Know thy neighbors

I don't normally talk to my neighbors much. I am not unfriendly or anything, I just give people their space. Sure it would be nice to have someone I could stop by and borrow a cup of sugar or something, but those sorts of relationships can get complicated. I don't want to end up catsitting for people I don't really know. However, during the whole Dark Waters incident, I got to meet some of my neighbors. The ones who also had water damage. That was kinda nice. Although the girl who lives upstairs is seriously getting on my nerves. It sounds like she is moving enormously heavy pieces of furniture around at 11pm. Or it's a really bad form of tap dancing.

Anyways, I must be giving off some sort of "talk to me" vibe to my neighbors of late, because they keep chatting with me randomly in the elevator. Or maybe it's just because I'm so darn cute (they are all men in my approximate age group).

Like the previous post, I will number the incidences:

Elevator conversation #1:
Back from grocery shopping for an impending potluck, I hold the door for a young couple who were carrying a whole lot more crap than I was. I'm facing the elevator door, minding my own business, and suddenly I hear (very loudly) "HI, I'M ZACH! THIS IS MY GIRLFRIEND ____. HOW LONG HAVE YOU LIVED IN THE BUILDING?" um, 2 years or so. "SO WHAT DO YOU DO IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD?" weird question. does he want to know what I do in my freetime? where I frequent? because I don't think any New Yorker actually has the luxury of working in the same 'hood they live in. so this is what I learned about Zach (other than he so obviously has not lived in NYC for long): He doesn't live with the girlfriend and he is a student at Bank Street. He lives on the 6th floor.

Elevator conversation #2:
It's about 1am and I had consumed several drinks and was ready to be home and in bed. I get my mail. Borat is on the cover of Rolling Stone. This other guy is in the elevator with me. Again, in loud voice (even with my headphones on) "OMG, HAVE YOU SEEN THE BORAT MOVIE YET?!" no. "I HEAR IT IS REALLY GOOD BUT HAS TO BE TAKEN WITH A GRAIN OF SALT, YOU KNOW? IT'S LIKE..." offensive? I didn't learn much about that neighbor although I suspect, aside from being drunk at the time and a very loud talker, that he might also live on the 6th floor.

Elevator conversation #3:
I came home last night, got my mail and was waiting for the elevator with yet another dude (who I think I had just seen in Duane Reade buying some AirBorne). Get in the elevator, flipping through my TimeOut. It's the Pizza Issue. Again, loudly (no headphones this time): "I WONDER WHAT PIZZA PLACE THEY PICKED FOR THIS NEIGHBORHOOD?!" um, i don't know. probably Coronet since they always pick that place. (It has gianormous slices for cheap. a Colulmbia University staple.) "THAT PLACE SUCKS! I CAN NEVER FINISH A SLICE THERE. THE CHEESE IS TOO MUCH." yeah, i don't like it either. "THEY SHOULD PICK MAMA'S ON 106TH. I'VE TAKEN FAMILY FROM ITALY THERE AND THEY THOUGHT IT WAS GREAT TOO!" good to know. I will have to try it. Dude lives on the 6th floor. I wonder if all three of them live together?

The day that never ends

I am bored out of my mind at work today. There is nothing for me to do and my boss is at "Diversity Training" for the next two days. You would think this would be a great situation, right? Alas, there is only so much internet surfing I can do. My eyes water too much from the brightness of the screen after a while.

My apartment has not been repaired and my coat closet has this nasty damp smell remaining from the "Dark Waters" damage. It makes me a little sad. Especially since I have a closet-ful of stuff that is now homeless and strewn about the rest of the apartment. I called my landlord, since Miguel, my super, has promised me several different times to fix it in the past two weeks, but has never actually fixed it. My landlord promised it would get fixed by next week. (Miguel is going to the doctor today and won't be able to fix it. Too much information, I know.) And in the interim I should go buy that stuff that "looks like an OxyClean tub" but soaks up moisture.

Off to Home Depot I go.

I really should know better. Home Depot puts me in a foul mood almost as soon as I walk through the doors. Part of the reason is that I have unnecessarily high expectations of how my experience will be based on those commercials where everyone who works in the damn store is nice and knowledgable. But this is New York City.

Bad Home Depot Experience #1:
I went there once looking for a drill and I have to say, not only was the employee in the drill section a total asshole who clearly did not want to be working there, he was absolutely no help. I also asked him what kind of file I should get since one of my closet doors won't open all the way. The man told me I needed a wood shaver to shave off the bottom. I mean, WTF?! Do I look like kind of person who is gonna get a fucking wood shaver? I left home depot empty handed, aside from my blackened mood.

Bad Home Depot Experience #2:
Okay, so despite #1, I went back to HD to find this tub of dehumidifying stuff. The HD near my work is like 3 floors big and organized more like a maze than orderly aisles. I stopped some sketchy looking dude in orange who looked most likeliest to be an employee. He told me the stuff was called DampRid (makes sense) and it's in the Paint section. I'm dubious, but he would know better than I, right? WRONG. I go to the paint section. Can't find it. Ask the paint guy. He has NO IDEA what the hell I'm talking about. He says, "you should try putting bleach on the walls and then let it dry." As my sister says, it's fucking HOME depot, not GHETTO depot. I'm pretty frustrated at this point and I tell the guy that the other guy had told me it was in this section. He directed me to Household, Aisle 4 (which is as far away from the Paint section as possible). I am completely dubious.

But lo and behold, my DampRid was there! And only $3.75 a tub.

Happy I had completed my mission, yet still pissed off at how disappointing my HD experience was, I departed. The saddest thing is that I am not even sure the stuff will work.

A bleak day for fowl

I hope everyone had a lovely Thanksgiving. It is not a big holiday for my family--none of us particularly like turkey (although I am quite fond of stuffing), my sister goes down to Atlanta for a week of in-law duty, and I have no desire to watch football or shop on Black Friday.

However, some friends and I had a little second thanksgiving potluck this weekend and my friend Aaron (who makes some of the best meatballs in the world AND dressed up last year as an easter bunny--yes, on easter--to hand out treats to the kiddies), told us by far the worst Thanksgiving experience ever:

One year during college, Aaron had been dating this girl. She convinced him to spend Thankgiving with her family, saying that they always go out to this "really nice restaurant." Aaron goes. That "really nice restaurant" was one of those Old Country Buffet type places (but better than a Sizzler). Her family thought it was the best thing. Aaron was not impressed.

But it gets better.

Girlfriend's Grandpa is there and he's old and probably sick--but still eating away at the buffet (it's Thanksgiving and all). In the middle of Thanksgiving meal, Grandpa dies. Yes, you heard me, he dies. The details weren't clear, but he was definitely dead. They had to come with a gurney and take Grandpa's body out of the restaurant. Aaron attempted to get the hell out of there, but the girlfriend wanted him to stay and be with her during these difficult times.

Hands down the suckiest Thanksgiving, right?

And no, he's no longer dating the girl. But he did get that famous meatball recipe of his from her mom...

Gobble gobble.

Like a really bad Japanese horror flick...

Today I was minding my own business, enjoying a leisurely Sunday afternoon and trying to clean up my kitchen a little before making a grilled cheese sandwich. I hear this noise of movement and of course I think it is the "fucking bastard", or mouse. But oh no, it wasn't mousie. Instead, I see a STREAM of dirty water coming through the wall and down the floor of my kitchen. HOLY FUCK, WHAT THE HELL IS IT? IS MY APARTMENT POSSESSED BY A REALLY PISSY EVIL SRIRIT?? It sounded like a waterfall was in my apartment, and I don't mean in that very zen water trickling way.

I frantically grab my nice bath towels and any other absorbent material in an attempt to stop it. SO MUCH water was coming down. I check my coat closet and it's streaming down the heat pipe in there and spattering on my newly dry cleaned coat. DAMMIT.

More bath towels.

But now it's dripping from the ceiling in the kitchen so I have to put buckets down. Water is filling up into my bathroom light fixture. THIS CANNOT BE A GOOD SIGN.

I run upstairs thinking I need to ream out the girlupstairs. She has the same problem. Except:

1. She doesn't have a coat closet like I do (interesting)

2. She just moved in so her shit is still in boxes and easy to move out of the way of the deluge. I have 2 years of stuff in those closets.
Anyways, we run into other neighbors. We call the super. He's "5 hours away in NJ". Is there really any place in NJ that is 5 hours away? Because I can drive PAST Providence to visit Sonya in less time than that. WTF. We call the landlord, but really, what can a call service to for us when water is running down the walls. We call 911 so the fire department can come and shut off the water. God Bless NY's Bravest.

And so, I have now moved all of the shit out of my closets and out of the way of the nasty ass water. There are no longer streams of water flowing down my floor or along the walls, although my ceiling is still leaking. Look at my recycling bin:

Yes, that is half full of nasty dark water. So disgusting.

And now I am a very, very sad cookie who is wet, dirty and stressed out. I never got a chance to make that grilled cheese either. BOO.

Trippy treadmills and other tales of the gym

First off, in case any of you were wondering, I haven't caught that goddamn mouse yet. Mom hasn't come through with her bacon suggestion either. That might be the problem. But mousie has been laying real low of late--I am hoping that maybe he just moved out without saying good-bye.

So, I went to the gym today because apparently I was getting used to going regularly. It's been two weeks and my muscles were getting antsy. Really. It was like some weird, mild form of Restless Leg Syndrome or something.

Now, I attempted the treadmill for the first time and quite frankly, it was a little scary. I'm not a runner so I thought some fast walking (believe it or not, faster than I normally walk) would be good. It's hard getting used to walking on a conveyor belt, and super trippy getting off. I don't know if it was a combination of fatigue and hunger, but when I got off, the ground was coming up at me and I was a little unstable. Freaky. And no, I was not on hallucinogens.

But let me tell you about one of my especially disturbing gym experiences:

So I was at the gym and was already dressed and in the large room that is specifically for us ladies to dry our hair and put make-up on. It's always very empty. I'm drying my hair, minding my own business, and this older woman, very heavy, comes and stands RIGHT next to me. Now, I know the towels are small--they barely fit around me--but for some reason she thinks it's more necessary to cover her upper half rather than her bottom half. Seriously, I tried so hard not to look, but she was right next to me in front of a wall of mirrors. Oh, man! Her belly was so big that it kinda pooched over and hid all of her unmentionables. A friend of mine calls this "bubble crotch." Needless to say, it was a little traumatic.

And to wrap things up, one last story about my very first gym experience:

My gym, like most, has TVs attached to the cardio machines. The first time I went on one of them, I could not for the life of me get the damn TV to work. I thought perhaps it was some sick reward system and you have to exercise hard enough to get it to work. Kind like mice on a wheel. But then I saw some very old woman biking away slower than MadDog can peddle her trike and HER TV was working just fine. I was at a total loss and instead tried to inconspicuously watch the TV of the person next to me, with the voices in my head as accompaniment. Finally, a friend of mine explained that the TVs don't work unless you plug your headphones in. LAME.