Out with the Interns

I came to NYC for an internship at a major art museum. At the end I was offered a meager part-time job, but it was a job so I accepted. Not quite ready to move on, I still hang out with some of the museum's interns. They are a few years younger than me but that hasn't stopped me before. Here are descriptions of the interns in question. The first was an adorable blonde girl from San Diego. She had a high-pitched voice and called people “silly”. She is genuinely one of the nicest people I have ever met. We'll call her Cali. The next was the token gay guy. He was of course attractive and fabulous and barely 21. We will call him Klaus because he had hung out with the infamous director of MoMA PS1, Klaus Bisenbach, on a date with his older married lover. The next one in the lineup was JAP (need I say more). A sorority girl at her Midwestern college, but actually pretty awesome. And finally Francais, who had been an intern when I was an intern and had gone out with me previously—with GF and when OG was in town. The group would go out to lunch every week and we went out for a few happy hours. Here is the rundown of the best.

This first night was relatively calm. Cali and I trucked up to the Upper West Side after work to meet up with Francais. She had been very busy writing her thesis and Cali had very sweetly put together a gift bag of treats to motivate her (Smart water, Smarties, you get the idea). We met her for dinner and drinks and luckily for us frozen martinis and margaritas were $4. After quite a few of those we decided to head to one of the bars nearby to see where the night took us. Nowhere good. On this night the bar happened to be filled with gross individuals. We tried a couple, stood in the doorway surveying, and finally settled on the one that looked the least offensive. We sat at some couches in the corner and to my dismay the girls began to talk to anyone who walked by in the hopes that we could get free drinks. Not a bad idea in theory but was it really worth it to sing for your supper? I always say no and especially not with these toads. I just can't put on a smile for these f-ers and I'm usually always bitchy. Before I knew it I had a short little weirdo perched on the chair I was sitting in, accompanied by his friend with an afro and white crocs. I glared at them but they kept chatting and sticking around. They wouldn't get the hint that we wanted them gone after they failed to produce drinks. They even reappeared somehow when we changed locations. Not good. But luckily they were giving out free zippos at the bar so I am now the proud owner of one engraved with my initials.

This next happy hour was a bit more eventful. I met up with Cali and Jap in Chelsea and we walked over to a bar Cali was eager to return to. Apparently the last time she had gone she had received multiple free drinks. We met her friend on the way, who while waiting on the corner, had someone approach her and wanted to know if she was hooking, Luckily we arrived to save her and headed into Bull's Head Tavern. It was filled with finance douches in blazers and only became more crowded as the night progressed. Cali was the star; she had multiple guys approach her. She would introduce all of us but they only had eyes for her. After I failed to have any sort of beverage gifted to me I turned my attention to my phone. Lace and I had been texting and were discussing possibly meeting up. I decided that this should happen and I instructed him to meet me there. He arrived at the same moment the girls decided to get food. It was too crowded to catch up to them and communicate to Lace where we were going, so I lost them. There I was in an entirely too crowded bar, alone with a guy I barely recognized. Might as well go with it. There was no hope of getting to the bar so we changed locations to a wine bar a couple blocks away. It was pretty empty so we sat outside on the patio. To my dismay, Lace was rude to the waiter and may have even called him bro, which I try to block out of my mind. As we sat facing each other I realized I had no idea what to talk about. Luckily Lace had plenty to say about himself. As he blabbed away my urge to pee grew stronger and stronger. At the point when I was almost in agony there was a break in the conversation and I almost ran inside. When I returned he resumed his monologue and I resumed drinking. When it was my turn to speak I have no idea what I said but his conclusion was that my life was much more interesting than his. Very true. We also had two good interruptions throughout this ordeal. This first was by one of his fellow finance tools who ran over and gave him a high-five. The other was from a random bro walking by on the street asking if he had seen me on Eharmony. I retorted that it must have been Craigslist and gave him an enthusiastic wave while Lace watched me in horror. When the check came Lace lingered over it for a bit longer than he should have. I decided that this was a good time for another bathroom trip and luckily when I returned it had been paid. He then hailed us a cab so I could get to the nearest subway. He paid for that and very gentlemanly walked me into the station. We stood chatting awkwardly for a bit too long and his face was very close to mine. I waited and when nothing happened drunkenly decided that I would have to get it done. I kissed him quickly then turned and scampered away. In the end, Lace was not meant to be and we certainly won't be choosing our crazy celebrity baby names.

The final night out with the interns was the most rowdy, to the point of being out of control. Cali and I headed into the West Village after work in search of a pizza place she had heard was the best in the city. We arrived and ordered our slices. I am a huge pizza fan but this pizza sucked. I ate it anyway and pretended it was good to not offend. Afterwards we decided to get some drinks and we found a not too crowded Irish bar with a pretty good happy hour special. We had a couple and chatted about our college days, mine being much further in the past than hers. We were debating not going out but Klaus had invited us to a drag show in Hell's Kitchen he was attending with some friends that night and after a couple drinks this seemed like good idea. We were not dressed appropriately for the gays though so we made the unanimous decision to cab it to the H&M in Union Square, where we selected new outfits. Since this decision was made in the haze of alcohol I bought both a shirt and a skirt a size too small. We went around the corner to Starbucks, where I squeezed into my new ensemble in the bathroom and put on some makeup. Feeling slightly like a prostitute, we took the subway to the Financial District to meet Klaus at his friend's apartment. We had some drinks with the gays, although perhaps I should have paid more attention to how many drinks Cali was downing. I could tell she was drunk because her voice was even more high-pitched but apparently I forgot how out of control the young ones can get. After a bit we headed to the drag show where a huge black drag queen named Miss Peppermint was the host. Every performer sang Lady Gaga and I was for some reason especially supportive of the Queen with the huge rip in her tights. At this point I knew for sure Cali was wasted as she was screaming and dancing around with a Long Island in her hand. I didn't think much of it until I returned from the bathroom and Klaus informed me that Cali had just thrown up at the bar. I looked towards her in disbelief and sure enough there was the largest puddle of vomit I have ever seen in front of her. It was definitely time to leave. Klaus led her outside to hail a cab and because my bladder is the size of a marble I ran to the bathroom again. When I emerged the waiter was waiting—he got in my face and informed me that Klaus and Cali had ran out on their bill. I handed over my debit card as he berated me. Annoyed, I walked outside just in time to witness Cali fall off the curb. A cab was waiting and when I eventually got her off the ground I led her to it. I decided she was not able to make it home by herself so I hopped in with her and directed the driver to her apartment in the Upper West Side. On the way she puked again and the cab driver screamed at me. We finally made it, I paid and tried to help Cali into her apartment while avoiding the puke spots on her dress. I led her inside and after some time spent in the bathroom was finally able to lead her to her bed. I was drunk and exhausted at this point so I made up a bed for myself on the couch. I had no idea how she would get up for work but I set an alarm for her anyway. When I knocked on her door in the morning, she stretched in bed like she had just had the best night's sleep ever. When I asked her how she felt she replied “great!” and then directed me to the subway. The whole time I tried to avoid looking at the huge puke spot that was on the white pillow next to her. I let myself out and trucked back to my apartment where I proceeded to sleep for the rest of the day. It may not have been the most successful intern outing but at least I did not have the death of one of them on my hands.

The Apartment Hunt

As a result of my wonderful Roomie I was forced to undertake the search for a new apartment. Always stressful and I had 3 weeks to do so, and basically 2 weeks to actively visit them since I had to return to Cuse for a long weekend for my uncle's wedding. Knowing no one that needed a roommate I resorted to Craigslist....again. Though this time around I was determined to do much better than I had last time. I was wiser to the ways of New York. Or so I thought. The first viewing went well. It was in Astoria and with two guys, which I was a bit wary of, after last time. But they were totally normal dudes, if a bit on the bro side. They also happened to work in the same exact building I do which was a strange coincidence. The apartment was clean and even had a balcony. It didn't seem like a bad situation except thinking about it afterwards, could I really comfortably poop around two strange guys? I think not. Luckily they found a friend to fill the room and I was off the hook.

Now of course these couple weeks that I spent apartment hunting also happened to be the hottest of the summer. As soon as I stepped outside I was dripping with sweat and it got worse when I descended into the subway, that ungodly pit of despair. I arrived at every place I looked at dripping with sweat and I wanting to die a little. My next few days of appointments were all scheduled in Brooklyn. I was pretty unfamiliar with Brooklyn, outside of Williamsburg, but I knew that I liked that area. I was fining places in East Williamsburg that were in my price range so I scheduled a couple viewings there. Now I knew this was not going to be the heart of Williamsburg, and even realized that it may extend into Bushwick, which I knew was a little rough. I thought I was prepared for this. Apparently I am much whiter than I think I am. I am also not at all a hipster which is the other thing Bushwick is known for. When walking through the neighborhood to see this next place, I was well aware that I was one of the only young white girls and definitely the only one carrying a Longchamp. I walked quickly towards the place to discover that it was over a 10 minute walk from the subway, unacceptable in New York City. As I stood on the stoop of the apartment I watched the loud, Puerto Rican children in the park across the street and tried not to cringe. Kids. Loud kids. Eeeehhh. I walked up the 3 flights and was greeted by a hippie girl with facial piercings. She was followed by a little chihuahua and 2 of the largest cats I have ever seen. She led me inside, which was surprisingly nice. The girl subletting was present and she was really cool. Although I was very confused when they showed me the third girl's room and a tall, what I think was a male (facial hair) with dreadlocks stood there and said nothing to me. I stayed for a bit and chatted with the other girls and pet the chihuahua. They were nice and I liked them. I considered taking the apartment when they offered it to me a few days later. But the room was small and the walk through the neighborhood just sketched me out.

I had another viewing scheduled about an hour after I got out of this one. I didn't even remember responding to this one and had no idea what to expect. I texted the guy to see if I could come a bit earlier and decided to head to the neighborhood and find a coffee shop, since I really didn't want to stay in this part of it. Except when I emerged from the Morgan Ave subway stop I was surprised to find the area almost completely desolate. It was an old industrial area with no stores and not many apartments. There was a homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk and I was definitely the only white girl. Now I'm from Syracuse, which is not exactly a peaceful suburbia. It has some pretty rough parts, similar to the one I was standing in now. Except in Syracuse you drive through these neighborhoods, not walk through them. I very seriously considered turning back onto the subway but I would've had to walk by the homeless man again. Luckily I spotted a punk-ish girl about my age and asked her where the nearest coffee shop was. Unfortunately there wasn't one. And I'm sure she got a kick out of the terrified looking, lost, non-hipster girl. At this time the guy texted back saying I could come by early. After walking 20 minutes in the wrong direction (the map on my phone is very misleading) I finally made it there. He pulled up on his moped just as I was arriving. I spotted his ponytail immediately and knew this wasn't going to be happening but decided I might as well see the place now. It was big and cheeeap but also pretty dirty and resembled an apartment I would've partied in in college. It was also railroad-style, meaning the only exits out of my room where through Ponytail's room or out into the main hall. But I wasn't paying much attention to any of this—I knew I wasn't taking the apartment and the guy who was subletting the room was surprisingly hot, in a dirty hippie sort of way. He was leaving to teach English in Columbia and also had the same teddy bear as me. We discussed this on their rooftop which had a nice view of Manhattan. After descending back into the apartment they invited me to sit on their dirty couch with a hole in it to meet the rest of the roommates, who were a weird Asian guy and a surprisingly cool girl. They had all gone to New Paltz together and were actually fun to sit and chill with. They even passed me their bowl, but I passed it right back. I hung out with them for a bit but decided to leave before it got dark and before I embarrassed myself even further by continuing to flirt with the hot hippie. I'm sure they noticed my disdain for the apartment or just knew I wasn't exactly going to fit in with them and I never heard a follow up with them nor did I reach out of my end. If the hippie had been staying it may have been a different story.

The next day was just as horrifically hot and I was exhausted from the day before (I had taken the bus ride back from Cuse directly before looking at those apartments and had to endure sitting next to a guy who kept calling me “sweetheart”) and from work all day. I was in no mood for it but back to Brooklyn I went, this time to Clinton Hill. I had heard parts were nice and parts weren't. This is of course was not the nice part. I walked quickly by the government housing to arrive at the massive apartment building, only to realize I did not have this girl's phone number nor the apartment number. I tried to email her but no response. I waited outside for awhile to see if she would meet me there then wandered the building in the vain hope of somehow stumbling into where I needed to be. No avail. I had been stood up. I was sweaty, tired and pissed off and now had to truck back to “East Williamsburg” aka Scaryland. I was feeling completely pessimistic but when I emerged from the subway the neighborhood was actually ok. Still industrial but there were a couple restuarants, a bar and a giant organic grocery store. Not so bad. I walked to the building and when the apartment door opened I breathed a sigh of relief. A normal looking girl was standing there. She led me inside and the place was totally fine. There was even an adorable cat. We sat and chatted and I discovered that she had taught English in Korea, which I am considering. Unfortunatly she was the girl I would be living with but I agreed to come back the next night to meet her. And I did, super sweaty and borderline delirious from the heat and the stress of the L train service being suspended momentarily. This girl was also normal and super nice. She offered me seltzer and we sat and chatted with the cat on the table next to us. At one point he reached his paw out, extended a claw and tipped my glass over, spilling the water everywhere. I somehow knew this would be a good sign. I ultimately took this place after looking at another place in Astoria the next night. I liked that one as well and the girls were very nice, but it was far from the subway and they were taking too long to make a decision. So I packed it up to Bushwick to live amongst the hipsters. And it has its moments but it's not too shabby. But when someone asks me where I live I do say East Williamsburg in the hopes that I will fool them.

"Are We Really Here??"

It is a rite of passage living in NYC that one must attend a truly ridiculous party. I had yet to attend a jaw-dropping fete, but this particular night put an end to that. My connection to it was of course Polish Princess. It was being hosted by one of her friends, who had started some sort of internet venture and got rich quick. She had told me that these were some of the best parties she had ever been to and while getting ready for it I was basically doing the bathroom dance with excitement. Or from the fact that I had drank a couple beers while doing my hair and really had to go to the bathroom. Either way, I finished up and headed over to GF's to pick him up. I knew this was something he could not miss out on and I needed a partner in crime. We arrived outside the Soho apartment building to find that Polish Princess was not answering her phone. We went into the bar across the street and had a drink. Some time passed and we were worried, but finally she came through and told us to walk in and give the doorman the host's name. His instructions were merely, take the back elevator to 9. We figured we would hear the noise from the apartment and upon entering the elevator found that 9 was really PH. Of course. The doors opened and we were directly in the apartment. There were silver balloons everywhere and the music was thumping. We rounded the corner to discover a giant white room, with floor to ceiling windows, filled with some of the most attractive people I have ever seen. GF grabbed my arm tightly and hissed, "Look where we are right now, are we really here??". I barely heard him as I was trying to figure out if the balcony outside wrapped all the way around the apartment (it did). The penthouse also contained four bedrooms and four full bathrooms. No waiting in line for me! We found Polish Princess in her huge heels and flowy skirt. She introduced us to a friend and led the three of us to the sangria she had made for the occasion. She promptly disappeared into the crowd and I filled my cup up with this potent nectar of the gods. We decided we obviously needed to check out the balcony so the two of us (plus new friend) headed out. It was filled with more beautiful people and as we stood there drinking, I tried not to drool over a deliciously tan Swedish man. A good part of the night was spent there chatting with randos. I would occasionally head back into to use (and also sit for awhile and take it all in) one of the many bathrooms, chat with Polish Princess and friends and refill my cup. I decided to make another trip when GF started a politcal debate with another party-goer and new friend had become a little obnoxious. I made my way to the sangria bowl, where a group of guys was standing. I politely pushed in between them. One turned to me and used the line "You're really pretty". As I was fairly well-sauced, I thanked him and began to chat. We introduced ourselves and using my drunken reasoning skills decided to say (while sloshing punch over the side of my cup):
"Your name is Chase"? My name is ____. If we put them together our celebrity couple name would be Lace!"
Once again, well done me. He bought it though and proceeded to keep chatting with me, even making jokes about the paparazzi. I was skeptical though, as he was ANOTHER blonde ibanker (the third). But we were having a good time until I felt a sinister presence behind me. I turned to find annoying new friend who immediately stepped in between the two of us and started chatting up Lace. Was she for real? I watched for a minute annoyed. I headed to the bathroom where Polish Princess pulled me in and we had a heart to heart about her upcoming move to LA. When we emerged Lace was waiting for me. He led me outside, through a gigantic room filled with 4 Mac computers, onto another part of the balcony. There the two of us stood nine stories over Soho, chatting. I felt that there could be a kiss coming on until I looked at my phone and discovered 4 missed calls and 3 texts from GF--a sketchy guy had offered him some coke and if we stayed any longer he would be tempted to do it. Not wanting to ditch GF (I was staying there that night) I bid Lace goodbye, grabbed some sangria for the road and GF and I made an Irish Exit. What a party.

The next morning GF and I were up by 9am, which wasn't working out so well for me. But we had plans to go to Rockaway Beach and I was determined to be in a bathing suit that weekend, especially since my Hamptons invite hadn't worked out (story to come). We grabbed McDonalds breakfast, which was a fitting meal for where we were headed. We then settled onto the subway for our hour-long ride to the end of the C train. I cuddled up in my towel and GF and I had a heart to heart about how we are probably too nice for New York--we don't want to dick people over to get ahead. Once we arrived we were pleased to discover that yes some of the people there were pretty trashy, but many of them weren't. And the beach was big enough so that it wasn't too crowded. We ran through the burning hot sand, chose our spot and rolled out our towels. Once laying down in the hot sun I began to feel even more hungover than I had before. I laid in misery for a few minutes then headed towards the water. It was freezing and amazing. I stood knee-deep in it and immediately felt better. GF followed and informed we were going swimming. We tried to head out but the waves were so big that we kept getting pushed back. I was too weak to fight and was repeatedly bitch-slapped. One even knocked me right on my ass and almost ripped off my bathing suit bottoms. GF's laughing motivated me to keep trying and I finally made it out to where I could swim. Up to this point it is probably the most fun I've had this summer. I hadn't been swimming since Switzerland last summer nor in saltwater since the Balkan European country and I had missed it. We stayed for the afternoon, swimming around, jumping the waves and cracking up when people were hit by them. At one point GF made a winning comment when a fat lady almost crashed into him--"Now I know how that iceberg felt when the Titanic hit it!".

Unfortunately his Irish ass was starting to get sunburned so decided to call it a day. While packing up I received a text from Lace saying "Well that last text was embarrassing". This was a follow up to this, which he had left me at 4:30am, after we had left the party:
"Feel like Lace could tear it up right now. Best of classics (you) and hip hop (me)...yep you missed my moves"
GF and I had had a heart attack over this when we read it earlier that morning. Rightfully so. Once back in the City we grabbed some food and a beer at a local Lower East Side bar but I cut it short when we spotted a cockroach scurrying across the floor. We went back to his place I showered, grabbed my stuff and instead of heading home, headed to Williamsburg to meet up with Polish Princess. We were both exhausted and debated not going out but her friends had put together a little reunion at a Hell's Kitchen bar to bid her goodbye. It was an interesting mix of people--good friends from college and people she had used to work with, including a few who she had fallen out of touch with since they had grown a bit shady. One of these was a bleached blonde girl named Yolanda who, when I told her I was looking for a job, offered to put in a good word for me at the Hustler club, where she worked as a coatcheck girl. I'm still waiting for my call. The bar was also awesome as of course one of Polish Princess's friends owned it and we drank for free all night. The shot list took up two walls and I had heard of almost none. I did get to witness one called the Harry Potter shot (the movie had just come out) which involved the bartender wearing the hat, reciting a spell and lighting the shots on fire with a blowtorch. Amazing. We were both tired though so PP and I headed back fairly early to go to sleep. In the morning we grabbed brunch and then wandered around Williamsburg for the afternoon going to flea markets. I finally returned back to Queens (my last full weekend in that apartment) a full 48 hours after I had left it.

The Roomie

Now I have briefly glossed over my roommate situation in Astoria so that most of you have probably gotten the gist—my roommate sucks. Big time. Now it is time for the full disclosure on what a piece of garbage he is. Now when I chose this apartment, I was rushed. I had taken the bus down from Cuse for one day, which was devoted to viewing three apartments I had found on Craigslist, alone (and of course getting coffee with Ibanker, a key player even before my arrival in NYC). I was nervous and clueless and exhausted from trucking around in the cold for the whole day. When I arrived at this apartment in Astoria, which was primarily the neighborhood I was looking in, it was a refuge from the cold. Though cluttered, it seemed cozy. And though Roomie seemed a little weird, he seemed likable and friendly. Plus I was convinced that he was gay, which was a plus in my mind. But my very first night in the apartment he casually mentioned a girl he had dated. I almost went through the roof. I had signed on to live with a random straight guy?? Plus who is he kidding, he is clearly in the closet, as anyone who has met him can attest. So I was immediately put off and I hadn't even been living there for 24 hours.

He seemed ok the first month, although he was certainly secretly pissed off for the night we went out and I ditched him for Cute Guy (now my 2 least favorite people in NYC). We for the most part got along and would hang out occasionally. But he became very clingy; he would ask what I was doing most nights and sometimes would ask to come along. I invited him a couple of times but quickly realized that this would become a toxic friendship, one because I didn't want to be seen in public with him and two because his idea of friendship was you owing him something. For example, one morning I was hungry and hadn't gone grocery shopping. I took one apple out of a giant bag of apples he had on the table (fyi he was also a food hoarder) and ate it. I told him that night when I saw him. Two weeks later, he brought it up, saying that I owed him an apple.

He was also the cheapest person I have ever met in my life and would nickel and dime me for everything. He asked me one time if I wanted the yogurts he had in the fridge because he didn't like them. I love yogurt so said of course. He then pulled out the receipt and said that the yogurts were $2.25 total. Yes, that happened.

His condescension and nitpicking began slowly. First, whenever I asked him a question or made any sort of comment at all he would respond like I was one of the dumbest people in the world. Then the text messages started. I received one on a particularly bad day working at that fucking coffee shop. It informed me that the dishes I had washed were not clean enough and he had put them back in the sink. Now this entire time I had been nothing but nice to this lunatic, as I hate conflict and didn't want to rock the boat. But this day I couldn't deal and sent him a message back that he better cut the passive aggressive shit and talk to me in person. From then til the time I moved out he was constantly trying to schedule meetings to talk about “roommate issues” (aka inane shit).

He also felt the need to give me advice about living in NY and in the apartment. This “advice” grew into situations like when I was putting dishes away in the kitchen and he stood there and informed me where each of them went. Now said Roomie is a 31 year old ginger without a stable job. A real catch. He has been living in that apartment for five years is very particular about all the junk he keeps in (and there's plenty). One would think he is a neatfreak and the apartment did look very clean when I visited it, but I quickly discovered it was not. He was gross and would try to turn it around and make me out as the dirty one.

Now for the climax. We had been getting along for the most part and though I didn't want to be friends with him, I was not opposed to living there at this point. Mostly because this was one of my most stressful months in NYC (ending my internships, finishing up grad school, trying to find a job, and the disaster with Cute Guy) and the idea of trying to find a new place then was too much, so I decided to stay for another 4 months. I regret it every day. Roughly four days into the start of this new period I received an email from Roomie requesting one of his roommate meetings. I was super annoyed as I had been in Cuse for the part 4 days, so what could possibly have to discuss with me. When I didn't respond he called me and informed me that he had purchased a hair catcher for the drain and I would need to clean it out when I showered. I copped an attitude and when I showered the next morning, placed it next to the garbage because I was running late. I went into my room and heard him head into the bathroom. He then yelled curses at me from behind the closed door about the hair catcher. That was it. I marched out of my room and screamed for him to never speak to me like that while pounding on the bathroom door with my fists. It opened and the argument began. I rarely get myself into such a state and I'm still impressed with how calmly I handled the situation. I knew that if I kept up my yelling after he opened the door I would say everything I thought about him, which would not be good for me to preserve my own dignity. We agreed I should move out, but then he refused to revise the subtenant agreement we had both signed with the new date. There was no way I was moving out with my name still signed to 3 months of rent and was forced to stay.

The next 3 months went by slowly. We tried very hard to ignore each other and I was rarely at the apartment. I would sit in Central Park after work most days to avoid going home. He was constantly there. The first four months I lived there he didn't work. Once he found a freelance position it got a little better, but during the entire time I lived there (7 months) he was not away from the apartment one night. I was getting used to this situation though and had resigned myself to staying in the apartment for the full four months that I had signed. That is until the a/c debacle. He had one in his room and I did not. Protocol had been to split the utility bill evenly. He decided it would remain this way, even with his a/c and tried to charge me for half. This was in addition to him charging me more than half the rent (even though he had the bigger room), which I had discovered thanks to the landlord, who was on my side. So I left him a check for 1/3 which resulted in a late night email informing me this was “unacceptable”. I still refused which led to another morning blowout—him screaming at me and me trying to keep my cool and not fall into one of his traps (I will say that the fucker was smart, in a devious way). He claimed that he had not used his air conditioner once, which was complete bullshit. It had been over 90 degrees for multiple days and the apartment was a brick oven. I would walk around gasping for air and covered in sweat and he would be in the kitchen in jeans cooking. After that ridiculous conversation he actually agreed to revise our agreement. Except when I looked at the revised version he had made he had snuck in a new section about him checking my room before I moved out to determine if I could get my security deposit back. No way buddy. Yet another morning of arguing—it was like entering into battle. I had to hold my ground, and not let his verbal abuse and underhanded arguments phase me. I finally got him to revise the lease appropriately but I knew it was not the end. And I was right. The day of my moveout, after the landlord deemed the room appropriate he handed me a check for far less than the amount I was owed with a handwritten note containing the following:

July 30, 2011

$830- Security Deposit

$10- June ConEd bill outstanding balance (actual)

$15.50- actual: July internet

$80- estimated July ConEd bill based on previous July rates and usage

$724.50

The $10 was what I wouldn't pay him for the previous month's utilities. The July utility “estimate” had magically increased by $30. The final argument with douche bag, with my parents to back me up and my man Angelo the landlord even calling him a cheap bastard. He at one point pulled out a binder with utility bills from the past two years to prove to me that the kilowatt hours increased that much (even though he mentioned earlier in the conversation that his roommate then had had an air conditioner, point moot asshole). He had worked himself up into a rage and was squawking about how I needed to pay him bla, bla when my dad determined that it was time to leave—it wasn't worth it to argue with this miser and he could go count the money alone in his room. I threw the keys at him (literally) and I left that dump for the last time. So he shorted me a hundred dollars but I'm free from that socially awkward, miserable maniac. If I do happen to ever see him again I hope that I can continue to keep my composure and not punch him in his hideous face. BYE ROOMIE.

My Nights with the Boys

A common pattern in my life the past couple of years is my lack of girlfriends, at least in the same place that I am. This has been no different in New York, as I only have about 3 girls that I hang out with on a regular basis. It's not good but it does make for some interesting stories at times. The past couple weeks I have had some epic nights out with just me and boys. Starting with, interestingly enough, with the boys Fidel and I had met on the subway. I agreed to the requested drink with Tooly. I was under the impression that this would be a date situation, and luckily for me, it wasn't. I arrived at the bar down the street from MoMA and Tooly greeted me, accompanied by a gaggle of his coworkers, including Farts. I knew immediately that the night would be interesting. Luckily he was there since Tooly almost immediately left me to go upstairs and socialize with some of his other coworkers. I sat and chatted with Farts and one of their other friends. Surprisingly, Farts was a pretty normal person when sober. Normal, meaning he wasn't farting in public. But I got along well with them and liked chatting with them more than with Tooly. They also admitted to me that the last time they were at this bar Tooly had as a joke promised one of the waitresses he could get her a job at the investment bank where they worked. At this point my opinion of Tooly wasn't so high but I decided to stick with it and see where the night took me. The boys invited me to the next bar which wasn;t far away where they were going to meet more of their coworkers. This is when the night started to pick up. They forewarned me about one the guys we were to meet. He was apparently crazy and could party harder than all of them combined. Every night they went out with him he tried to convince one of them to be the godfather to his kids. He was probably in his forties, with a thick New Jersey accent and I could see the craziness in his eyes. He walked up to us yelling that he had showed his balls to an Asian girl at the bar the night before. He shoved a drink in my hands and from there on out it was like watching a performer at a circus. He told outrageous stories and made fun of the boys, especially Tooly. He at one point told me that his wife “shits money”. He was one of the most outrageous people I have ever met. At this point I was pretty wasted, as a result of the rotation drinks being bought for me. Definitely one of the perks of hanging with the boys. So after telling Tooly a little more loudly than I should have that the only other girl in the group looked like shit, he decided it was time to remove me from the circle. I had been whining for the past hour that I wanted a snack so led me away from the bar with the promise of food. While walking we ran into another one of his coworkers on the street. They did a bro-hug and when he turned to me loudly said to Tooly. “Is this your date? She's beautiful!” and then to me “What are you doing with him?”. Maybe all investment bankers aren't so bad. We resumed our walk and I noticed that we were heading away from food and towards Central Park. Tooly swore there was a food stand still open though I was skeptical. We walked through the park but there were no food stands in sight. By this time I was aware of Tooly's plan but I happened to think it was hilarious. I had sobered up enough to know I could fight him off if things went too far. Luckily all Tooly decided to do was make out with me (with the occasional wandering hand). Probably because as soon as he went in for it I practically screamed in his face “I'm not sleeping with you!!”. So I have officially hooked up in Central Park. Am I a homeless person? After Tooly led us out of the park, while I tried to brush the dirt from the back of my dress. He hailed us a cab and proceeded to make out with me. He of course tried to get me to go home with him and I refused. I exited the cab, and story of boys in New York, have not heard from him since. I do miss Farts though.

Another memorable (or not so) night out with the boys was with GF. Now when we both lived in DC there was a summer a few years ago that we were hanging out with this one guy. I'm honestly not sure how we knew him or where we came from. But he drove a Jag and we would all go out to clubs together. These were rowdy nights and one of them resulted in the worst hangover I have ever experienced (so bad that I had to call in sick to work that Monday after going out with them the Saturday before). I had not seen him since and GF hadn't either until a couple of weeks go when he randomly ran into him at the gym. Jags had relocated to New York as well. We were reunited. This particular night Jags had invited the two of us to his friend's apartment to pregame and then we were going to head to a club that had just opened in the Lower East Side. I had seriously debated even going out since my parents were coming into town early the next morning to help me move into my new apartment (story to come). But once I made out into Manhattan I knew I was going to make a night of it. Jags had become much more muscly in the three years since I had seen him and his friend was a personal trainer, so he was just as large. They were both wearing wife beaters and were total juiceheads. We sat in the apartment drinking and unable to speak much since the house music was blaring. The variety of my nights out and the people I hang out with in New York always amazes me. We headed to the club where I quickly bypassed my three drink limit I had set for myself for the night. I enjoyed the house music that was playing but I knew that with this trio there was no way I was going to be meeting any dudes. So I proceeded to dance around like an idiot. This is part of the reason I love house music so much—no rhythm or skill is required to dance to it. Which is good because I have neither. I was thinking this when Jag's friend approached me to dance with him. I did but was chuckling to myself the entire time about his bad luck. The night continued—we all danced and drank, until GF decided that it was McDonalds time. We left, without consulting with the other boys, and proceeded to order an excessive amount food. I ate 10 nuggets and fries. I briefly debated staying on GF's couch but even in my haze knew that the chances of me making it back to Astoria in time for my parents' arrival in the morning was slim to none. So I left the boys behind and took the subway back to Queens for the last time.

The next night out with the boys was certainly with the biggest group. It was my first weekend in the new apartment and it seemed that everyone was out of town. Luckily Prom came through for me when I texted him. He had a group of friends going out on the Upper East Side and I was invited to join. I finally made it to the bar after getting stared down by all the hipsters in my new neighborhood (I was definitely out of place in my Coach wedges). I walked in but Prom was nowhere in sight. I texted him with no response. I was starting to get antsy when a two guys walked up to me and asked if I was me. I was confused but one looked familiar. They of course turned out to be Prom's friends and I had met the familiar looking one when I went out with Prom right when I first moved to NYC. Prom was stuck in a cab downtown so the boys brought me over to their group of three other friends and one bought me a drink. I stood chatting with them and after telling them my deal one told me that I was “not an idiot”. Thanks I guess. He also told me that he liked my Long-CHamp bag. I told him “Thanks. I have six” and he retorted “You have a problem”. They were pretty funny and when Prom walked in they all immediately began to heckle him with “Hey Suit!”. Not long after we headed to another bar. There I was—out with seven guys and just me. Not too shabby, especially since I didn't buy one drink. Now I still hadn't fully recovered from the PVD night with GF so after about roughly two drinks I was pretty drunk. I informed them that we were going to play flip cup at this bar and when it actually happened I was really excited. I am the queen of flip cup. They grew tired of it though and so we switched to categories—I was also a strong competitor, as most the categories had to do with geography, which I'm awesome at. My modesty continued later in the night when chatting with one the boys. I don't remember the context of the conversation at all but I told him that “I'm pretty and smart so I have to be a little bit crazy”. What a winning statement. After this bar I went with Prom and the original friend I had met over to the Upper West Side to a bar where the friend's cousin worked. We sat and drank beer and at one point I had decided I had had enough—I went to the bathroom, took my beer with me and poured half of it down the drain. I then decided it was pizza time so I dragged Prom away from his friend and made him buy me pizza. We then walked downtown to catch the subway. We chatted about lord knows what until we arrived at the stop where we needed to transfer. We went our separate ways and I was pleased that I could hang out with Prom just as a friend. I then took the subway alone back to my new apartment for the first time.