A Complete Stranger

November 2, 2010

Let me tell you a story. A short one. So don’t get your hopes up.

I date. I internet date. And sometimes when I’m really miserable I do it a lot to distract myself. Sorry, but it’s the truth. Don’t hate me yet, cause you’ve only got half the deets. My most recent hooplah was this guy we’ll call James, cause that’s generic enough, and that will make it even harder to find him. We’re not even friends on facebook, so good luck figuring out who he is, fuckers!

I dated James for a few weeks. Somewhere between 2 and 4. Not enough to qualify him beyond “dating,” but at times he seemed generally concerned with my wellbeing (like when I left New York for 2 weeks) and also told me how hot I was. A lot. (I have difficulty believing a lot of people when they say that, but he was pretty fucking convincing. I shouldn’t spill into details why, just know I was a tamale for a second.) Anywho, he was cool, we had fun, things seemed to be… well… datey.

I held out a little bit. I thought I played my cards right, and then IMMEDIATELY after I slept with him (hows that for full discretion, folks?) he texted me about his job interview (it apparently went well) and then I never heard from him again. Not even after I texted him to see how the second and third interviews went. Just as quickly as he was there, he got the goods, and bounced.

I was confused to say the least. I thought this shit only happened in movies: girl dates guy, girl finally puts out, guy never speaks to girl again. I thought that was some sort of crazy sex and the city urban legend. Apparently not. Dudes apparently do this in real life. *cue David After Dentist scream: IS THIS REAL LIFE?!!!*

Yes. Yes indeed.

So I was a bit puzzled, but wrote it off to the fact that “he was busy” or “I was busy” and after awhile I just stopped caring. That doesn’t usually happen to me. I’m often too invested, too emotional, and too caught up in whatever the fuck was going on with us. With this guy, I accepted the fact that, yes, I may have just been played.

But then James surprised me.

For those of you that know me personally, you know that my Blackberry recently got amnesia (FROM A SOFTWARE UPDATE WTF) and said goodbye to all of my contacts, so I sent out a mass email asking everyone for their contact info again. I included James in this list (along with a few other dudes I maybe dated once upon a time) and thats when I got this email*:

(*cleaned up for content and, well, my own sake. I don’t want you to know ALL of the awesome things he wrote about me.)

Hey yo,
Sorry I didn’t write you back or call you in awhile.

no shit.

I’ve been really seriously thinking about what I should do with this situation. I decided that ignoring you wasn’t how I’d like to be treated so I’m not going to do that to you.

OMG MARRY ME BUT OH WAIT HERE IT COMES

Here is the deal. I just got out of a 5 year relationship about 10 weeks ago.

woof.

I haven’t dated in a super long time… I met you and a couple other girls and honestly I’m just not ready for anything serious. I hung out with you the longest but… I just think I need to be single for awhile. You are a fun person and I hope I’m not hurting your feelings. I just can’t date any girl right now because I constantly compare everything to my ex.

ew. – 20.

You aren’t her, and that’s a great thing!

alllllright. +20. You’ve zeroed out.

I usually date hipster girls that are super pretentious and hanging out with you was so much more chill than that…You are the only person I’ve every talked to about Dr. Who for example….not even my ex knew about that.

NERDS RULE THE WORRRRRLD. I have NO shame. In fact, I’m fairly certain that it scared the bejesus out of him after he suggested I watch it, and then it became my crack. (It is a really good show. Really.)

But all that said, I just can’t keep hanging out because I’m not there yet.

“I mean, I hope you feel the same way I do? No offense but I was super pushing myself into a… dating thing because I was angry about being dumped. I hope you aren’t mad at me. If you ever want to hang out, then feel free, I just can’t do the dating right now……I decided I need to only focus on getting a full time job. Once I make that happen….then maybe I’ll try the dating scene… if we see each other I hope you say hi. Nothing to be awkward about. talk to you later”

“James”

Some of you may think it might be a bit of an overshare/abuse of trust to share this letter. Fine. Be that way. (I did edit and tidy and change his name so suck it.) But I put it here for a very good reason: This honest, succinct, glorious epic of an email was enough for me to sleep at night after feeling as if I had gotten the ol heave-ho without any reason. The “hump and dump” was unforeseen, and frankly, slightly offensive, but this email was quite possibly the most genuine, fair break-off email I’d ever received. I posted it in hopes that maybe girls wouldn’t give up hopes, and goddamnit, maybe some guys would get a clue and jump on the honesty bandwagon.

I emailed him back and told him I appreciated him being forthcoming and said if he ever needed to talk about Doctor Who, that my inner-nerd would be around. It occurred to me that I’d never been given the courtesy of having a boy be honest with me like that… I’ve always had to beat a “lets just be friends” out of them. Sure, it was a slight letdown, considering (like most girls) after we slept together I had delusions of grandeur of our future children and white picket fences (girls that say they dont are LYING; TAKE NOTE DUDES) but what he wrote was pure… kind is a weird word to use, but it’s true. He cared enough to be honest, which is something I don’t think any guy I’ve EVER dated had the decency to do.

So in conclusion, thank you, “James.” Although you played into the stereotype of every guy I am scared to date, you handled your exit with such grace that I can’t help but have more respect you than any of the boyfriends I’ve ever had.

(Damnit.)

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Overshare

July 13, 2009

I’m one that tends to overshare in some realms of my life. My sexual history is often an open book (I like to look back and laugh, OKAY? It makes me feel better about it) and for the most part, everything except my email password is out there somewhere…

I emailed this story to my mother last week about how I had been somewhat “robbed” by my esthetician (I mean, just saying that kind of keys you in to what happened…) and she immediately let me know that I shouldn’t write about it on my blog.

But I oh-so wanted to. It’s like this: if I can laugh about it, I’m going to write about it. This was one of those cases – while I don’t mind the result, at the time I was certainly flabbergasted by the experience. Those that have me talk their ears off know that lately I have developed quite an addiction to waxing (so much faster. so much easier. so much less dangerous.) so writing about it on my blog isn’t, you know, new news.

In the realm of overshare, there’s not a lot I won’t say, but an acquaintance’s twitter caught me really off guard this morning in terms of what should be shared on the internet.
“Getting a serious dose of birth control today.” it read. Okay, well at first read, that’s a bit much. My assumption now is that this was meant to be funny (like “I’m spending my entire day with a group of children! Talk about birth control!”) but getting JUST that, is dangerous, and it is one thing I will probably never post.

So what’s appropriate? Where’s the line? WHAT DO I DO?!

Well, as the resident open book, I have a few simple rules that I follow:
1. Don’t write about anything illegal. I don’t care if you’re underage drinking or doing lines of coke off of a hooker’s ass, just don’t write about it if you don’t want the whole world to know.
2. Don’t write about budding romantic interests or relationship problems. If there’s one way to fuck up something new, it’s by writing about it too soon. Sure, you’re seriously dating or in a relationship, mentioning that person is bound to happen. The last thing you want to do is talk shit about your date and leave the potential for them to find it. I guess only do it if you want a really immature way to burn a bridge. A REALLY immature way to squash that ish…
3. Don’t talk shit about anyone. If you’re going to talk shit, use a pseudonym. And if you’re going to talk shit, it shouldn’t be some rampage, at least make it interesting to someone else out there. If I’m going to talk about what an a-hole that landlord dude was to my unnamed friend, I’m going to make it funny, and I’m going to let him have it. Or let his fake name have it. You know. Related: the last thing you want to do is start gossip. If it can be traced back to you, you’re an idiot and you deserve to be shot on site. Talking about someone elses’ business is just bad form. Deal with your own shit, then maybe you can take on other people’s problems.
4. Don’t write about work. I occasionally break this rule a little bit (I believe the origins of this blog actually began with a little site I started called “Le Interner” where I wrote about my first experiences in internships and how unbelievably shitty it was. I did, however, make it under a fake name, used pseudonyms for my coworkers, and changed the locations/any other details I could fudge.) I also sometimes mention my job now, usually in passing. Twitter, sure, I mention it a bit more, but if your coworkers were as nice and cool as mine were, you’d probably write about them too.

and last but not least:
5. Do not write anything you couldn’t say out loud. If I say that mushrooms are the worst food in the entire world, I better be fucking ready to defend that statement at a moment’s notice. I’d never write anything I couldn’t say or discuss out loud… God, I can’t even write the things I wouldn’t ever talk about out loud, that’s how horrible they are. Just know that there are off limit topics, and while I could discuss them with the right people, I’m not about to address them on a public forum.

So there you have it. These are my rules, and for the most part, I stick to them. Occasionally I slip up, but from these moments, I certainly learn my lesson… which is how I came up with these guidelines in the first place.

Sharing is caring. But don’t overshare… that’s just rude.

up with the sun

June 30, 2009

I’ve been working like a madwoman all day on my writing project, which should be done either next month or early August, when I will reveal it. I’m really cautious about WHEN I’m going to publish it due to the content. It’s not exactly gonna go down in one gulp… It’s going to make several people incredibly uncomfortable, but on the other hand, a lot of people are going to think it’s insightful and hilarious. I don’t usually brag about my writing, but this is gonna be worth reading. Promise.

Because I’ve been all up in this project, I’ve really been ignoring most other thoughts floating through my head all day, so obviously this post is going to be a little lackluster. Sorry.

In my personal life, I’ve really been waiting for a sign lately. There have been smidgens of signs – tiny miracles, I’ll call them – and I’m beginning to wonder what they mean, if anything at all. Is it weird I don’t believe in something if I don’t see it or hear it for myself? My faith has always wavered… but my belief is certainly attached to my will, and that does not fluctuate. Regardless of the times I’ve been kicked down the metaphorical stairs, I still climb back up, tail wagging, eyes bright.

What sort of sign is it going to take to know when to stop? Where do you draw the line?

I’m not going to say where or when I saw it, but I recently witnessed some thoughts on forgiveness that really touched me. Letting go of something is the best thing you can do for yourself… holding on to that resentment is only hurting you, not whoever is causing you that pain. I think somehow I’ve always known this, and I’ve been quick to forgive. Sure, I won’t forget (I got that from my mother. Seriously. That woman doesn’t forget SHIT.) but learning when I shouldn’t let go so easily is still a struggle.

I’m not sure if I know what I want anymore. I do and I don’t. I think honesty is going to be the hardest thing in the next few months – fessing up and accepting responsibility are going to be major players. Even in the work I’ll be publishing soon am I admitting to something that even my own parents don’t know about… only a few of my very close friends have been privy to the experience, and even then, I’m fairly tight lipped except to a chosen few.

This brutal honesty is going to hopefully break down a wall or two. What I discovered through the experience has proved that what I thought I wanted is the ultimate truth. It’s just a question of can I be honest, open, and vulnerable enough to let it happen.

It won’t be tomorrow, but it will be soon. 6000 words and counting, my longest work to date…

Alright. This is not the project mentioned in the previous post. It might be better.

I’m a bit lame. Sometimes I stay home on a weekend. I’m a bit of a lone wolf sometimes whether people can tell or not. I’m cool with it.

Enough. Tonight. Project night.

Lately I’ve been doing a lot more baking, and tonight, I tested a new recipe. One I made up all by myself.

I was actually trying to model it after a dessert I had from a cafe on the Lower East Side called “Ciao for Now”. It’s a sweet little place, opened up by a woman and her husband. They do all of the catering for our office meetings, and everything I’ve had was GREAT.

Well this dessert was kind of like a little cupcake, but it had the light crisp flaky outside surface and the taste of a brownie, the center being just slightly raw. After a little experimentation in 3 batches, I may have nailed it (in cookie form.)


I made three different variations in order to test the variables.


^One: has the same ingredients as Two, just cooked on different racks in the oven for different amounts of time and cooled on the sheet for different amounts of time. One has a really soft consistency… almost to the point where it will break when you pick it up. Some of them are raw in the middle, which is nice and has a great texture, but I think they’re too soft.



^Two: baked longer and cooled longer than batch One. I feel like the flakiness on the top of this one was right, but the consistency was too baked. In achieving the right external texture (these cookies hold together) the center got TOO baked. Le sigh.



^Three:baked longer, cooled longer, and has a secret ingredient the others don’t. The outside is flaky. The inside is soft and the center is just on the edge of raw. Like in the cafe’s cupcakes, they crumble a bit when you bend them very slightly; breaking off pieces crumbles it a little. If I made this in a cupcake, it would be perfect.

I know I’ve been talking about pastry school, but some recent developments have caused me to think that I won’t going when the fall rolls around… don’t worry though. Positive developments 🙂

By the way, I’m watching Borat on USA. I didn’t realize they could actually put that movie on television. Oh wait, the film got neutered to significantly that it had a sex change. OH WAIT, nevermind. They kept a lot of important stuff there…

Today has been the end to quite the odd week. Yesterday I couldn’t really bring myself to write anything funny because my brain was stained with misery. Sometimes I can be funny without thinking about it, but that’s often when I’m not writing. I’m not good at writing comedy. It’s one of the reasons I gave up screenwriting. Sure, I can pump out a gut-wrenching personal essay, but dear God, asking me to write something funny is about as effortless as putting an elephant on an airplane. (Please reference this and this. Believe me, if there are whole movies about elephants on airplanes, it’s not easy.)

I’m not funny. I’m sarcastic and self-deprecating… things that go hand in hand or hand in glove or skull in cap or something. My writing is poor (I often just write as if I’m speaking aloud, so those who actually know me find all of this very charming) so studying writing and literature in college is basically just one big joke in my head. I think the writing I do that requires the most thought is twitter. Seriously. My thoughts are usually more than 140 characters… it’s like micro-fiction but annoying.

Lately I’ve been preparing a piece I’m going to post about my last few months in New York. I embarked on a project (that ended up being wayyyy too expensive) that I thought was either going to make me or break me as a person, and at this point it broke me. I’ve kind of given up on it because I got tired. With my circle of friends, I’ve been quite open about the fact I’ve been doing it, and most are supportive and curious about my experience. Soon it will all be revealed. For now, I’ve decided to give you a few clues:
– it involves free alcohol.
– it involves sex (I’m using this term INCREDIBLY loosely here. Not necessarily the act, but the idea in general.)
– it involves strangers.
I hope that gets your brains ticking enough.

In other news, today I wore this cute little H&M wrap dress I haven’t worn in a million years because I’ve never been much of a dress girl and I can’t even remember why I bought it in the first place. Well I wore it (after repairing a button on the inside and effectively dropping my deodorant on it this morning. cute.) and was complimented by my coworkers, per usual when I wear a skirt. I think the kicker was I wore a dress to distract them from the fact my hair is a hot mess (I think I slept on it weird) but, ugh, per usual, my breasts were more distracting than the dress itself. Well friends, lets just say everyone was really nice to me today, even the women, and a baby at the cafe was fascinated by me. (Yeah, even babies like my tits.)

Somedays I question if I’d have a chance in this world if I didn’t have them. I don’t take these puppies for granted… they’ve gotten me far in the world (oof. but true.) and they’ve also hindered me from participating in golf, tennis, and archery – which I’m actually pretty good at (tennis to) but I look absolutely ridiculous. I’m on the edge of being a 2 sports bra sort of girl. Sigh.

I talk about my tits way too much. Whatever. Like you care.

On a friendlier note, I would like to give a big ol wave to a new acquaintance Anderson Evans who writes a blog that I just discovered this morning and wish I had the time to read more of instead of doing work. The oddest part of the entire thing is that I unexpectedly received a facebook email from him this morning asking if it was actually my blog he was reading. What? I have readers? Who in their right mind… Well Anderson, here’s your big break: all 40 of my daily readers (WHAT? why would you do that to yourself?) will hopefully check you out tonight and laugh as hard as I did at your last few posts. He’s much more articulate than I am, and quite frankly, funnier. In fact, you should probably stop reading my blog and start reading his. I joke. Please don’t stop reading. It makes my day to see my stats rise. I mean… whatever.

To all the other masochists readers, thanks for tuning in. It blows my mind that anyone finds this ish entertaining and it’s always nice to hear from you. Especially when you tell me I’m right. I like being right. It makes me like you when you think I’m right. Because you are right, I am right, so we all get along, right?

Thank the fucking baby Jesus that it’s FRIDAY. I’m working overtime, but that means I get some more hours towards my vacation days at the end of the summer. I am very excited about that. Yes indeedy.

I just wrote a big paragraph about Michael Jackson dying and then I erased it because I was either going to get shot for writing it, or everyone was gonna skip that paragraph. All I really have to say is that James Brown was probably just as influential an entertainer and didn’t get nearly the exiting reception that Mikey got. Sure, he was a bit crazy too, but people weren’t talking shit about him up until the day he died. I’m done talking about it forever now. Seriously. Unless you ask me about my Michael Jackson = Elvis theory, and then I’ll talk your ear off.

AAAAAAAND SCENE.

Natural Disasters

June 24, 2009

Today was kind of a disaster from the get go. I JUMPED out of bed when my alarm went off, thinking “you have to be on time today” – not that I ever really have a problem being on time. I think when I got up, I was just motivated to come in this morning and be ready to go. I hopped in the shower (even did my crest whitestrips!) and got ready for the day. (Little known fact: I think showers are too time consuming. I think the longest I’ve ever spent in the shower was 30 minutes… I’m a 10-15 minute sort of gal. Get in, get busy, get done – I’m still talking about the shower… pervs.)
But I’m thinking jumping out of bed that quickly set the tone for the whole day… for some reason I was really anxious, and when I feel that anxious when I wake up, it’s usually the sign of an impending anxiety attack that will take place 4-6 hours later. I didn’t think of this until now. This is unfortunate. Natalie – 0, Bad Day – 1.

So I swing by the corner store on my way in and grab an iced coffee. Lately I’ve been disappointed in my regular bodega – their coffee is good and the price is right, but the way its prepared is total crap, specifically in the execution of the sugar. They throw in maybe 2 tablespoons, don’t mix it, and it floats to the bottom so it feels you’re drinking sandy coffee. I don’t like my coffee to be crunchy, thanks. So this morning I got the bright idea to order without sugar, and next thing I know, my iced coffee is magically delicious. Natalie -1, Bad D– And then again, I never seem to learn that drinking coffee on an empty stomach makes me jittery and stomach ache-y. We’ll call it a draw. The score is still Natalie – 0, Bad Day – 1.

I arrive at work and things seem okay. I jump right into my responsibilities and everyone seems to be responsive and on top of their ish (good way to start the day I suppose.)

And then I got an email from my friend (who, for the purposes of this post, will call) “Chris”.

Chris is a good friend. I would say Chris is one of my best friends. I am pretty good at estimating how he’s going to function in certain situations and know that when Chris is in professional-mode, he’s a professional… no fucking around. Recently, I referred Chris to a landlord I met while I was looking for apartments back in December – he’s got these beautiful buildings out in Bushwick I remembered met Chris’s criteria. This landlord, for the purposes of this essay/blog/post/whathaveyou, will be referred to as “Tom”.

The email essentially said: “Tom is batshit crazy.”

This I know. When I met Tom, he was almost 40 minutes late to our appointment, citing that he was hungover and driving back from his house which is just outside of NYC. Whatever, I got over it. He seemed pretty on top of his shit as a building owner/landlord, but struck me as a bit off from the get go. “Crazy” is an excellent way to describe him. (I would also use “eccentric,” “larger-than-life,” and “possible coke addict” to the list.)

It didn’t strike me as odd that Chris thought he was weird, so I wrote back “duh” or something of that nature and went about my business.

Then I got an email from Tom. A LOOOOONG, completely unsolicited email.

He had forwarded me all of the correspondence between the two of them and, in typical Tom fashion, had a staccato-like note at the beginning:

hey natalie

good morning-i hope alls well
im trying to help you friend
[Chris]

he is being so difficult with me, im letting you know
i appreciate you thinking about me

but
read below

i dont have any thing in williamsburg even close to $1500 for a 2 bdrm-unrealistic.

i mentioned this but told him bushwick under $1700-

i followed up with him this morning with photos-and next thing i know, all this attitude
im only trying to help your friend

i appreciate you trying to help your friend and mucho appreciated you trying to help me-but i dont understand all this attitude for trying to help someone….with his attitude, he can stay in the [neighborhood he currently lives in]-

have a good day
scroll down

and then followed multiple days of correspondence. I read through… Chris wasn’t out of line in any way, It was clear there had been a slight misunderstanding and things had gotten a little snappy, but nothing that could be clearly labeled as “difficult.”

So I sent Tom a quick note:
[Tom] – I’m sorry things aren’t working out… I thought that you’d have something that would work for him… It’s not really my business what is going on with you and my friend, but from your emails it looks like it was a miscommunication. I don’t think his intention at all was to be difficult, just to find an apartment that suits his needs. I’m sorry that there was a misunderstanding. – N

I then received an email back from Tom, only 3 minutes after I had sent mine. Now, we all know I have a bit of a mouth, but that’s usually reserved for competition or inebriation. But I was so offended by this email, I have decided to spare my readers his exact, disgusting words… I have decided to present Tom’s return email in the form of a madlib (for everyone’s amusement.):

excuse my [foreign language], WHUT A [ugly name for vagina]

especially when i was trying to help
i hope i never see that guy in [trendy neighborhood] or [trendy neighborhood’s bastard cousin neighborhood]
he really pissed me off
god what a [ugly name for vagina, yes again.]-
fucking HATE that guy

its not you-i really do appreciate you trying to help

that guy and his [music-related noun] and [performing art related noun]
can go [sex verb] HIMSELF AND I HOPE HE NEVER STEPS FOOT IN [nyc borough]

My jaw was on the floor. Shocked. Really. I don’t really know Tom personally, so having him vent to me about one of my best friends caught me way off guard… I really only know Tom in a professional capacity, so I expected at least that much from him. This was completely out of line.

So I called him.

I told Tom that while I understood that he was upset and venting, I am an inappropriate outlet. It was unprofessional and completely inappropriate to speak to me using any of that language, especially about my friend. It is not my responsibility to babysit his business transactions when I have referred someone to him, and this event has led me to believe that I cannot trust him with people I refer him to and I will no longer be giving his name to people I know looking for apartments.

He hung up without really saying much of anything. I got an email a few minutes later apologizing and explaining he was just upset. Sure, I get you’re upset, but this completely is out of line. I’m not responding.

About 90% of this entire ordeal had been conducted before 10:30am. I had been awake for about 2 hours when all of this went down, and believe me, this is not a hearty way to start your day. There is no complete breakfast here. This is a plate of bullshit in my face.

Chris was totally cool about it. He didn’t seem to care that it didn’t work out with Tom, and quite frankly, I don’t blame him. I told him about the nasty email (that madlib is the first time he’s seen it in it’s “entirety”) and he was pretty floored. In the end, Chris is fine. Tom is probably feeling guilty (as he should), and I’m just a little irked by the entire thing. I am fairly certain this contributed to the energy of the day. Natalie – 0, Bad Day – 3. (Editors note: I ran this post by Chris, just to make sure it wasn’t crossing any lines, and he told me he would like to add that he is a “hottie,” that he’s “boneable,” and that he’s a “beefcake.” I agree with all but beefcake; It makes me think of these dog food things that Rossy and Jason feed their dogs.)

I told my coworkers about what happened and we all had a nice chat about how craigslist people can be batshit. I brought up my experience from a few weekends ago where that girl signed a lease and in the end I thought she was a con artist (read HERE). Everyone was shocked at this and about half of them suggested I change my locks.

And then I told them what happened last night:

On my way home from work, I stopped at my apartment and picked up my paycheck, which is always mailed to me on Tuesdays. Instead of going inside and dropping off my stuff, I walked to the bank, deposited my check, and walked back to my apartment after picking up a few toiletries. As I turned the corner at my block, there was crazy con artist lady and her weird dad, walking away from my apartment building.

What. The. Fuck.

I called out to her and she turned and said “hi” as nice as can be. We chatted for a few minutes and I asked her what she was doing in the neighborhood – what I mean was “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” She told me how much she liked the neighborhood and wanted to keep looking for an apartment here. Uh, okay. Whatever. Have a nice life. Her dad suggested we get tea together. WTF.

They left and I went inside totally creeped out. Considering I was so upset about her possibly being a con artist and breaking into my apartment with my keys that she may or may not have copied after signing the lease, imagine how upset I was when I saw her outside my apartment. She was AT MY APARTMENT.

I told my coworkers this part of the story and they unanimously agreed I put a deadbolt on my door or change the locks. I called both of my parents and they both volunteered to pay for it – you know when your parents are worried about a con artist breaking into your apartment, you should be too. It really stressed me out on top of the previous anxiety. I went for a walk outside to cool off. Too bad it’s humid as a jockstrap out there. Natalie – 0, Bad Day – 4.

I called my landlord’s office and asked if I could install a deadbolt. The building manager actually transferred me to the building landlord/owner, who always seems to be so nice and helpful, and he said it was fine. He suggested a guy to do it to and volunteered to send someone over to show me how to use my alarm system, which doesn’t turn on as far as I can tell. I thanked him, and before I lost him forever (cause who knows when I’ll get ahold of him again) I asked him about the roof situation. I explained that I just wanted to go up there to sit in the sunshine, and that many of the other residents felt the same way. He explained that he had installed a camera, seen the recent parties (and their subsequent messes), and couldn’t allow me to go up there. If he let me, he’d have to let everyone. I told him I understood, but made a suggestion: that if he can’t rent the 4th floor apartment (which has “private roof access”) that everyone else in the building would probably be willing to chip in $25-$50 per month to have roof access. He surprisingly said he liked the idea and would take it into consideration. Natalie – 1, Bad Day – 4.

So by then it was almost 11am… all of this chaos happening before noon. I think it threw off the energy in the office… everyone seemed concerned for me and my safety and could tell that I was upset. They offered to cover the phones while I went outside “to scream as loud as humanly possible” if I wanted. I told them I was fine and went about my chaos. I had about 40 things to do at once, and somehow I pushed through. It’s now almost 3, and I’ve somehow survived multiple office crises. Everyone can tell I’m on edge, and just as I’d hoped, they’re all incredibly supportive. At other jobs, I would have just kind of been abandoned to deal with my own shit, but these people almost treat me like family, and it makes me really happy.

But I’m exhausted. My brain hurts. I’m running low on fuel. And all I can think of is going home and going to bed. The first half of the day made it “just one of those days,” and quite frankly, I’m sick of having them.

I’m pretty sure this is my longest post ever. Natalie – 2, Bad Day – 4. I think I still lose, even with 2100 words…

I recently was involved in what I think could have possibly been a very intricate craigslist scam, but I won’t really know until things start to disappear from my apartment. Now this assumption of being scammed could possibly be due to a high level of self-imposed paranoia, but it’s a creepy situation nonetheless. Let’s break it down from the start, shall we?

A young woman, who we’ll call Carrie for privacy purposes, came to my house last Saturday after responding to my craigslist ad about needing a roommate. Carrie was awesome: she worked for a HUGE television show (we’re talking a show I make a point to keep up with CONSISTENTLY) and was trying to get work on another one of my favorite shows as a location scout. She had a great little dog – who wasn’t a puppy – and was incredibly well behaved and sweet. Very self-sufficient little creature. We had a lot of similar interests and seemed like we’d get along really well.

We talked about the apartment, and I told her about the recent development with the roof deck (I’m still bitter about that) and showed her around. She asks about the wii, the cable, my computers (I had both sitting out from Josh’s recent visit), the intercom and alarm system, my camera… etc and so forth. She tells me she definitely wants to move in and can write me checks today because she has to move tomorrow.
Huh?
Apparently, her landlord is giving everyone in her building 48 hours to move out without penalty because there’s a sex offender living in the apartment above her that she was not notified about. (She tells me he raped a 25 year old girl, not like an 18 year old who had sex with a 16 year old type of sex offender.) I mean, that’s an understandable reason for wanting to move so I start pulling paperwork together…

She’s got a convertible she wants to park in the back and I’m allowed to use it whenever I want (“I love it when my roommates drive my car!” – seriously) She tells me she wants to hook up a fax machine and get a land line because she’s constantly losing her cell phone (“I never keep more than 9 numbers saved in it because I know I’m going to lose it!”)

About an hour or so into our conversation she stops dead in her tracks.
“Oh my God,” she says. “My dad is sitting out in the car.”
Huh?
The girl had left her dad in the car out front just hanging out for like an hour and a half. She calls him inside and they spend about 10 minutes walking around her room talking about where things will go. I give them a bit of privacy and print out lease stuff.

She asks me how much I need for her to move in. I tell her security and first months. She asks me about the last two weeks of this month and I tell her paying just this month instead of a full month’s rent is just fine. She writes the checks as if they’re nothing and signs the lease without reading it.

She leaves – they’re in a hurry – and I give her the keys and tell her I’ll see her when she moves in the next morning. I go out to dinner with a family friend, and while I’m out I deposit my check in the bank.

I arrive home (around 7:30) to an email:
“So I would have called you to talk to you about this but I don’t have your number. I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to move in. I was having second thoughts about the place after I left just because I feel like our schedules are too similar and it’d be rare that I’d actually get to spend any time home alone…time which I value.

So while I was weighing the pros and cons I re-read your post and realized that not only was there a realistic possibility that we wouldn’t get the roof deck access, but that your post also offered the rest of June for free**, except you charged me for the rest of June. I just think its kind of a bummer that you wouldn’t be upfront about the fact that you had even offered the free two weeks and it leaves me hesitant, actually it leaves me entirely unwilling to live with someone who would pull a “bait and swtich”.

I doubt you planned to be misleading but at the same time its curious and unfortunate to me that when I specifically asked you what dates I should put on the check for the first month you just hoped I wouldn’t notice/remember your offer in your post. And I don’t mean to suggest that you were obligated to offer two free weeks rent (I mean I realize its NYC) and I was perfectly willing to pay it, its just the misleading nature of how it was handled that leaves me unsettled.

I guess this leaves us both back at square one for settling our living situations but I noticed you haven’t taken your ad down yet so hopefully you’ll get a fitting response soon.

Best of luck in your search. I’d appreciate it if you could tear my checks in half and mail them to me so that my banking information isn’t floating around.

Again, sorry this didn’t work out I just feel like its not a great way to start a living arrangement.”

**In my ad, I offered to pro-rate part of June, but that’s basically under the condition that you move in with like a week left in June or something… not halfway through the month. Nobody can afford to give half a month of free rent.
***I also did not remember that I wrote this. I’ve been reposing the same ad for awhile now. MY BAD. The girl was throwing money at me. She was the one that volunteered half a month’s rent. I also told her from the MOMENT she walked in the deal with the roofdeck, which I found out about maybe 48 hours before. I didn’t change the ad, I’M SORRY. I was honest and up front about it from the get-go. Idiot.

And please, if you work 15 hour days, the likelihood of you getting “time alone” in the apartment would be rare, unless I worked a night job, which I definitely won’t be doing. Idiot.

Oh, and I had started to take down my ad, but she stayed so long at the apartment that I was late to my dinner appointment. I figured I would take it down later that night. Christ.

Anyway, I was pretty upset. I was basically being accused of being a liar by someone I don’t know for a bunch of bullshit reasons (and after much counseling from friends realized it’s probably best I don’t live with someone this crazy.) If I was really the asshole she thought I was, I should have kept her deposit – she SIGNED the lease, and I returned both of her checks. So basically deciding not to live with me breaks the lease and I should get to keep her deposit. But I didn’t, because I’m maybe a good person, contrary to what she thought.

After having a nice tantrum and trying to distract myself with VH1, I curled up into a little ball in my bed and called the one person I knew either wouldn’t answer or would say exactly all the right things…

By some act of GOD, Arlen answered his phone after about 4 rings. I thought it was his voicemail, but alas, it was not. I had reached the man, the myth, the legend.

We talked for about an hour… mostly about nonsense (“I don’t want to talk about beer pong for an hour! These are precious phone moments I do not want to waste on beer pong!”) but brightened up my day, a lot. It had been a rough one – saying bye to Josh, having that roommate fiasco, going out to dinner with fam friends… just an intense day for 5 hours of sleep. He talked me out of my mood, but then we both got super crazy as I started telling him about the roommate thing. Suddenly, we were both incredibly paranoid that this was actually a craigslist scam and they were copying my keys as we spoke…

So I started to take the evidence into account:
-Both times she opened the door to the apartment, she didn’t close it all the way. Couldn’t tell if she fucked with the latch or not.
-Her Dad sitting out in the car for an hour and a half and not calling her or anything? Weird.
-Asked about ALL of the electronics in my apartment. The cable box, the computers, camera, wii, etc. EVERYTHING.
-Watched me do the buzz-in process when I let her Dad in the apartment.
-The whole “I have to move” scenario. You really didn’t know there was a sex offender upstairs?
-Sounds like she moves a lot… but she’s originally from Park Slope (so she says.) Who in New York moves that much?
-Her job is so badass it didn’t sound real.

…And when she gave me back my keys, they were kind of greasy or something. Weird.

Arlen told me to get a deadbolt. Instead I locked the windows in the second bedroom and locked my door before I went to bed. They’re probably breaking into my apartment right now… haha.

What kept me from going batshit over the whole thing was that when she did drop off the keys, it did look like she was moving… the Uhaul was really full and I feel like staging that shit is a lot of work just to break into my apartment.

Regardless, she was highly suspicious. This is New York City. Who the fuck knows what’s going.

So yeah, that’s the time I had a roommate for about 4 hours or that time I maybe got scammed on craigslist.

Anyone looking for an apartment in NYC?

Success

February 2, 2009

My life is pretty much suckin it up in a drawer somewhere, so lets focus on something a little more special, like…

SUPERBOWL COMMERCIALS!

Last night’s superbowl got exciting in the last quarter or so, but in all honesty, I didn’t really care as much this year. The Steelers, which I’ve always felt have had way too much of an annoying fan base for me to like in the slightest, and the Cardinals, who came out of nowhere and were the underdogs for sure. I rooted for the underdog… they clearly had no idea how they got there, and the subsequent sloppiness in their plays proved it.

However, there were a slew of fairly successful commercials I want to make sure you’ve caught. Srsly.

First, the career builder commercial that seemed to BRING THE HOUSE DOWN.

Now I was laughing by the time the woman was riding the sea lion, but when a koala wearing glasses and holding and espresso gets punched in the face, you know you’ve made comedy gold.


This was the ad that was banned because it was “too sexy.” I think they took it too seriously. I think Victoria Secret commercials are sometimes more racy than this. Come on, putting veggies in the hot tub? FUNNY.


I hate E-trade commercials. Hate. I’m so sick of that baby. I’m so sick of the Asian guy. I’m so sick of E-trade. But that singing baby = goooooolllddd. Short n sweet. Well done E-trade.


I may have recently introduced some of you to Stevie Ryan. I was SO AMPED when I saw her on the cheetos commercial… she wasn’t Sceney Scenester, but the “BLAHHH” came and I KNEW. She’s a genius and I hope she has shit tons of success.


NO ONE WANTS TO SEE YOU NAKED. Brilliant.

I literally almost pissed my pants:

MC Hammer. Holy GOD.


HAH. Well done, Monster. Well done.

TEH MOVIES!:
UHM:


Holy fuck. Amazing. Simply amazing. I missed this one, but I am so amped.


Read bits of the script and was REALLY surprised how fast this was shot and prepared for release. Holy crap, it was only like 2 years ago. Looks fun, I guess.


Really excited. Really really excited. Shut up I loved the first one. I’m not ashamed. I was so anti-transformers, and then I watched it and we FELL IN LOVE SHIAAAAAAA COME BACK

Okay. I think that’s good for now… Did I miss any really good ones?

How could you be so heartless?

1. The Books – It Never Changes to Stop
2. CocoRosie – Rainbowarriors
3. Jason Mraz – The Remedy (acoustic)
4. Glen Hansard – Say It To Me Now
5. Kanye West – Heartless
6. Marketa Iriglova – The Hill
7. The Killers – Bones
8. Nicklecreek – Doubting Thomas
9. Jon Brion – Here We Go
10. Jaguar Love – The Man with the Plastic Suns
11. Joanna Newsom – This Side of Blue
12. Jon Campolo, Mykim Dang, and Laura Dadap – Your Beats
13. Mirah – We’re Both So Sorry
14. Ben Folds and Rufus Wainright – Careless Whisper
15. Ben Kweller – Wasted and Ready
16. Jose Gonzales – Hints
17. Half Cousin – The Absentee (Fujiya & Miyagi Remix)
18. SGT – Bleed

I would just like to take a moment to thank the friends that have really been there for me lately. You know who you are: the phone calls, the random invites out, keeping tabs on me so you know I’m not dead, etc. There has been a group of unexpected people that have really stepped up, and I really appreciate it.

It’s hard to be socially motivated when you’re counting down the days (47) until you move away permanently. But this group of people (regardless of their location around the nation) remind me that I still have friends, people I can talk to, even if they’re 3,000 miles away.

Certain close friends have faded away more recently, and I’ve been rationalizing it and saying that “we’re just growing apart” or “they’re busy.” But I think I’ve reached my limit on that front. If you just DON’T return a phone call, ever, that’s just rude. If I have to call you again a few days later because you didn’t call me back, I’m not happy. That’s just shitty of you. Shame on you for being a dick and shame on me for thinking you’d return my phone call.

</rant>

 

But seriously, cuts are coming up soon and you better rehearse your song and dance if you’re gonna make the cut. I’ll also remember this when I’m rich and famous and then you’ll be in trouble when you start begging me to get you in VIP and let you live in my pool house. Not happening.

seriously this time </rant>

 

To everyone else who’s cool, I love you, and keep on truckin.