Friday, September 23, 2005

Six Feet Underpriced

Despite the fact that we were 1. technically supposed to be at work and 2. our broker nearly missed our appointment because he had to appear in court, Brad and I viewed and put a deposit on an apartment this afternoon. Closets, windows, giant rooms, new appliances, we've got it all--provided that the other bunch of people vying for the place don't get it. They technically submitted their application first, but they're also technically unemployed and living on Mom's tab. I think our situation puts a technical boot in their technical ass.

The broker (a guy who looked like someone poured half a cup of Vin Diesel and three tablespoons of sugar in a blender and hit frappe) was honest about the other set of roommates having already submitted an application for the place. When we said we loved it and would also put a deposit on the place he did a little dance, then tried to dispel our guilt about most likely leaving our jobless competition homeless. I had no such guilt. I gave it a shot, though, trying the guilt on for size saying something like "I feel a little bad," as I peered in the brand new microwave.

"Uh, I don't," said Brad.

"Yeah," said me.

Them's the breaks, kiddos. We lost an apartment to god knows who, and now it's our turn to steal the metaphorical musical chair right out from under the slow kid.

The apartment is not without its, well, let's call them distinctive qualities. Some people in New York brag about their Central Park adjacent apartments. Should this apartment work out, Brad and I will be able to brag that our place is also situated on one of the largest green plots in all of Brooklyn. That's right fellas, line up: we're graveyard adjacent. The apartment is situated a mere two or three blocks off Greenwood Cemetery, which definitely the largest (and possibly the only?) burial ground in the five boroughs. You live near Chris Robinson and Kate Hudson? Whatevs. We live next to fifty-thousand dead people. You know what kind of cred that will get me in the goth clubs I don't go to?

The best part of finally having the question of where we're going to live all settled is that neither Brad nor I will have to entertain any more absurd suggestions about where we should live. If the pushy editor around the corner suggests living in Tuckahoe (a town I wouldn't live in based on name alone, nevermind the fact that it is half an hour outside the city, twenty minutes away from where I currently live, and would still leave us with a Metro-North ride into Grand Central every morning) one more time, I'm going to attack him with my stapler like he was a yard sale sign.

We're looking at another apartment tomorrow in case birthday residue gums up the lock we've got on this place, so I'm hoping that between the two one will become my new place of residence. I really need to move out of my parents' house, if only for the sake of my waistline; last night I had to eat a decoy hamburger, so as not to offend my father who had grilled them, before going out to Taco Bell.

That's too much love for my metabolism handle.


Anonymous Stupidboy said...

I live beside a graveyard and it's not a bad thing at all. It makes the area knid of quiet and there's nice old ladies selling flowers at the gates 7 days a week from early morning. Perfect for last minute gifts.

And it's old and historic so they give tours sometimes. Which is awesome.

4:24 AM  
Blogger What'sHerFace said...

We did get the apartment, and I'm actually pretty excited about the graveyard aspect. Not only is it huge and really pretty inside, we've got famous neighbors: Mae West is buried there, and Jean-Michel Basquiat, and Leonard Bernstein.

7:31 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

good to know the vicious knids are quiet at least

10:59 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

ooooh this is awesome! CONGRATULATIONS!! ~ms. texas

1:34 PM  

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