Ditto
When Dingo Girl and I got back from her walk this morning, a woman with a CSI: NY hat was walking out of our building. Two things came to mind. One, did Mr. Dingo finally snap and kill our annoying upstairs neighbors? Two women moved in about a week ago and have already wormed their way into the darkest, crankiest part of my heart. They are recent college grads – I know, I did reconnaissance when they first moved in – who apparently majored in walking around on hardwood floors wearing steel stilettos, with a double minor in high pitched squeals and drunken stumbling up stairs. You probably met many women just like them on your campus. You know, the ones seeking an MRS degree whose sole purpose for being in college is to graduate to a white gown and veil.
My second thought was that the nosy neighbors in the building across from us called Crime Stoppers. Because they are nosy. And they watch all those crime shows. I know that because I can see their TV from my terrace. Hey! There’s a difference between reconnaissance and nosiness. Reconnaissance is when I ask questions and peek through curtains. Nosiness is when everyone else does it. Anyway, one of these neighbors may have been able to peak into our window to see the No Man’s Land that is our kitchen (because no man has been in there to do dishes in ages – no woman either) and mistakenly assumed it was a crime scene.
Dingo Girl and I made our way upstairs. There was no crime scene tape and unless there were dead bodies under the piles of laundry, everything seemed to be customarily out of place. In a few days, when the radiators start pumping thermonuclear heat, if the smell of decomposition fills the air I will have to take a look at the misshapen lump under the largest pile.
The sorority party upstairs must abate before midnight — or at least during Grey’s Anatomy on Thursday’s — or there will be two misshapen lumps under the dry cleaning. Their presence just adds one more con to the pro/con list Mr. Dingo and I compile every year at lease renewal time. For all its faults, I like this apartment. I don’t want to move. I think I like this apartment even more because I don’t want to move. No, not “I don’t want to move” but “I don’t want to MOVE!” Moving in NYC is about as painless as passing a kidney stone. And expensive. A one bedroom in a walk-up, no doorman, safe neighborhood, close to mass transit, dog-friendly, with appliances from this century will cost, at a minimum, $2500. Add a broker’s fee of 20% of your entire year’s rent, a security deposit, first and last month’s rent, movers, blah, blah, blah, and it often ends up being cheaper to stay right where you are. And buy ear plugs. So, I think we’re going to stay in this apartment. That’s the apartment hunting advice from this jaded New Yorker. If you can tolerate where you are, stay there. Believe me, the bar for what I can tolerate is pretty low. I’ve lived in some pretty intolerable places.
When I first moved to NYC umpteen years ago to work for Pathetic Air Lines, I had grand dreams of the ultimate apartment. I lived in Ft. Worth at the time. I had a 980 sq. ft. two-bedroom apartment in a gated community, a beautifully landscaped pool, concierge service, a double balcony, and beautiful views of a field of wildflowers. For that, I paid the outrageous price of $405 a month. It was crazy to spend that much money for an apartment in Ft. Worth but I thought it was worth it. So, during training, when four of my flight attendant buddies and I discussed where we would live once we got to New York and how much each of us could afford to pay, I said, “Well, I paid $405 for an entire apartment in Ft. Worth. I suppose I could spend about $200 a month.” Mind you, many of us had spent much of the early 90s watching Demi Moore make ugly pottery over and over again in her New York city loft apartment. Hey, if she could live in that loft on what an artist makes, well, so could we. Especially if there were four of us to foot the bill.
We scoured Bed, Bath and Beyond and The Container Store for fun and unique ways to decorate our yet to be rented crash pad. By the way, does anyone else think the phrase “crash pad” is highly inappropriate for people working for an airline? Anyway, we wanted the apartment to be walking distance from Central Park. With a terrace. And a laundry room. And a gym. And a doorman.
We didn’t end up near the park. We didn’t even end up in Manhattan. We hadn’t planned on landlords telling us that they don’t rent to flight attendants because we would just get pregnant and walk out on the lease. We hadn’t planned on New York City being so damned expensive and our paychecks being so damned small. We made just over the qualification for welfare.
No loft. No pottery wheel. The only ghosts were the ones left behind by whatever crack deal had undoubtedly gone wrong resulting in the vacancy. My first apartment in New York almost made me turn tail and run back to Texas. It didn’t have a lock. We had to place a chair against the door to “lock” it from the inside. It had a gas stove with two burners that you had to light with a match. Roaches and other multi-legged critters would run from the burners when the flame ignited. I think that might have been one of the landlord’s selling points. Pet-friendly, because believe me, those motherfuckers were the size of the cats that scratched at our windows at night to get inside. Apparently, the mice in our apartment were tastier than anything they could catch on the street. I lived in that apartment for three months before having enough money to move up in the world. I moved in with seven other women into a two-bedroom town house. I was lucky. I got a top bunk and paid $500 a month for the privilege.
So, annoying noisy neighbors upstairs? That, that I can tolerate. And I’m sure they’ll provide tons of blog fodder in the months to come.
Posted on Wednesday, October 08, 2008 at 06:37 PM.
Tags: In The Neighborhood, La Vida Loca, Undomestic Diva
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Comments & Trackbacks
I KNEW there was a reason I liked you!!! You’re from Texas!
I think I’ve met your upstairs neighbors. I’m pretty sure they lived upstairs from me in my college dorm. My favorite was when they’d come in from the bar...stand at the door, and kick their shoes ONE BY ONE to the OTHER side of the room!! Bitchhhezzzzz!!
I LOVE your crime scene picture....it is a TRIP!!!
That first picture confuses me so much. They’re graduating, yet they have textbooks. The bride is marrying a pile of dirty laundry. A dwarf has been murdered. It’s like the sequel to Twin Peaks.
My least favorite upstairs neighbor did aerobics at 5:00 AM. I would go up and bang on her door and she would immediately shut the music off and pretend not be home, then resume as soon as I went back downstairs. Then I yelled at her one day by the mailboxes and she moved out. So: win!
As if I needed another reason to come visit you.
When I finally went back to college in my twenties I chose to live on campus bc I was doing an accelerated program. The 18 and 19 year olds never ceased to amaze me. Could I possibly have been that stupid at that age? And how in the world can two recent grads afford a nice place?
Ms. H — You may or may not find this funny. It depends on the depth of your mean streak: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-Su591QQsI
flurrious — Woohoo! Win for flurrious! Being recent grads, these woman are still in party mode and are usually just getting home at 5AM. I am privy to a lot of stumbling, loud giggling in the hallway, and banging into furniture type sounds. I hate them.
justrun — Oh yeah! Come visit and then I can send you upstairs to kick their asses! That’s what you meant, right?
Shania — So, did you saran wrap their doors? Superglue their keyhole? What? How did you exact your revenge? I assume that there was a need for revenge. You can’t be around 18 and 19 year-olds for very long without thoughts of madness and mayhem.
How in the world did you sleep in the apartment with all the creatures? I would’ve been a nervous wreck that I’d wake up with a mouse in my mouth or something.
If the stiletto sisters keep it up, I think you and Mr. Dingo are just going to have to drive them away. Maybe dress as zombies and knock on their door in the middle of the night. Or tell them you’re Scientologists or relatives of Palin. Either of those would surely scare the bejeezus out of anyone.
haha - mel heath has some great ideas. i could stop by with some watchtower newsletters if it helps.
and i totally know what you mean about lighting the stove and watching the roaches scatter. that’s the apartment i grew up in so i thought living with 10,000 roaches was normal. they were the closest things i had to pets.
We used to live downstairs from 3 college boys who had nightly drunken parties and they always wound up making drunken cheerleading pyramids at midnight and we’d hear 20 people crash to the floor in a heap of giggles and then someone would run to the window and puke on our cars that were sitting innocently in the driveway below. If that didn’t happen, then some drama queen would get drunk and wind up crying and carrying on in the hallway.
Our dog fucking loved that one.
Good times.
You have such a way with words. There were several snort-worthy lines in there. 
That being said, we lived in a 800 sq foot 2 bedroom BASEMENT for 9 years because we didn’t want to move. What finally got us out? The people upstairs got two cats - and hardwood floors - and the noise was 24/7.
You know why there’s never been a movie made with a realistic NYC apartment? Because you can’t fit a camera crew inside it.
Except maybe my old Washington Heights place. Yeah, I paid too much and it took a half hour to get to midtown, but the ceilings! So tall!
Mel Heth — Oohh! I like the Scientology suggestion! I can tell them they are awfully close be being labeled Suppressive Persons and suddenly disappearing. You know, combine Scientology with the Sopranos.
blakspring — Isn’t it nice when those eight-legged creatures are so happy to see you that they bum rush the door when you get home? It gives you a warm, icky feeling in the bottom of your heart, doesn’t is? Oh wait. That’s vomit. In my mouth.
Crissy — Oh my. Cheerleading pyramids, giggling, drama queens. Exactly what fraternity was this? The Theater fraternity?
Ree — I feel about hardwood floors the way I feel about reconnaissance and nosiness. I should be able to have them. Other people should not.
Noelle — Exactly! It’s like the advertisements they have for bathroom accessories in West Elm and Crate and Barrel. Who has bathrooms that big! A five-drawer dresser, antique apothecary stand, and seven shelf towel rack will not fit in my apartment much less my bathroom!
Where did you get a picture of my first apartment’s couch?
I’m ashamed to admit I was that girl. Once my friends and I had a party and someone spilled the PJ all over our porch. It dripped down the walls to our downstairs neighbors porch. I felt so bad, I went down in the morning and scrubbed their porch.
Also, I always had to check to see if their cars were gone before I played “Dance Dance Revolution.”
So I guess I was 85% asshole, 15% repentent neighbor. But I’m paying the price now, because my neighbors are 100% annoying losers.
Boy howdy, I am acutally loving my squalid little house at the moment! Thanks for the reality check.
I read that last bit about your first NY apartment with my mouth hanging open. Holy. Crap. I’m amazed you made it a whole three months. But oh annoying neighbors. And annoying roommates. And people in general. Bah. I promise not all twenty-something, just out of college, sorority girls are horrible. There are many who give us a bad name though. Oh, and you just wait till one of them comes home blackout and vomits in the hallway. *thumbs up*
Mr. Chili and I have agreed that will will do anything and everything to stay in our house. Neither of us can imagine living in an apartment again. I don’t know how you do it; honestly. I don’t have nearly enough patience to put up with strangers that close to my living spaces.
No pottery wheel?! What kind of life is that?
Seriously, this is why I could never live in New York. My sister lived there for 4 years and her kitchen was literally in the closet - it barely fit one person. Sure it has broadway...but it’s just not enough for me until of course I’m rich.
I know exactly how you feel. When I’ve mentioned the noise and police visits to my next-door neighbor’s place in the middle of the night, more than one person has suggested that I should move. But I like my place, and I kinda feel that it’s wrong that I should have to move just because they’re relationship is messed up.
Of course, that stubbornness isn’t helping my lack of sleep from them…
Holy crap! Your first apartment scares the crap out of me! If I weren’t already living in NYC that would have scared me out of moving here! But I know what you mean about staying if you can. I was looking for new places recently and it’s SUCH a hassle. You can barely even find studios for under $2000. It’s killer!
where was this place? is it available?
Blog fodder and photoshop material… cool. good luck with the steel heeled stilettos.
I have no doubt there will be plenty of blog fodder. You might just mention the 10 foot cockroaches in the basement that eat stiletto heels and see what that gets you.
saratogajean — Karma, my dear, karma. I, on the other hand, am sure that I have been the perfect roommate and neighbor. Sure of it! So why the Stiletto Sisters? Why?!
Kori — There’s nothing like a little perspective, huh?
Rachel — If one of them passes out in the hallway, I may just have Dingo Girl go out there and pee on her.
Mrs. Chili — The one thing about an apartment is that you can always move if the neighbors or bad - or you can hope they move. With owning a house, you’re kinda stuck. And with an apartment, you get the joy of having your rent go up every year, unscrupulous landlords, annoying neighbors. Really, who would pass up such an opportunity?
Megkathleen — Ahhh, New York would be an entirely different place if I were rich.
GeekHiker — It gets to be a point of pride—I was here first! I shouldn’t have to move!—I think if I have to move, the annoying neighbors should at least cover the expenses.
stealthnerd — All I want is a penthouse suite with exquisite views for under $1000. Is that too much to ask?
sunny — I’m sure they’ll give you an excellent deal on the rent. Tell them Dingo sent you.
Tara R. — I am sure that it will never be a dull day in Dingo Land with those two around. They’ve already provided irritating amusement.
Jen of a2eatwrite — I’ll casually drop that into the next conversation I have with them. Maybe I’ll record it and post their response.
I’m with Kori. I’m loving it here in Dinkyville. The redneck neighbors? Not so much.
Did you even eat off of the roach burners? I’m amazed you lasted 3 months. I wouldn’t have made it 3 days. Hours for that matter.
Jenny — I lost A LOT of weight. I didn’t eat there, it was too disgusting. I also thought that the roaches would be able to overpower me if I brought food into the apartment.
Oh, I hear you! After having moved three times in 3 years, I highly recommend - DON’T do it!
It doesnt matter where you live, neighbours are always a pain. I lived in London and could hear them snoring (and other things) through my thin walls. Then I moved to the French countryside and my nasty farmer neighbour killed off my hedge by spraying it with herbicide. He was famous in the area for having asked all the wealthy widows in the area to marry him...but his reputation for bad temper had preceded him and he remained a bachelor!
April — Three times in three years? I would lose my mind.
rosie — I’m thinking that a herbicidal maniac would definitely increase the widow population if given the chance. Stay away, ladies!
I would loose my mind in NY! I am so not a neighbor kind of girl. Even living in rental homes annoys me because the neighbors are too damn close! You are a saint for putting up with all that neighbor crap.