la recherche d'un nouvel appartement
translation: someone buy me an apartment
Before I begin, I just have to mention that a man in a fedora with a red feather on it just walked into the coffee shop I’m in, and because of that, I’ve forgotten everything I was gonna say. Also, he has a Russian accent. Also, he is wearing a trenchcoat. Am I the only one who can see him?
Apartment hunting in New York is almost as difficult and brave, if not more difficult and brave, than fighting in a war. You blink, and a place you were interested in has been signed by someone quicker than you. You run out for 15 minutes during your work day when a realtor tells you he can show you the shoebox on the ground floor with windows facing the main street two minutes from now — a horrible place but for sure a steal! You think you’ve found your dream spot in Bedstuy after only seeing one place before it, get approved, and then get a call from the realtor with insider info stating that the previous tenants had a horrible time living there. You find a spot that is soooo under budget, but it could be a hidden gem! It could also be fake or the only apartment in what is technically an abandoned building in Crown Heights. Will I still travel an hour to go see it? Absolutely.
This is war, my friends. This is anarchy. This is chaos. This is Brooklyn gentrification at its finest. And I’m a part of it just as much as anybody else. I’m walking around in my square-toed boots and my Uniqlo scarf, and I’m sitting in a coffee shop in between apartment showings. You bet I’m drinking a cappuccino. Yes, I have lip gloss on. And I will be an active member of my community. I can’t stop the gentrification, but I can get to know my neighbors. I can support the local businesses. I will coach the nuns of the nearby Catholic church to become the greatest choir the Vatican has ever seen. Wherever we move, respecting the neighborhood’s history is key. I will not respect the fake gray wooden flooring. I won’t do it. It’s awful. If there’s one thing I can do to stop the gentrification, it’s disrespecting the fake gray wood floors1.
Mamala been reeeeal silent since little D won the election…
Sorry, I just got distracted again because the coffee shop I’m in sells scissors for $25.
If I were Mamala Harris, which I’ve been told many, many times that I’m not, I would’ve instantly Gotten To Work after losing the election. This is the third time in a row that he’s run and the second time that he’s won; what will sitting in sadness do? If Mamala’s team was smart, they’d start planning their own version of January 6th and do what he and his followers couldn’t: set the Capitol aflame. They need to prove everyone wrong. Find a girl with a nose ring or a person with blue hair or a man with a man bun and get them to climb up the side of the herstoric building. Don’t worry about them falling; you know they’ve got a rock-climbing membership at VITAL for $200/month.
It is interesting to me and my children, however, that Mamala hasn’t really said anything since her concession speech. Like, that’s it, huh? Isn’t this another moment of organizing and working locally to try to find other ways to get good things done? Or are we just trying to finish out our Vice Presidency and go back to California to drink wine at The Parent Trap vineyard and reminisce on letting the country know that “I have a glock.”
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Anyway, I just think if you’re gonna ask us to give millions and millions of dollars to your campaign for you to stop speaking to us once you lose, you should let us know! Communication is:
[ ] silly
[ ] dumb
[ ] slay boots
[x] key
[ ] terrorism
I hear it’s colder than Alaska in Chicago this weekend! That sucks.
Alright, what else, what else …
For some reason, I don’t feel as stressed about moving this time. Perhaps it’s because I’ve done it before, or maybe it’s because I know that I’ll find one. I also know that when I walk into these showings wearing heeled boots, dark sunglasses, and a scarf wrapped around my head, I Am In Charge. They are so grateful that I took time out of my extremely busy schedule to come to see the apartment with one window. They see me holding my laptop and know that I’m caring more about whatever I’m doing after this. I take my planner (yeah, buster, I’ve got a planner now because I keep triple-booking myself over and over and over and over and) and write cursive that is so impossible to read that they think I’m the youngest heart surgeon in the tri-state area. They want me to live in their apartment. And maybe I will. Or maybe some kind and generous and kind benefactor will buy me one. Anybody. Anybody at all. Don’t all jump up at once. Okay, please jump. Please clap.
Tune in next week to see if we have an apartment by then! And thank you ahead of time to whomstever bought it for us. We hope to meet you one day, and we hope you believe in vaccines.
tv show rec: Bad Sisters season 2 — it’s sadder but funnier somehow? Fiona Shaw? Sharon Horgan? Irish accents? sign me Up
music rec: my pop playlist is Killer feel free to ask me for it don’t be afraid speak up
drink rec: Pedialyte blue flavor
If there ever was a sentence of mine that got quoted in some big newspaper for when Circle Back goes viral, I sure do hope that it’s this one.
i was just on a rant myself this week about those fake ass wood grey flooring. FUCK THEM
Good luck on the apartment hunting Doogie Howser. (yes it is capitalized because I had to look up spelling and copy and pasted it)