for the love of god.

Religion in a city like new york is, more often than not, associated with habitual behaviors. Your morning Starbucks is “religious.” Your run on Chelsea Piers Sunday afternoons is “religious.” Cranberry vodkas are “religious.” As is reading Vogue. The only problem is when you’re faced with a person who actually practices a religion. Then you get the “oh” shifty eyes. Branding yourself “religious” makes you vulnerable, rather, susceptible to feeling or looking a little foolish. What do you need a god for in a city that gives you everything you want if you work hard for it? Whether you make your money the hard way or find a “short-cut,” money can be made here, and sadly, that’s usually the higher power people seek to rule their lives. This city is filled with people who just want the same three infamous things Carrie wanted: the job, the apartment, and the boyfriend/girlfriend. All of which are held to a higher standard around here. It’s not just a job, it’s the job. Not just an apartment, but a loft. Not another small town boy or girl, a big-time business man or woman with model-looks to call your own. People want the cream of the crop in Manhattan, so why then, I wonder, don’t they call on the one person who can give it to them?

upper east side lovin

Moving to New York has been like getting sucked up in a whirlwind similar to pulling the drain on a full bathtub. Between falling sick, getting better and relapsing again I can barely pull my little body together long enough to make it through! I came with a simple TO-DO list and a super ambitious attitude to “make it work” no matter what. In no particular order, I needed to find A) a J-O-B and B) an apartment. Sounds hard, but it’s a million times harder than it sounds. First of all, jobs don’t just grow on central park trees around here. And while apartments do, it doesn’t mean they’re all great or..ehhem…affordable. With a strict budget and a short time frame, I set to work looking for an apartment firstly. This being due to the fact that my dear friend drew was willing to “sponsor” me as a roommate while I find a job since he was in desperate need of his own place asap.

Drew, I must explain is almost a ghost at this point. Besides the fact that I never see him, physically, he’s barely got meat on his bones too. He’s literally withering away from a demanding job that leaves him little time to brush his teeth, let alone eat, sleep or look for an apartment. I mean, seriously, the job is hardcore. So with little to no input on his behalf, I got to contacting brokers, setting up appointments and running around the city checking out places to pre-approve for Drew. Thank god for pic messaging, I don’t know what I would’ve done if this was 1989. Round 1 with my best friend yielded a so-so place, a ghetto spot in Spanish harlem, and a real potential-filled cute apartment on the upper eastside. A few pictures and days later, Drew was finally able to see the place himself- “done!” The next day we were set to sign the lease for it, when we get a call from the broker…turns out it was taken. See the problem here is, this is my first time apartment hunting…I had broken the cardinal rule: do not get attached. Apartment shopping is more like boyfriend shopping than you’d think. Just like with men, you never want to commit to something wholly until you have a pen in hand and are signing the lease. Otherwise, it’s up for grabs…someone with better looks, or in this case more deposit money, might snatch it up just when you start to envision your life with them. I could see my cozy couch, I could practically hear drew coming in late from work and feel the summer breeze as I sat outside of my bedroom window drinking wine on the fire escape…my dreams were quickly abolished with one phone call from Drew a.k.a. “mr. insensitive.” “So the bad news is the apartment was taken already. Jacquie, this happens all the time. When can you see more places?” More places? I wanted 91st and 1st. I Jay-Z’d and moved “on to the next one.” A little broken hearted, and far more aware of how easy it is to fall in love and lose men apartments, I went ahead and scheduled more viewings and made arrangements to stay with my gay boyfriend in Brooklyn for the week.

Simultaneously I was keeping an eye on the job watch and had an interview scheduled at Ralph Lauren for a senior sales assistant position on Wednesday. That’s another post in and of itself. Job interview down, back to apartments. My mind has been entirely wrapped and sucked into the APARTMENTJOB whirlwind. Its all I dream about, think about, stress about, panic-attack about, meltdown about, and stay optimistic about. Thank god for parents and friends that keep me grounded and support my poor, broken little soul. Okay, so I’m not that pathetic, but it feels that way sometimes. Being strong has a side effect of sometimes leaving you weak. Courage requires lots of deep breathing, hysteria in broad daylight, knowing you have a safety net to fall on or at the very least a hand to hold and a best friend to make you laugh and eat. I have all of the above…what a blessing!

With Saturday approaching (Drew leaves on business in the morning…China), time was running out and I was determined to find something Thursday that we could sign for by Friday. With 6 apartment viewings scheduled, I never made it past the second one. It wasn’t love at first sight- not even close. When I walked up the brownstone steps, I felt optimistic. It smelled good as soon as you opened the door and walked in the building…simple with dim lighting and only one flight up, hallelujah! Every New Yorker’s dream. When I walked through the tiny hallway and met the fork between living room and kitchen I sighed relief. It was nice! Huge living room by Manhattan, let alone upper eastside, standards. Hmm, nice…okay. Then through the living room I found the door that led to the bathroom. Fully remodeled with nice dark blue tile throughout…a little masculine, but then again, I can do androgynous. Nice tub, cute sink, big mirror…very spacious…no toilet. No toilet!?! “Oh” the broker smiled, it’s through here. In the bigger of the two rooms was a little door which should’ve been to a closet, but low and behold was for the “toilet room.” Yes, the toilet is removed from the bathroom and up a stair in a closet/toilet room. I laughed, and cringed. Eww. Then I remembered what a crazy work schedule my roommate has and started to consider it more seriously. Even though at first scan around it was just OKAY, the longer I walked around and stood in that big huge, two –window living room, the more I felt at home. It was like a quirky guy who off the bat might not have those drop dead gorgeous looks, but inside makes you laugh a little and feel carefree. So what if he doesn’t have the looks, you think. He feels comfortable (much like the light hardwood floors and old New York style walls), he has all the things I want on paper, and he’s…BIG. I’m getting my money’s worth here. Besides, Manhattan real estate is all about one thing: location, location, location. Boy was this the right location!

With Drew’s naturally quirky sense of humor and personality, I knew he’d at least consider the toilet roomed apartment so I called him up to 75th and 2nd. Later that night he laughed on the phone talking about how cool it would be to put his bed in the kitchen and make people confused when they came to visit about the arrangement of our apartment. He was sold. Appointment was set up, once again, to sign the lease after some number crunching I took part in back at the office with the brokers. 10:30 Friday we met, and after some negotiation, signed the lease!

Makes me wonder, if I only had to go through six apartment viewings before I found “the one” in a city filled with millions of apartments, could I be so lucky as to find the right man out there too, and exactly how many viewings will it take?