Making a Good First Impression

I don't know about you all, but I always strive to make a good first impression -- whether it be with new roommates, a new job, or on a date.  I don't want to bring out the inner crazy until I'm sure people will find my quirks charming and endearing :)  Every time I got new roommates, I proceeded with caution, not letting them in on my visceral hatred of bananas or my weird dislike of dishes in the sink until we were on firmer footing.

Bahrry and Dan apparently didn't think about how important first impressions can be.  I was scheduled to move in on a Sunday, in the mid-afternoon.  After waiting four hours for my absurdly late movers (being Ukrainian, they stopped to take a lunch break after another move ran long), spending most of that time playing Rock Band with poor Dave, who was waiting to move his stuff from the fake room into the one I was vacating, I finally made it to Park Slope around 6:00.  Barry and Dan had planned to be there when I moved in, but because I was so late they had had to leave for a prior engagement.  No matter -- I had the keys and we (by "we" I mean the movers) got things started.

The movers, who now that they were actually there were extremely fast, brought all of my worldly possessions up to my new fourth floor walkup as I did little more than direct traffic.  Things were going on swimmingly when a middle aged woman appeared at the door.  "Who's moving in here?" she asked.

          
           "I am.  I'm Margaret.  Nice to meet you," I said as I extended my hand.

          
            Ignoring my hand she replied, "Well I'm the landlord and I didn't know you were coming," turning on her heels and stomping back down the stairs.  Meanwhile, one of my movers is carrying my bed up on his back.

My heart sunk.  What did she mean she didn't know I was coming?  I knew I wasn't on the lease, but I'd done similar things so many times in my three years in the city that it hadn't really occurred to me that that could be a problem.  I texted the boys in a panic.  They apologized and reassured me that they'd fix it and explain the situation to me when they got home.  I was not reassured.  The movers, who I have just paid $300, have just left.  I'm completely moved in whether the landlady likes it or not.

I try to start unpacking as the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach grows.  Then there's a knock on the door.  It's the landlady's husband.  I open the door and explain that I had no idea that they didn't know I was coming.  I'm a teacher with excellent credit.  I'm a really good tenant, I promise!  I smiled a lot and tried not to let my voice quaver.  He was much more polite than his wife, saying things like, "Don't worry, this will all turn out fine."

When Bahrry and Dan finally got home, they explained the whole situation to me.  Before they moved in in March, the apartment had been vacant for months.  At some point the landlady, while her husband was out of the country, had been persuaded by her broker to lower the rent to try to fill the place.  Bahrry and Dan signed the lease, including a clause that said that someone off the lease could fill the third room, and moved in while the landlord was still out of town.  When he got back and found out what happened, he was pissed and had been trying to figure out a way to raise the rent ever since.  A friend of Bahrry and Dan's who'd been subletting before me was subjected to similar scrutiny.  She was given a free pass because she was just there temporarily.  Apparently Bahrry and Dan had chosen not to tell me about this little issue because they were "sure it was going to be fine."

Lovely.  Not only have my new roommates started off our relationship with a lie of omission, but the landlords who live on the first floor hate me.  Oh, and it's possible that the rent might go up $600/month.  I also have not eaten anything all day and it's really hot.  I hate moving.

The boys go down to talk to the landlords, coming back an hour later with good news.  I'm being permitted to stay because the landlord thinks I'm "a real nice lady."  Glad that my sense of manners ended up being helpful.  Bahrry and Dan say it was worth a little abuse from the landlords to get what they wanted.  Dan tells me later that it really wasn't so bad because the landlords really focused their wrath more on Bahrry, since they hate Bahrry, which, in hindsight, is not that surprising.  Bahrry is a piss-ant, and one of the most contrary and aggravating people I have ever met.  Stayed turned for posts devoted solely to different facets of Bahrry:  Bahrry and Smoking, Bahrry and Cleaning, Bahrry and Noise, Bahrry and the Bathroom, Bahrry and Sex, Bahrry and Bills, Bahrry and The Letter, and Bahrry Be Gone.

Park Slope Bound

As I got ready to relocate to Park Slope, I also tried to prepare myself to be a different kind of roommate.  I realized that part of my problems with Dirty Artie had stemmed from the fact that I let things bother me for a long time without saying anything about them.  Bottled-up, all those little things that bothered me would eventually explode or manifest themselves in ridiculous passive-agressivity (see Towels, or the Time I was Kind of an Asshole for an example).  I hoped that I'd have a better roommate experience if I was just honest and upfront about what bothered me when it bothered me.  Bahhry and Dan, apparently, did not get the memo about how it was time to be grown-ups.

Before I moved in to the apartment, Bahrry sent me a kind of odd e-mail.  The content wasn't too weird, it was just weird that he decided to share these things with me after he and Dan had already offered me the apartment.  It made me feel a little like they were hiding something, but at this point it was already July 16th and I couldn't handle looking for another place.  Nothing they said seemed too extreme, except that Bahhry smoked, but since there was absolutely no evidence of the smell when I went to look at the apartment, his story that it was an occasional thing checked-out.  More on how wrong I was about that later.  Brandon the Bartender had occasionally smoked out the window when we lived together as well, and it was never a problem.  In the spirit of being honest, I was exceedingly clear about how I felt and tried to give very detailed answers the questions:

• do you currently have someone who plans on frequently co-habitating, i.e., bf or gf?  I don't have a boyfriend at the moment.  If I were to acquire one at some point, I'm very respectful about others' space.  Also, I'm lame on "school-nights" so I usually, boyfriend or not, don't have people over during the week.
• i do at times smoke out the window near my desk (though i should stop at $10 pack!)...so as long as u can live with that  As long as the living room doesn't smell like smoke (which it didn't when I was there) I'd be fine with that.  I had a roommate a while ago who did that and it never caused any problems.
• we are usually up fairly late and a tv or music at reasonable levels is common (though obvious consideration will be given, just don't want someone annoyed every night)  I go to bed usually between 10 and 11, but generally read or watch a movie on my computer for a while after turning in.  The room seems fairly isolated in regards to the living room, and I'm a really heavy sleeper, so it shouldn't be a problem.  My past two rooms have shared a wall with the living room and I've only had noise problems with one roommate, who is quite possibly the loudest person alive and also maybe deaf.  I'm sort of used to my early bedtime and the idea that normal people are still awake and moving about.
• the room does not have a "true" window looking out to a view...it is a large casement window into a skylit lightwell  I've come to terms with the window-ish quality. 
• the room does have shared (but closed) doors to the adjacent rooms  Fine by me.  If you really wanted to get in, you could come through the hallway :)
• additional storage in the hall closet directly across from your room is available  Excellent.  I definitely have a suitcase that could find a good home there.
• there is only 1 bathroom...so if u have an earlier morning schedule that is preferred (we usually occupy 7:15-8:15)  That works really well for me too . . . since I've usually already left the house by 7:15.  Right now I get up 6:00, although with the reduced commute it will likely be more like 6:15.  The very, very latest I'll be in the bathroom on a workday is 6:45.  If I'm not working I certainly won't be in there before 8:15 :)

Bahrry wrote back that everything sounded great.  We set up a time for me to drop off the deposit and pick up the keys.  The apartment still looked lovely, although I could have done without the flat-screen TV blocking the view out the fabulous bay window.  I let them know when I would be moving in, and they said they'd be around.  Everything seemed perfect.  Things were finally falling into place.

I recognize that this might be the most boring blog post ever, but I promise you're all in for some crazy stories.  The four months I lived with Bahrry and Dan were quite possibly the most ridiculous four months of my life.  This post is really just the background and set up for everything that happened later.  In Bahrry (whose real name is in fact a middle-aged man's name with a rogue "h" in it) I could not have found a more absurd roommate, or a better caricature of a person to write about.  You are soon in for quite a treat.  Just be patient.

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Original craigslist post (in lieu of pictures, since I never managed to take any):

Hi there!

If you have been eagerly awaiting a move into the Heart of Park Slope this summer then your search is finally over!

We have a Wonderful Medium-size Bedroom in our Graciously Charming & Comfortable 3BR Brownstone equally awaiting your arrival!

Available Immediately!..Showing Today! Saturday 7/12/08!

The Apartment: Large 1200sf floor-thru 4th floor walk-up (which means lots of real sunlight, no annoying drunken trampling from above, & no gym membership req'd)
- 3BR/1BA/Kitchen/Workspace/Hall Storage
- Beautiful original stained wood detailing throughout, large 3-bay windows w/ original wood shutters, fireplace w/ ornate mantel & pocketdoors in livingroom
- great refinished original wood floors throughout
- 10' ht. ceilings
- Fully furnished and appointed with WIFI, Cable TV/DVR/Gamesystems, & Large Plasma w/ Surround Sound perfect for the game or movie nights!
- Full Kitchen w/ plenty of storage, usable counterspace, new gas stove, and even a full stereo system (for your listening pleasure while you cook...and hopefully wash your dishes too!)

Location: Prime Park Slope, located on Union/6th Av. nestled perfectly between all the best in cultural/recreational/entertainment amenities, 2 blocks from Prospect Park,short walk to Museum, Botanical Gardens, Library... the apartment is accessible to both 7th Av. shopping/dining & 5th Av. nightlife...if its beverages you desire? Tea Lounge & Union Hall..what more to say? Food?...Park Slope Food Co-op (for the communist in you) or Union Market (for the uber-capitalist in you)

Trains - close 5min walk to B,Q,M,R,2,3...and 10 min walk to Atlantic for more trains and LIRR

The Room: Nice 12'-6" x 9'-6" room, w/ med size built-in closet w/two drawers below, ceiling fan w/ 3light fixture, full length mirror, added nook in addition to room dimension which comfortably fits a full upright dresser 3'-6" wide x 2'-6" deep,large light well window, room will easily fit a queen bed, nightstands, computer desk, bookshelves...the room comes with a 36" sony tv and xbox which you can keep in there and use or we can relocate it. Additional storage may be available in the hall closet directly across your door as well.

Us: 2 professional straight males in mid 20's-30 in architecture & finance. laid back and easy to get along with, fairly active w. busy schedules though still like to go out & have folks over at the house occasionally so we don't have a problem with folks over occasionally as long as its not an everyday party , we are both respectful and clean...and expect the same.

You: gainfully/legally employed w/ proof of income or verifiable assets (No Credit Check!), male or female of similar age group preferred,clean, responsible, no living pets (Pet Rock & Invisible ones - OK!), no hard drugs,someone who likes to have fun too...so no couch potatoes or total pot heads...we would like someone who is actually up for doing something occasionally rather than just breaking in the couch and breathing our air!...also we do enjoy having music or tv on rather late, though at respectful levels...so if you need dead silence for bed by 9pm, probably not the best idea.

Crooklyn

After the year of filth and frustration spent with Dirty Artie, living with Andrea and Dave was a breeze.  With three people living in a small space, we certainly stepped on eachother's toes from time to time -- drunken noise, dirty dishes, bathroom scuffles -- but for the most part we got along really well.  We hung out in the apartment, but certainly weren't best friends.  It was a pretty good deal, but after reverse commuting to my new job in South Brooklyn for just a few months, I knew I had to move when the lease was up in August.

I settled on Park Slope, a cute, fun neighborhood just 15 minutes from my school.  The buildings are beautiful, the rent is a lot cheaper than the East Village, and best of all most of my co-workers (whose company I really enjoy) live there too.  Then, of course, came the arduous task of finding a place (and roommates) who I liked.  I must have gone to see somewhere in the vicinity of thirty different apartments in three weeks at the end of June and beginning of July of 2008.  I went to some places that I didn't like, or the roommates seemed a little off, but most of the places had potential and just didn't work out.  It was really frustrating because I think I sounded cool enough on paper (28 year old teacher, likes to go out and have fun but doesn't bring the party home, spending August in Tajikistan so won't even be around after she moves in!) to invite over to check out the place, but then I'd get there and something wouldn't click.

Finally I had some luck.  I went to see a lovely three bedroom and really hit it off with one of the girls.  She was planning on spending the following summer backpacking around Central Asia and was totally jealous of my Tajikistan adventure.  I didn't get much of a chance to speak to the roommate, but she seemed really nice too.  I was definitely optimistic.  Then I got an e-mail from Shannon, the backpacking girl:  

Okay, I hope this isn’t weird. You came and visited our apartment last Sunday on 4^th Street in Park Slope. We filled the room but I thought you were really cool, and my best friend Jill (she lives right down the street) has a room  available starting Aug 1. I told her that I had really liked you and thought that the two of you might get along well.

Apparently I can make new friends while trying to find an apartment.  I checked out Jill's spare room, and I liked it.  She was great and the apartment had a backyard, but a pretty ghetto kitchen.  I was definitely interested, but kept looking through craigslist in case it didn't work out.  

A few days later I found another place that I liked (interestingly enough it had the same floor plan as the first place) and the roommates seemed pretty nice.  They offered me the room and I told them I would give them an answer by the next day.  Then I got this e-mail the same day from Martha, the other roommate from apt #1 who I didn't speak to much on open house day:

I know we bumped you around to Jill (but we like her, and we liked you too). I don't know if you are still looking for a room for Aug 1, but our situation is drastically changed. Please let me know if you are still searching.

Cryptic and intriguing.  After a little investigating it turned out that their landlord and the landlord's real estate agent were trying to dick them around.  Shannon, Martha, and their old roommate had a lease.  Shannon and Martha wanted to sign a lease with a new person when that one ran out.  Like any normal people, they went on a hunt for a roommate.  When they found her and tried to get the new lease drawn up, the landlady told the real estate agent, who decided she was entitled to a broker's fee of two month's rent from each of the three rooms -- despite the fact that two of the girls ALREADY LIVED THERE and that she, the agent, had done nothing at all to get the third roommate into the apartment.  Not surprisingly, the third girl backed out and now they were scrambling . . . which is when they came back to me.

So, just to recap:  It's now July 15th.  I've been looking for apartments for three weeks.  I need to move before August 1st, when my lease ends, someone else moves into my East Village room, and I get on a plane to Tajikistan.  Two days ago I had no apartments and no prospects.  Now I have an offer on a beautiful apartment with some seemingly normal boys, an offer on a place I really liked with roommates I really liked that might cost me $2,000 in illegal fees, and a third place that the second place recommended to me that I didn't like as much but really liked the roommate and I have about 12 hours to figure out what to do.

My head was spinning and I had no idea how to make a decision.  I decided to e-mail the third place and see if it was still an option, since I hadn't heard definitely either way.  Jill's reply made my decision for me:

I am sorry not to have been able to get back to you before. As you mentioned, there are mysterious things going on with Shannon and Martha's apartment, and as a result, Shannon and I have been talking about the possibility of her moving in to my place. It has been a tough decision, but this evening we decided that we would do just that, which unfortunately means that my room is no longer available for August 1. This has caused a fair amount of trauma and drama, and I didn't want to extend any offers that I wasn't able to uphold in the event that a good friend needed a place to live. So, please make a choice based on your offers now, and I hope that you've found a place that you love!

This has all be kind of stressful and ridiculous, but it was really nice to meet you in the process. Again, my apologies for stretching out our decision-making process here, but Shannon and I have been talking all night to determine if and how this would work out. I'd love if you'd be interested in keeping in touch, and hope you have a great time working and relaxing in Tajikistan and Turkey next month.

And thus, my decision was made for me:  the beautiful apartment with the boys.  Jill's explanation of what happened was so nice and genuine that it really made me think that, despite the insanity that is the NYC housing market, normal, decent human beings do exist.  Then I moved in with Bahrry and Dan, and that shook my faith to the core.

 

 

Raindrops on Roses and Whiskers on Kittens . . .

Bright shiny clean kitchen and walls free of push-pins

Brown paper moving boxes tied up with string

Dirty Artie's moving day is one of my favorite things.

Even now, three years later, the thought of Dirty Artie's moving day still causes me to spontaneously burst into song.  No more bills paid 3 months late, no more nauseating after-shave (I would have to either close the door to the bathroom or leave the living room entirely right after he put it on), and no more filth in the next bedroom!  Of course, moving out (which I am clearly an expert in) takes some logistical prowess, so the days leading up to Dirty Artie's move weren't without strife.

As you know, Artie had two TVs in the living room and one in his bedroom.  Each one of those TVs had a cable box. Andrea, who was moving from the little room to Artie's room, had decided to keep the cable box in there.  Neither of us saw any reason to have two TVs or two cable boxes in the living room.  More than a week before Artie's move out date, in response to him about something unrelated, I also mentioned that we needed to switch over the names on the cable and electric bills.  Andrea and I, however, were unwilling to switch either of these things into our names until Artie took care of the overdue electric bill and got rid of and canceled the extra cable box.  I worded it a little more diplomatically than that, but I was very clear.

Fast-forward one week, to the Thursday before moving day.  Artie comes up to me at 11:30 at night in the living room with the cable company form saying that all I needed to do was sign the form switching the account into my name and call the cable company and arrange a pick-up of the cable box and they would take it away.  I was not amused.  I said that I would not sign the form until the cable box was gone, that's what I told him last week.  He looked at me funny and said, "You can't make one simple phone call?"  I replied, "Why can't you?"  He replied that he's never around, which is a valid reason why it might be difficult for him to be home for the cable guy, but not a reasonable explanation as to why this was becoming my problem.  Also, we had a doorman, or he could have asked me earlier if I could be around for the pickup, or he could have taken it to Time Warner himself.  In fact, there are many different paths he could have chosen that did not involve passing the buck . . . and I basically told him as much.  Eventually I told him that he could sign the form now, before he moved, and leave it with us.  I would then sign it and mail it in when the cable box got picked up.  As he protested, I said, "It's your cable box and your  responsibility."  He said "fine, do what you want."

I was sure, even after being firmly bitchy, that I was going to end up having to take care of it anyway, but it gave me great pleasure to feel like I'd made Artie's irresponsibility HIS problem for once.  Old roommates running up the cable bill in your name because you never switched it over?  "Lost" cable box billed to Artie Evinton?  The possibilities for roommate revenge abound, but to my surprise, Artie got up early the next morning and dropped the box off at Time Warner on his way to work.  I then happily signed the form and sent it in.  It seems that I finally figured out the key to handling Dirty Artie . . . the last time I ever saw him.

Towels, or the Time I Was Kind of An Asshole

Artie's grossness and lack of consideration continued on to the point where I ceased calling him by his name and only called him Dity Artie, or the Garbage Man.  He left dirty dishes all over the kitchen for weeks.  He clipped his toenails in the living room while I was eating dinner.  He slept on his bed without sheets for two solid weeks.  The piles of garbage in his room remained steadfastly in place.  Bills were never, ever, paid on-time.

For my part, I was having a pretty stressful year.  I'd just started teaching high school, and was absolutely in over my head.  My general craziness was part first year teacher syndrome, part the really difficult population I had no ability to deal with (18 year old ninth graders, functionally illiterate in Spanish and speaking no English), and part my incompetent, bullying, sexually inappropriate assistant principal.  In the midst of all this work madness, which once made me cry so hard on the subway that a stranger offered me a kleenex, I would come home to a filthy apartment.  I've mentioned before that I am absolutely not the cleanest person ever.  If you came over to my house right now you might be a little grossed out, but the thing is that I live by myself.  There's no one else here who might be bothered by the fact that my kitchen floor needs a good scrubbing, and I'm the only one to blame for the dirt in the bathroom sink.  When you have roommates you have to consider that they might not want to be the only one who ever cleans a bathroom used by three people.  We actually had a cleaning schedule when Brandon lived with us, but it had somehow been abandoned when Andrea moved in.

But I digress, I had a story to tell here.  A story about cleaning, and towels, and the possibility that I'm the subject of someone else's jackass roommate story.  I've mentioned before that we had an awesome roofdeck, perfect for parties.  I decided to have a bunch of people over at the beginning of June, right when it really started to get warm, and also, not coincidentally, when both of my roommates were scheduled to be out of town.  It just seemed easier to have a gaggle of friends running in and out to get beer and go to the bathroom without having to worry about what Andrea and Artie were up to.  

An awesome view by day; even better at night.

Before the party I cleaned the entire apartment, since no one else ever did.  There had been two gross, dirty, towels on the back of the door of our bathroom for at least six months.  Since they hadn't moved, been changed or washed in that time period I assumed that they had belonged to Brandon the Bartender.   Cleaning the bathroom for the party, I finally decided that I'd had enough of the gross towels and threw them away.  Andrea and I both kept our towels in our rooms, and Artie had two on the towel rack.  These back-of-the-door towels were actually stiff from God knows what (dirt?  mold?) and I was embarrassed to have people over while they were hanging from (and frequently falling off of) the bathroom door.

Flash forward to the next day.  Artie is home.  He has noticed that the towels are missing.  He is peeved because they were apparently his towels.  A bit of a confrontation ensues:

Artie:  I noticed that the towels from the bathroom were in the kitchen trash this morning.

Me:  Oh yeah, I was trying to clean up for the party.

Artie:  Well, the thing is that they were mine.

Me:  Really?  I thought they were Brandon's since they haven't moved from the back of the door in six months.  I've been meaning to do something about them for a while, but finally got around to it yesterday.

Artie:  No, actually they were mine.

Me:  I'm sorry.  Since they were so dirty, and stiff, and fell on the floor almost every time someone went in and out of the bathroom, I assumed they didn't belong to anyone.

Artie:  Well, I'm not sure what I'm going to do now without those towels.

Me:  Yeah, I'm sorry.  I thought that those other towels hanging on the rack were yours.  You know, I'm planning on washing my towels today, I'd be happy to throw yours in with mine, since I accidentally put them in the trash.

Artie:  I don't think I really want to use them again since they've been in the kitchen trash can.  It's a little gross.  I guess I'll have to buy new ones.

Me:  That's a shame.  Let me know if you change your mind before I put my laundry in.

End Scene.  So the man who lives in garbage, with piles of newspapers, clothes, and take-out cartons taking up half his bedroom is skeeved out by the fact that his towels, with six months of his body dirt on them, have been in the kitchen trash can?  Is there something more offensive about the use of tide after a towel has been in with the coffee grinds and beer bottles than sleeping on your bed without sheets for weeks in a row?   I guess on the surface one roommate throwing away another's towels IS an asshole thing to do, but considering the situation, does it make me a jackass that I only feel a little tiny bit guilty and am actually happy that he had to buy non-disgusting towels? 

And the door revolves again . . .

After last week's break for a little rumination, reflection, and revelry (albeit abbreviated as a result of whatever illness I caught from the germy little monsters I teach), we're picking up where we left off with Dirty Artie and Brandon the Bartender.  If you hadn't already figured it out, I far preferred Brandon to Artie as far as roommates went, but Brandon, unfortunately for me, would be the next one to move on to bigger and better things.  He got signed on by a band and they went on tour and he was gone.  He left a check for the December rent and his parents came to pick up his stuff and fully move him out.  Artie and I were just left to find ourselves a new roommate.

While I was living in SoHo I found new roommates twice through craigslist.  I'd also by now found two apartments of my own through craigslist and was becoming a bit of a connoisseur.  Artie offered to take care of the craigslist ad since he still had one from the time he'd found me and it would be easy to edit for the new open room.  I was overloaded with teaching and graduate school and more than happy to pass the buck on this one.  Clearly, I had not learned the most important lesson from the cable bill scenario -- Artie does not think like the rest of us.

In passing one day, Artie asked if I was free on Wednesday evening to meet people interested in the apartment.  I was totally fine with it, and Artie said he'd start scheduling appointments.  By the time Wednesday rolled around, I hadn't heard anything from Artie, and with our completely different schedules, we rarely saw eachother around the apartment.  After running around all day teaching and attending an early class, I flew in the door to our apartment and ran to check my e-mail to see if Artie had sent any messages about who was coming when.  Nope.  Nothing.

I started to relax, slipping on my slippers and ripping off my sweater to accommodate our typically overheated New York apartment, when the doorbell rang.  I answered, and a nice, blond girl about my age put out her hand with a smile and said "Hi.  I'm Jennifer."  I looked at her a little quizzically and she added, "I'm here to look at the room . . . "  Ahh.  

It turned out that Artie had made appointments with prospective roommates, he just hadn't bothered to tell me about them, nor had he bothered to get home from work before they started happening.  So there I stood, by myself, in my work pants and a camisole, showing off our third room, a converted room made out of half of the living room (a fact that Artie neglected to mention in the ad), to more than twenty people between the hours of 6:00 and 9:00.  At some point in the middle, Artie got home from work.  He was more of a hazard than a help, though, not picking up on social cues that people were ready to leave, and most famously sitting with his arms behind his head on the couch and announcing after I complained about the heat, "Well I never get hot in here," with large-scale, full-on sweat-stains in both armpits on full display.

Finally at 9:00, in a lull that was unfortunately not the end of the stream of people, I told Artie that I couldn't do it anymore and I had work to do.  I had a project due the next day, and I was going to go in my room to work on it.  If any of the last five people seemed really great and really interested, he could knock on my door and I would meet them.  He did.  Five times.  He seemed to struggle with determining importance . . . 

At 10:30, when the last person finally cycled through, Artie wanted to debrief.  I was pushed to my limit and, as it frequently happened with Artie, lost my cool.   I couldn't discuss which people we liked at that moment because I had a project to work on, and had wasted half my night meeting people who I would have preferred to never have met (like smokers, free-lancers, and 19 year old NYU students), and others who, given all the facts (like that the open room had no real window and was made of plywood) never would have come out in the first place.  I was done.  We could talk about it the next day or through e-mail, but I had no more time to give this particular endeavor.  Artie, for his part, seemed somewhat mystified that I might not enjoy meeting twenty-five strangers in my living room.

Eventually, we settled on Andrea, who turned out to be my ally in combating Artie's insanity and happily moved into this little room until we were free of Artie and his garbage and she rotated into his room.  Andrea is my longest lasting roommate relationship:  December 2006 - August 2008, which, considering the crazies I seem to attract, is saying a lot about Andrea and her general awesomeness (even if she seemed physically incapable of emptying the dishwasher . . .hey, nobody's perfect).

Everyone's favorite part of the room, the window into the living room!

An Ending and A Beginning

Eleven months ago I decided to start this blog for one reason.  It happened one year ago tomorrow.  My roommate and I had a normal roommate disagreement -- voices were raised and doors were slammed.  We were frustrated with eachother and were both having trouble understanding where the other one was coming from, when she quite literally snapped.  Not in the "laugh about it later" kind of way that any one of us might finally lose our patience and lash out, but in the violent, breaking the law and making the apartment unsafe for me to live in kind of way.  With the help of some fantastic friends, I moved out within 36 hours, and my life as a roommate ended.

I've always found writing cathartic, as any of you who've received an e-mail missive detailing some ridiculous thing that's happened to me already know.  When I started this blog, it was the story of that crazy roommate that I really wanted to tell, but decided that organizing things chronologically made more sense.  And honestly, who doesn't love a good story about a landlady making moonshine in her tenant's kitchen?  But what's funny is that, now, I'm somewhat reluctant to tell the truly crazy roommate story.  Maybe it's related to the little fear in the pit of my stomach I have that I'll run into her on the street sometime.  Maybe it's that, unlike bathing in a bucket, there's nothing funny about filing a police report.  I'll probably still write about it eventually, but it'll have to wait in line.  I've got a few more Dirty Artie stories and of course you'll all have to be introduced to Bahrry with an "H" and his two hour long baths.

So tomorrow, in honor of one full year of living lavishly alone, I'll be celebrating at at least one happy hour.  My New Yorker friends, come on out and lift a glass to all the fantastic friends who helped me one year ago, by giving me a place to stay, being my bodyguard, helping me pack (or really, doing all of the packing while I spun around in circles trying to get my bearings), helping the movers so I didn't have to pay as much, making me dinner and inviting me over for cake so I wouldn't have to be alone, proof-reading e-mails and checking on the landlord-tenant laws in New York State, calling to check-in, and even encouraging me to write this blog.  You're the best!