old woman seeking bigger shoe (upper west side). Date: 2009-07-23, 10:51AM EDT. Reply to: hous-k9nsn-1284682751@craigslist.org. I'm a little old woman living in a Converse Chuck Taylor shoe. I have so many children, I don't know what to do. I need a bigger shoe, possibly a Converse Hi-top, Doc Maarten, or large boot. Good closet space and nice view required. Live in Super or shoe repair specialist preferred. Location: upper west side. it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests.

The Reason

The next morning: Walked to East Side gym, walked on treadmill for 30 minutes, called Bergdorf’s, had them put aside T shirt and matching leggings. Walked to Bergdorf’s, Happy birthday to me. Five days until I officially give up the search. It’s back to Bergdorf’s for me. I’ll go to gym more often, try some light cardio. Epilogue. The Monday after my birthday, I was shocked to learn that my company was going out of business. At last; the reason I was unable to find an apartment. I had to collect unemployment. This was clearly not the right time to move. I was easily able to afford my rent stabilized apartment. If I had moved, I wouldn’t have been able to afford the increased rent. The baboon lost his job, too. He got evicted. I started my apartment search again in Fall, 2010. Stay tuned for Adventures in Real Estate, Part Two. . .

Shopping Is The New Cardio

Cardio adjustment: Walk to gym, purchase smoothie. Walk to bus, ride to office. After work, walk to Saks to take annual look at self in 3 way mirror. Horrified, begin light cardio at gym tomorrow. While I’m here, begin pre - birthday shopping cardio. Walk around entire 5th floor, try not to pause. Pause at denim section. Pick up many pairs of jeans, sprint to fitting room. Pulling on distressed jeans. Hudson, J Brand too tight; made many attempts to pull them up, but won’t get past my calves. Seven jeans made it up after many attempts, extra exertion trying to keep foot from going through holes in pants. Try on other random jeans, which look like the ones I already have. All jeans look awful due to horrendous expansion of ass. Try on cute special event fashion night in New York T shirt to benefit 911 victims. Exit fitting room, purchase T shirt and Seven jeans with most holes. Marvel about how I just spent the most money on the least amount of material. Rationale “You’re going to die, you can’t get an apartment, you might as well spend it all.” Not to mention the annual “It’s my birthday week; Happy Birthday to Me”. Go to ladies room, walk down escalator 5 flights, trying not to stop anywhere. Almost out of store, Chanel nail polish called to me. Kept going. Up 5th avenue. Leggings in Bendel’s window. Went in, lap around table with leggings. Lace, leather, zippered denim, black, navy, tights with sequins on front only (stupid); prices much too high for leggings; gasp, exit Bendel’s. Outside Bendels, get accosted by 2 con men/thugs pretending to sell their about to become a hit rap CD, asking for donations. Told them to screw off; how many calories did that burn? Traumatized by thugs, speed walked to Bergdorf’s. Had to go to 5F, just to see. Made revolution around, starting with shoes (gorgeous fringed boots by Joie; when did they start making boots?) Had to check out DVF. Found animal print/camouflaged leggings. Tried them on; made huge ass seem less horrific; Happy birthday to me. Noticed cute white Marc Jacobs Tee Shirt; kept going. Rode escalator down to basement. Chanel nail polishes called to me again. Met company rep who tried to make me over. Instead purchased new fall nail polishes. Happy birthday to me. Rep sent me back to Bendel’s to get last 2 Lilac polishes that Bergdorf's just sold out of. Almost made birthday appointment for makeover, but didn’t. Ran back to Bendels, past thugs, told them again to screw off. Climbed steps to Chanel makeup counter, bought polishes. Happy birthday to me. Walked home, muttering “What the hell have I done?” added up purchases, walked faster, in disbelief. Unpacked purchases. Happy birthday to me. Note to self: stick to treadmill and city. Walking in stores is too dangerous.

Decisions

THINGS I SHOULD DO TO BABOON Play CD recording of crowing rooster at top volume on Bose wave radio, every day at 5:00 a.m. including weekends. Bark loudly like mad dog during wee hours. Super inquires about dog, invite Super in and say “I’ve never had a dog. I told you that man is crazy.” When he cooks road kill, spray Lysol into kitchen fan, which will waft into his kitchen. Thought for today: Sometimes I just sits and thinks; Sometimes I just sits; Sometimes I just sits in sunny spot in office window, like a cat; Sometimes there’s Haiku: Air conditioning. Too much in this little room. Freezing my tail off. August 26, 2009. I haven’t thought about new apartment since my chest began to hurt. Dr. office called, wanting to do a $400 dollar test, not covered by insurance, to see if there is blockage. I have high cholesterol. I haven’t scheduled the test. They want to decide whether to put me on the cholesterol medication, which carries risk of liver or kidney problems. It all boils down to when your number’s up, it’s up. Is my number up? One final peek at Craigslist. Nothing interesting there. Birthday in 2 days, nobody here to celebrate, nothing to celebrate, no apartment. Looming possibility of imminent heart disease or Alzheimer’s. Happy Birthday. First things first: should I get the test? Maybe. I’d rather try to adjust diet and exercise more. Day one diet adjustment: I looked up heart healthy foods on internet. Everything I like, I can’t have. Salads? Hell, no. Microwave meals are not the solution; too much sodium. I can’t cook. If I try to cook, the apartment might catch fire. Does my gas even work? The stove is good for storing my perfumes. Where will I store my perfumes? Maybe try to find a heart healthy restaurant. The only one I saw on internet is vegetarian. The salt content in EJ’s food is probably higher than Atlantic Ocean. No pizza, no Chinese. Can I cheat with steamed dumplings? Cheeseless pizza? Is sautéing the same as fried? This is too depressing. . .

Indecision

Another call from Marty this morning. “Just want to see if you’re still alive.” “The guy across the hall from me moved. He was the only good neighbor. Now I’ll probably have three crap neighbors. I can’t get an apartment.” “You can’t do it now anyway, with the economy so bad.” “I don’t know if I should sign the lease, or go month to month.” “You should sign the lease, but then you have to stay. You already have one judgment on your credit report from the identity theft, you don’t need another one.” “My credit’s already screwed. Maybe it doesn’t matter.” “Have you been going out?” “I go the gym on the Upper West Side. They have a nice restaurant. I sit there and read.” “Who do you sit with?” “I sit alone. Who am I supposed to sit with; Regis?” “I can’t believe you haven’t found anybody. You can’t be trying.” "I'm trying." “Then you must be contagious. What do you have, MRSA and all the STDs combined?” “You get worse every time I talk to you.” I couldn’t tell him about yesterday’s terrifying near death experience. I had chest pains. I had them for a week, but ignored them. Suddenly, they were all I could think about. Maybe I shouldn’t have spent ten hours in the 93 degree heat, on the sundeck of the Upper East Side location of my health club. I go there every so often to remind myself how much I want to live anywhere but on the Upper East Side. I was listening to “The Confederacy of Dummies”; a gaggle of immature, pathetic old men, bragging about themselves and talking about the twenty something women as if they had a chance. Same cast of characters every week. High white wedge woman; wedge sandals so high she needs a stepladder to put them on. At first glance it looks like she painted two bricks white and taped them to her feet. Old, bald, deaf, senile, fat fart; puts his chairs on top of yours, even though there are miles of unoccupied space; sprays lotion that goes on you, not on his cue ball head or medicine ball stomach; coughs, grunts, and stares at you like he's a wild animal. When someone calls him on his rude behavior, he ignores them. Other characters include an assortment of Park Avenue blonde bimbos, proudly showing off their recent breast implants; butt - floss - wearing "happy ending" masseuses; hookers accompanied by Wall Street losers who bring them as guests. Must stop now. Too depressing. Luckily, I got an appointment with the only decent Dr. on my health plan. Normally, there is a 2-month wait for an appointment. They had a cancellation, and I got right in. I prayed I wasn't dying. The Dr. said my problem was muscular, that chest pain upon exertion is when to worry. After many tests, the Dr. said that I was okay. I didn’t bring my sunglasses to the Dr. because I was sure he would put me in the hospital and I didn’t want them stolen. I felt relieved. At least I wasn’t as dead as my neighborhood. If only the baboon would move. . .