Showing posts with label Bitchen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bitchen. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Where did the day go?

I seem to have forgotten to take a photo on July 28. I'm not really sure how that happened. But the worst part? I can't even tell you what I did that day. Did I work all day? I don't know. Did I hang out with friends? Highly unlikely. Did I spend the whole day drunk? A possibility.

Ha, I kid.

Or do I?

Anyway, here's a photo I took in March of 2007, of my sweet and beloved husband taking a bath in our first bitchen. Did you know we've had two bitchens? We've had two.


My beloved is hiking the JMT, as I've mentioned, and has no phone or Internet access, so it will be several weeks until he realizes that I've posted a photo of him in the bath on the Internet.

I am so glad I'm not married to me.

George affectionately named this bathtub the 'bounter', as in 'bathtub/counter', because that ugly slab of wood you see on the wall behind the tub? That is the underside of the kitchen counter. It folded down when you needed to use it, and then folded up and latched to the wall when you needed to bathe. And I only spent $1500 a month on my rent! Have I mentioned lately HOW MUCH I LOVE MY FABULOUS NEW APARTMENT?

7/28/09

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

Movin' On Up

Say Goodbye to Tenements!

Our lease is up on May 1st and after two years of tenement living, we decided not to renew it. Sure, the bitchen has been fun. And I'll really miss the fist-sized cockroaches that scurry along the hallways. And also the dingy stairwells with the lingering poop smell. And the shower ceiling that has a habit of crashing down while you're bathing. I'll miss having an apartment that is twelve whole foot-steps from the front door to the back wall. I'll surely miss the drunken ex-homeless man that lives in our basement. And our inability to use more than one electrical appliance at a time for fear of blowing a fuse and having to wait three hours for the super to come home from the bar so he can go into the basement he refuses to give anyone but the ex-homeless man a key to and change the fuse. I will also miss having to boil water on the stove to take a bath in February because the hot water has been turned off in the building - again. And the fifteen minute walk to the closest subway station. And the landlord with his gambling problem and his habit of calling us after 11 p.m. a week before the rent is due to see if maybe we could pay early because he owes his bookie. I mean, I know how lucky we've been to have all of that for a mere $1,513.90 a month. Sure, most people in most cities could rent a house with a backyard for that, but honestly? I'm not complaining. Two years in that tenement has given me a wealth of stories to possibly write one day and that's pretty valuable, I'd say. Maybe not worth the $35,806.80 we've spent in the last two years, but hey! It's only money, right?

We have really had to cut back on our expenses (thanks, recession!) so our goal was to find a new place for around $1200 a month. And we more than met that goal when we found an apartment for $977.80, but it's a little scary the downgrade we've had to make. Really.

All right, I'm totally lying. Our new Manhattan pad is ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS. I am completely in love. I even added the apartment to my list of 5 People I Can Sleep With And My Husband Won't Get Mad. (It's cool. Mike has his own list.) My list is now officially as follows:

1. Michael C. Hall
2. Michael C. Hall
3. Michael C. Hall
4. Zac Efron (He's over 18 so it's not creepy. Shut it.)
5. Our New Apartment

I digress. Our new apartment is fabulous. It's a five minute walk to the subway, a supermarket, dry cleaners, pharmacy, and restaurants. There are five beautiful parks within a 15 block radius. And the amenities! If, five years ago, you'd have told me that I'd one day think of a bathroom sink as an amenity, I'd have laughed at you. But trust me, all you bathroom-sink-takers-for-granted, a bathroom sink is a HUGE amenity.

In addition to the fabulous bathroom sink, our new apartment also has a bathtub that is not scary. It's been refinished so it looks new and it plugs and doesn't have rust stains and years of mildew that refuse to scrub off and the best part? You don't even have to climb over the toilet to get into it. You just step in. That's it. Step and you're in. You know what else we have in our new apartment? Windows that look out at sky and have sunlight streaming in. I thought it was great to move into the tenement, with its windows just a few feet from the luxury condo complex next door and the blobs of cement permanently affixed to the glass from when they built said luxury condo complex. Those windows were an improvement from the single teensy window that was inches from an enormous cement block wall in the studio I rented in Chelsea for two grand a month. At least in the tenement we could decipher whether it was day or night without having to walk outside. But our new apartment? It has six windows. SIX. And they are all huge and when you look out of them you can see sky without having to open the window and crane your neck upwards. It's lovely. Oh! And back to sinks, because I'm really thrilled with the sink situation, the one in the kitchen, that is in addition to the one in the bathroom, is GINORMOUS. And brand-spanking new. Know what else? There are six fuses in the fuse box, which is located in the kitchen instead of in a scary, dank basement that we don't have a key to and that has drunken ex-homeless people living in it. Do you know what that means? It means that, if I were so inclined, I could watch a DVD with the AC on while blow drying my hair, heating my curling iron, brewing coffee and ironing laundry. I bet you are just now realizing all the things you take for granted about your home, huh? YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

And I still haven't told you about the beautiful elevator, the clean and shiny marble stairwells, the enormous and clean laundry facility in the basement, which is also clean and well-lit and full of windows, the buzzer that works and is hooked up to an intercom system next to our front door. I didn't talk about the trash shoot which is right next to our front door and doesn't smell, not even a little bit. I haven't told you about how the bedroom has a door, a real bedroom door that shuts, and how this aforementioned bedroom with a door is larger than the tenement living room. I haven't described the new living room that is larger than the bedroom, has brand-new gorgeous french doors and the most beautiful antique wood flooring. And since I am so excited about all the things that make our new apartment so utterly, breathtakingly fabulous, I'm going to leave out the part about how the kitchen and bathroom linoleum are completely trashed and that, because the apartment is priced so far below market (thanks, rent stabilization!), they refused to replace them, so we are forced to do it ourselves. I also won't mention how the brand-new kitchen cabinets were nailed into the drywall and so hanging off the walls at precarious angles, and how Mike had to pull them down and re-hang them correctly using firring strips, screws and the wall studs. And I am most definitely going to leave out the part about how the brokers fee cost us our first and second born children and also our souls. I'm not going to mention any of those things because, bathroom sink! Buzzer! Elevator! Trash shoot! Laundry room! Sunlight! Space! Closets! Less than five minutes to train platform! HOLY CRAP YOU GUYS. WE'RE MOVING INTO A BEAUTIFUL BUILDING AND WE ARE SAVING OVER FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS A MONTH ON OUR RENT. That is totally worth using the all-caps key inappropriately.

$977.80 per month. $977.80. Nine hundred seventy-seven dollars and eighty cents. Say it with me. $977.80. Isn't that beautiful? It's my new favorite number. Move over 11! Make way for 977.80.

This is probably where an editor would tell me to shut the F up now, but I can't. Because you know what? After next week, I will never again have to bundle up and walk through rain, sleet, snow, ice and general misery to do my laundry or take out the trash. I will never again fumble to unlock my front door because my slumlord doesn't pay the building electric bill. I will never again have to put on my shoes and run downstairs to let a friend into my building. I will never again have to climb over my toilet to take a shower, bang my knees on the bathroom door trying to shut it so I can have privacy when I poop, or brush my teeth in the same sink I wash my dishes in. And that is so so so cool.

Wanna see photos? Of course you do. Click here and grab a bib because you will start salivating.

p.s. In other news, I just booked a leading role in a workshop of a very very exciting new play. I'll write more about that later. I am so excited I can't believe it's really happening. 

p.s.2. Expect posting this week to be light, what with all the packing and moving and rehearsing I'll be doing. But just think how many wonderful stories I'll have when I come back!

p.s.3. If things keep going this well, I might start to genuinely enjoy this wild metropolis I am trying to call home.
Say Hello to Luxury Living!

Monday, February 25, 2008

Dead Things: Or Why Poompy Loves Me

If you've ever been to my Flickr account, you know my fascination with dead things. Sadly, since I've gotten kind of used to living in NYC, I've stopped carrying my camera with me everywhere I go, so now I regularly miss good photo opportunities with the city's beautiful dead. Which just drives me nuts. I'll be walking down the street and I'll see a squashed rat and I'll stop in my tracks, squat on the pavement for a closer look, dig through my purse for my camera and then curse myself for leaving the camera at home. And then a moment passes as I'm squatting on the sidewalk hovering over the rotting carcass of some poor creature, where I seriously consider putting the thing in my pocket so that as soon as I get home I can take a picture of it. Or, if the thing is REALLY dried out, perhaps I can bring it home and just ... save it. Maybe to put in a frame at some later date*. How cool would that be? I think. But then the practical side of me (yes, I have one too) takes over and I realize how upset Poompy will be if he finds out I've stuck this dead rat or pigeon or sparrow or whatever in my pocket and brought it into our tenement. So I sigh, wistfully, and walk away, knowing I'll never have the opportunity to photograph that particular dead thing ever again.

A couple of weeks ago Jen brought Sexy Sadie into work with her for the afternoon. Sadie is a good little doggy, so she has free run of the spa when she's there. A few hours into the work day, I hear Jen screaming in the back. Before I have a chance to see what's going on, she's running up front with Sadie in her arms. "Oh my god! Is my dog's face OK? You'll never believe what just happened!" Sadie's face looked fine, so I follow Jen into the back room where there are two sprung mouse traps on the floor - one of them with a dried out little mouse in it. Apparently, Jen had gone in to check on Sadie and found her crunching on something which turned out to be the mummified mouse in the trap. (Jen was worried that the empty trap had sprung on Sadie's face, but we've since decided that it probably wasn't empty when Sadie found it. If you know what I mean.) So here I am, at work, with a lovely dead thing and no camera. I took a deep breath, looked at Jen and said, "Can I take it home?"

ÅND SHE DIDN'T MIND. You have no idea how thrilled I was to be able to take that little dead mousy home. We put him in a biohazard bag (it was the only plastic bag with a seal that we had around) and put that in a Dean & Deluca bag. I was worried Mr. Mouse would just crumble up if I stuck him loose in my purse. I had a lot going on that night, so I wasn't able to photograph him right away. Instead, he stayed in his baggies on top of my fridge. Until Poompy found him.

We're in the bitchen** getting ready for bed when Poompy asks me, "Hey, what's in this Dean & Deluca bag? Did you get cupcakes?" And because at the core of my being I'm actually quite cruel, I respond, "It's a treat I picked up for you. Open it!" He opened the bag, looked inside, looked up at me, grinned, put the bag back on top of the fridge and said, "I should've known," And that was that.

Does that mean I have permission to bring home dead things?



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*In an envelope inside a box on the top shelf of a closet in the tenement is a dead frog that my parents sent me in the mail about ... oh gee, I guess that's nearly two years ago now. He's beautifully dried and quite gorgeous, really. I'm just waiting to find the time (and money) to bring him to a shop to have him framed. I think he'll look really nice in one of those glass, shadow-box type deals. A real conversation-starter, you know?

**You didn't forget about our bitchen, did you?

Monday, October 15, 2007

Bitchen

Poompy set my bathrobe on fire. It's not really his fault, though. I mean, I was the one who hung it next to the stove.

Why would I hang my bathrobe next to the stove, you ask? Well, it's because of the bitchen. You know, the bathroom/kitchen combo. The bitchen. The only place I CAN hang my bathrobe is on the towel bar in between the stove and the toilet. And, well, the belt of my robe was draped over the stove, by accident, and... it caught fire when Poompy tried to boil some water for tea.

Luckily he noticed pretty quickly and managed to put it out before my bathrobe was completely ruined. Just one end of the belt was fried. The rest of it is ok. But I'm certainly not going to hang my bathrobe there again. From now, it will just have to stay in the ballway* next to the bedhole**.

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* Bedroom/hallway combo.
**the small space in our apartment designated for sleeping.