Earlier this week I shared with you my disgust with the E! channel's latest contribution to the steaming dung heap of reality television programming, the Anna Nicole Show. For those of you who have watched it, you too may have experienced discomfort at watching this grown woman stumble around like a drunken frat boy, slurring her speech and treating the most mundane of situations as sexual romps. A particularly disturbing scene during episode one, the house-hunting episode, involved Anna Nicole crying her eyes out upon viewing a house that she wanted very badly, but that was apparently out of her price range. "Oh, she's bombed," I thought to myself, wondering who in their right mind would let anyone see them cry over a piece of real estate (especially when you still have time to negotiate). No poker face for Anna Nicole. She wept on her assistant Kim's shoulder, mumbling, "I want it, I want it so much," and was escorted, dejectedly, to the car.
I can now say that I know how she felt. On Monday night of this week my roommate and I decided to amicably part ways after over three years of sharing living quarters. Aaron has set his sights on moving back to northern California, and I, well, I've always in the back of my mind wanted to live alone before I turned 30 (no small feat in Manhattan, but a girl can dream). Not being one to waste time, by Tuesday I put the word out to everyone I knew who lived in a desirable neighborhood (and yes, I ranked them too) to be on the lookout for openings in their buildings. By Wednesday I was schlepping around town on my lunch hour in the 98 degree heat looking at studios that were too small, or one-bedrooms that were on shitty blocks. By the end of the day I was feeling sweaty and defeated... but it was only my first day.
After my last appointment Wednesday, a broker called me as I was trying on a shirt in the Lord of the Fleas dressing room (probably not the best idea before one has to shell out a few thou on a new home, but I was feeling low, and needed the boost that only a new addition to the wardrobe can give). He had a one-bedroom available on East 10th Street and told me I could be the first to view it. I bought the shirt and within 15 minutes was on East 10th. For those of you who aren't familiar with the area, 10th Street between Second and Third Avenues is the heart of the East Village, a neighborhood that has consistently topped my list of New York faves, yet I've never been able to afford anything more than a studio the size of a broom closet there. As I waited for the broker at our arranged meeting place, I gazed at the beautiful tree-lined street and brownstones and read a sign touting the block as an historic neighborhood. When the broker approached and started leading me away from the meeting place, I grumbled that he was "baiting and switching" me. But I was wrong.
We walked across the street to an adorable 6-story pre-war building and he unlocked the door. We took the elevator to the fifth floor and gained entry to 5C, a charming one-bedroom with stainless steel cupboards, plenty of natural light, and... gasp!... a dishwasher. The broker then told me about the roof garden, and I was hooked. Still, it was only my first day of looking, and I couldn't believe my luck compared to the horrific selection of apartments I recalled from years past. I left a teeny tiny deposit, negotiated lower rent, and set off to "think about things" for a spell. If this apartment was out there, maybe there were others, twice the size for half the price. I felt like someone who falls in love with the best person for them the first time they fall in love. How do they know they have it so good? What else do they have to compare it to?
Well, it only took me about 15 minutes to figure out what a great opportunity I had in front of me. I went with my gut (and the opinion of several friends who were like... "DUH, Gina. Take it! Call the broker now!") This apartment just felt right, and if there's something better out there, I don't really care. When you have something that you believe is the best, then what’s the use of shopping around? To you it is the best. Nothing else, at that point, matters.
By Thursday I met the broker again and measured the walls of 5C, imaging how I would arrange my furniture once I moved in. Of course I was getting ahead of myself, but like I said, something about it felt right. In spite of my horrific history with NYC apartment hunting, I staked my claim - and my heart - on 5C. When I returned to the office, I started to cry at my desk thinking about how much I wanted it. I had become Anna Nicole Smith, without the Valium.
Today I emptied my savings and checking accounts and signed the lease. I have one more week of anguish before I meet the co-op board and dazzle them with my charming personality. Again, I'm getting ahead of myself, but I'm already referring to the apartment as mine. Maybe sometimes you have to put your whole heart into something, no matter what the risk, in order to get what you want. I know it worked for Anna - she got the house. I just hope it works for me.
