I'm all moved in to my New York apartment (mostly). The only furniture I've got in my bedroom is... a bed and a lamp. The fridge is skimp and we've got two ottomans as chairs for our beautiful dining room table... but other than that =) Even though the move-in process was SO whack! I swear, my life HAS to take some kind of random turn on a daily basis... Otherwise it just wouldn't be my life.
FROM THE BEGINNING:
My father was supposed to come with me to pick up my U-Haul on Thursday (otherwise how was I going to bring my car back home?), but he had a meeting, so I called my friend DjG, who always, always comes through in a pinch. Seriously, no matter what I've needed from him, if he can find a way to make it happen, he makes it happen. Unfortunately, U-Haul is not so reliable. The computer system went down at the dealer I picked the U-Haul up from, so it took the man an HOUR to give me my U-Haul. I feel like I should've gotten an emotional hardship discount, but whatever. I was patient and well-mannered despite the serious fuckery to my evening plans. DjG drove the U-Haul to my house for me (because I'm a punk) and I drove him to his afterwards in my smaller, more manageable Honda. Then I had to pick my dad up from the Metro station. Then I arrived an hour and a half late to dinner with the BFBFs.
You know what true friends do after you arrive an hour and a half late to dinner the day before you move 200 miles away? They have your plate of food sitting there for you, buy you a drink, and promise to come over and help you pack. Thus making the stress from your day completely melt away. So the-en, after helping me pack and load in the cold, dark 1 am rain, (while doing crazy things like turning my chain belt into a leash...) they left and I went to sleep, only to wake up a 7 am so I could be on my way at 9.
Another friend of mine drove the U-Haul to NY for me (because again, I am a punk when it comes to driving large vehicles; I think I've been scarred by driving the herky-jerky bucket that was my dad's Rodeo [think: driving a mechanical bull]) and on the way we got a ticket for driving too slow in the left lane. The cop got all aggressive and started spouting nonsense like, "you said you're coming from Maryland and those are Arizona tags, do you know why those are there?" (Uh... no... this is a RENTED U-Haul). "You're causing a traffic hazard driving that slow in the left lane. And then when I tried to signal you over to the right, you slowed down even more." (Wouldn't you slow down if you thought a cop was trying to pull you over? And are U-Hauls supposed to speed down the freeway in the rain? It's a speed LIMIT, not a speed MINIMUM). And he wouldn't let my friend get an word in edgewise. And when he wasn't talking, he wasn't listening; he was scanning the interior of the U-Haul with his soulless gray-blue eyes trying to gauge whether or not he could write another ticket for anything. Ugh... but after that, we made it to NY in pretty good time.
SO THEN:
I proudly go to open the door to my apartment and I find that it's already open. I hear voices inside. What the...? I walk in and the place is a complete and utter mess! The place is covered in drywall powder and there are food cartons and cups just sitting out. There's even a chair just sitting in the middle of my room! Excuse me; I thought my lease started June 1. We signed a contract saying all the work needed to make the apartment ready for move-in would be done by JUNE 1.
Bewildered, I walked towards where the voices were coming from and found the super and the landlord.
"Er... hi; I'm the new tenant here. I was supposed to move into the apartment today..." I began.
"Which apartment?" the landlord asked.
"This one."
"So what the problem is?"
I blinked. "Well, the place is a mess!"
"What you mean 'mess'?"
THAT is only the beginning of what I mean "mess," Sir.
So then, I asked him what to do about it and he told me to call the super.
"Wasn't that the super standing next to you?" I asked.
"No, no. It's another one."
So he gives me the other super's number and leaves. I call it and the guy is like, "I'll call you back." Never does. The super I know comes upstairs and is like, "yeah, we're closed. The Jewish Sabbath starts at 2 pm on Friday, and when he's shut down, we're all shut down. You won't be able to reach him until 9 am on Sunday."
My eyes bugged out. "So I can't get anyone to clean this place until then? What am I supposed to do with a full U-Haul full of stuff sitting outside?"
He was sympathetic, but his hands were tied. The cute guys (mmm, dreads) from across the hall witnessed my struggle and helped me bring my things into the ONLY untarnished room in the apartment.
I called my father, described the situation, and he called my landlord and subtly threatened legal action if the place weren't cleaned and ready for me to move into by the end of the day.
I texted my ex (who lives down the street... great, right?) about my problems; he called and I vented about the state of my apartment. He offered to come by and take pictures of its hellish condition, giving me documented evidence that any nicks and scratches upon my move-in were not caused by me and my boxes. So, there I am, about to see my ex for the first time since November when I drunkenly railed at him (actually I think every time I've railed at him, I've been drunk...), dressed in beat-up old lime green sneakers, ratty old sweats and a figure-obscuring tee with my hair pulled back in a bun, emphasizing my generally angry/stressed/helpless appearance. Not that he cares what I look like, but I'm a pretty darn attractive female and I do have some pride, meaning: I hate looking busted.
He arrives, takes pictures.
A clean-up crew arrives. Ha! Sabbath my ass... threaten legal action and I get a clean up crew in my place; office closed until Sunday at 9 am or not!
My friend has to catch the bus back to B'More, and since again, I'm a punk, my ex drives the U-Haul to the nearest drop-off for me and permits me to change and take a shower at his place since there's a crew of guys in my apartment and I have to be at my orientation at Parsons (I'm a fashion design student) in thirty minutes. Obviously, that's not going to happen, but I go anyway. And once I'm there and hear everything the students and professors are saying...
I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. I couldn't be happier with my decision to go to business school first and THEN fashion school. I couldn't be happier that I got into Parsons. I couldn't be happier that I'm living in New York (although I really miss the sweet smell of the air in Maryland because the air up here is wreaking havoc on my respiratory system and is making my hair do some CRAZY things). I just feel like things in my life are falling into place exactly the way they should and I'm excited to see #whatcomesnext. (Follow me on Twitter @MixmasterNikki). I'm anxious for Life.
So What DOES Come Next?
Well, I've finished revamping my bartending resume, I've designed and printed my business cards myself, and someone is coming by on Monday to take pictures of me for my photo selection. I've done internet research and asked my friends about the hot spots in New York (but not too hot... things that are trendy really annoy me. If I have to work the "hipster" crowd, I think I might shoot myself in the face from pretentious asshat overload). I'll be responding to Craigslist gigs and job postings. I will make at least $2,000 a month. (Yes, that's living pretty close to the edge, but once I've got some experience and such, I expect I'll be able to pull in between $3K and $4K). Not that I saw much of it because I was paying bills, but working in the hood in DC, I pulled in roughly $1 - $1.5K, taking home only $75 - $100 a week and between $80 and $160 home a night.
I'll make it.
I'm gonna be your favorite NYC bartender and, eventually, an amazing, award-winning fashion designer. =)
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