New digs

My upstairs neighbors, I’ve decided, must be newlyweds. Or have a cleaning-sex fetish thing going on. The couple moved into the 400 square foot studio right above mine a few months ago, and since then I hear them often walking around in what must be nothing short of lead-soled boats. But in addition to the constant thud-thud-thud of their footsteps, there is on almost a daily basis the noise of a vacuum cleaner generally followed by the squeek-squeek-squeek of box springs getting a workout…

Yeah, it’s time to move.

I’ve been at my apartment for almost six years now. A small, quaint little studio in the heart of Murray Hill. And while I have appreciated it for its layout and great sunlight, I have to admit I’m tiring of the little things that make it, well, a shit-hole. Like the kitchen faucet, that no matter how often it’s been “repaired” seems to always spray as much water horizontally as it does vertically. Or the crumbling paint. There’s the old school water heater that, when it comes on at 6 am in the winter, sounds like someone is taking a wrench with all his might to it. I think the heater has to work extra hard because over the years, the contractors have plugged up all the heating vents with globs of paint. But don’t worry they left globs of paint spattered over most of the floors as well, adding to the charm of the place.

And then there are the chipped, what probably used to be beautiful wooden floors. In 1907. (When they said pre-war, I didn’t realize that meant pre-WWI). I remember one night when I spent an hour watching a 2-inch Chinese water bug come in and out from a crevice in one of the cracked planks near the kitchen, paralyzing me with fear and disgust. Then, after mustering up some courage, I cried like a little girl while spraying the poor bug to death with Raid, all the while thinking of Gregor (from the Metamorphosis) being pelted with apples by his family.

Yeah, it’s time to move.

Now I’m looking for a more growns up apartment. One with an actual, separate bedroom. And maybe a kitchen with a dishwasher and nice countertops. A place where faucets actually work the way they are supposed to, and where I don’t have to be an unwilling eavesdropper into the scandalous lives of my neighbors.

I will miss this place in some ways, though. Afterall, it was my first real home. And there were some redeeming qualities. Like the fact that if I accidentally locked myself out, I could easily pick the lock with handful of Chinese food menus from the lobby. (For some reason, the sushi menus – not good enough.) And of course, I saved a lot of money since the apartment was rent stabilized. And heck, the bathroom ceiling only collapsed into a pile of brown water, plaster and piping twice in those six years – that’s probably not bad for a building this old!

Yeah, it’s time to move…