The good news is, I got rid of the air mattress. I figured it was time to say goodbye to my inflatable friend the night I accidentally de-flated it and could not, no surprise there, fix my makeshift bed. I spent a half-hour sprawled on the floor in tears, depressed, wondering what I was doing wrong (in life and in my air-mattress-inflation technique). You can imagine my elation weeks later when my bed was shipped from Chicago along with my desk, my kitchen aid-mixer and my sanity. I like to remember that day as step one of my adjustment into the whole living in New York thing.
So, while I’m still broke and still using my favorite scarves as temporary curtains, I am definitely happier than I was four months ago. Though it seems like a century since I packed my bags and hopped on a plane, the reality is, it’s only been a few short months and that is the one thing that terrifies me. When I think back to apartment hunting with a guy named Kang who sped-walked and dragged me on three different trains to show me an apartment with a mini-fridge, I shake my head and wonder where has the time gone?
If I’m being honest with myself, I know exactly where the time has gone and that would fall in the category of “working two jobs.” Waiting tables isn’t my career but it pays the bills and in an apartment whose rent is more than double what I was paying six months ago, I really have to thank my lucky stars that landed me the job in the first place. I should also probably thank myself (a big time pat on the back for this one) for walking past Robert DeNiro on the street and not recognizing him at all.
Writing is my passion, it’s why I moved to New York, it’s why I created the bytes and I hope it’s why you keep coming back to read what I have to say. More than anything, I want my time in New York to reflect the passionate pursuit of my creative, cultural side : the struggling ar-tist, if you will. Seriously though, I just want to make it. I want to be able to survive here, to savor every second of every day and really understand what it is about this city that makes millions of people up and quit their jobs, pack their bags and move to the city that never sleeps.
The biggest frustration on my end is how fast all hours of the day seem to disappear. How that one hour you swore you would devote to blogging became the hour you fell asleep on a park bench and woke up with drool on your shorts. That was a good day.
There have been so many moments that have completely taken my breath away, not in the way you would think. While I will never understand how a restaurant could charge $16.50 for a plate of pancakes, I have come to terms with the fact that I’ve probably eaten over 100 bagels since I moved here and in the coming months, I’ll probably eat 500 more. For 2 dollars a pop, I’ll eat anything. And while I would love to dedicate this entire post to my ramblings on a finger-lickin’ schmear, I won’t.
Instead, I want to share with you my ever-growing #newyorklist. By no means is it any “guide” to living in New York because everyone & their mother should know I’m still new to this place. I suppose I’ll call myself a “New Yorker” when I finally figure out which direction is north.
1. To obtain securing any sort of standing / seating spot on the subway at any time of any day, one must be hella aggressive and channel the inner Kim Zolciak just waiting to be unleashed.
2. There’s no need for headphones or music of any kind because when you do miss that train and have to wait 13 minutes for the next one on a Sunday when you’re already late for work, there will be musical stylings to always cheer you up.
3. If you’re 24 and an unpaid intern / struggling writer who falls for the wrong guys and lives with your BFF, you’re probably going to strongly relate and obsess over HBO’s latest smash hit, #girls. You just want to hang out with Lena Dunham, pick her brain, dance to Robyn and confess you too, eat cupcakes in the bathtub.
4. Most young folk who live in New York will live in a 4, 5 or in my case, 6 story walk-up apartment. There will be no elevator and you will have to drag your lazy butt up those stairs about 3+ times a day. After a few days, you’ll really start to feel the muscle definition in your calves and sooner or later your mom will tell you, “Wow, you’re no longer out of breath! Way to go!” The satisfaction of practically crawling to your door will then fade and you realize that you will never get used to those stairs.
5. When you’re feeling down and out, wondering how you’re going to pay rent, sometimes, you just have to dance it out. And if that song that you rock out to just happens to be by the boy band 13 year old girls obsess about, so be it. Your future hipster boyfriend will still love you, regardless of your song choice.
And now, not wanting to clog your computer screen any more with this novel length post, I bid adieu. With a new New York state of mind, I promise to keep writing and keep eating.