In an effort to keep my family, friends, and foes abreast of my journeys in New York, I decided to create this blog. I do not claim to be a good or even thoughtful writer but I hope to spread the joy/misery/woe/excitement/word that is moving to New York without any clue what or how to do it. Many people have preceded me in this attempt and surely many will come after me; however, this is my recount of my own personal misadventure(s) in New York.

To begin with, I moved here with two bags and a cat (hence the title-witty no?). Two huge fucking bags and one massive cat. Dr. Huxtable, my companion in this voyage, weighs a whopping 15.5 pounds. So, as you can imagine, he’s heavy and lugging him through the airport was no small feat. I sweat and sweat and sweat carrying this cat around. Luckily, Hux is an amazing traveler and slept through the entire flight. I, on the other hand, bit off all my fingernails and am sure I lost some hair along the way.

              My first apartment: Grand St., Williamsburg

After retrieving my bags and renting a trolley to roll my kitty and necessary belonging along, I got in the taxi line. I told the man I was going to Brooklyn. That’s what you do right? Wrong. Foolishly I thought, well Brooklyn is this place, I’ll give you my address and the cabby will look it up on his ever so handy GPS. Well no. He didn’t and evidently Brooklyn is a masssssiiveee borough. Look, I know I am naïve in this so before writing me off as an idiot, cut me some slack, and follow along. So the cab driver kept asking me what expressway to take. I didn’t know. I had no clue. But I just kept agreeing with him because I didn’t want him to know I didn’t know where I was going. In my mind, if he knew I was completely and utterly lost, he may jack up the prices or kidnap me. One or the other. Well we both got turned around, went to the opposite side of town until I GPS’d it myself.

When we finally arrived, I could not have been more pleased. I was staying with a friend who I met through my old roommate Will. The apartment was very very nice and my first day, in order to treat my hosts, I cleaned it spic and span.  I stayed here for about four days. Hux approved, I did not. I don’t like sharing my space. I don’t like being a guest. I certainly don’t like sharing a bed, which ended up being the case.

During this time, I was obviously looking for a job, applying non-stop via www.craigslist.org and www.nyfa.org but not really hearing anything. Simultaneously, I was looking for my own apartment. But when I wasn’t working so hard, I had time to enjoy my new city. 

Places I went to worth mentioning:

Grand Bo Ky Restaurant: first meal in the city. Really didn’t want to go in there. They had chickens in the window, which honestly doesn’t bother me that much, it is the smell. Although it reminds me of my first apartment in Paris in the 10^th, the smell is nauseating. Had some soup-nothing to write home about other than the chickens. 

Brooklyn Bowl

Brooklyn Bowl: had a seriously amazing time with my friend Travis. Met some incredible Canadians who stole my heart and made me confident that Canadians are the nicest of people, the rumors are true. 

Rye: best meal I’ve had so far. Absolutely amazing, thank you my dear Canadians for everything. I had the duck, my buddy got the lamb and they were both delectable treats that continue to make my mouth water. 

Outside of Rye, Williamsburg

Beauty & Essex: Pretentious assholes that have their bar/restaurant behind a faux vintage store. Tasty French fries, strong vodka sodas. Clementine and I, along with the Canadians, got seriously tipsy. This night reached its high point when at Welcome to the Johnson’s, a Frenchman repeatedly pursued Clementine.  Although, in her opinion, there was no way he could be French. Absolutely no way.  But he continued to attempt to charm despite the fact that he was even drunker than we were and we couldn’t understand a thing he said. But the high (or low) point was upon our exiting the bar; the Frenchman chased after Clementine and headed face first into a parked car- Sweet D Style from Always Sunny. Clementine stood over his bloody body and giggled a bit. No not really, but needless to say, none of us attended to his wounds.


                Apartment Number Two: Hell Hole in Bushwick

As I said before, I was not comfortable with the whole, staying in someone else’s bed thing. So one day, rather spontaneously, and without much thought, I rented a shithole room in Bushwick. Okay, Bushwick is really not that bad, in some spots. But for this green fledgling in this city, I was not prepared. The roommates were actually very cool. Three guys, I’m not sure what they did really. One was definitely an unemployed occasional amateur porn participant, the other worked somewhere in Chelsea, and the other guy, I swear I saw once and I lived there for nearly a week.

The first indication that this was not the place for me took place when I attempted to buy sheets. It was a Latina fiesta inside the store. They didn’t have blankets. No blankets. Well okay, they had blankets with giant tigers on them or extra small ones with Dora the Explorer on them. So I bought sheets. I slept on sheets under a small throw and my coat for a week. On a futon. It was a special time that needed to end. Granted I never ventured out into Bushwick (for fear of abduction). My mom believes I looked Hispanic enough to be tough, but I am telling you, I wasn’t fooling anyone out there.

View above shower in the Crack Den of Bushwich

I did have some good times in my crack den though. I hung out until 6 a.m. one night with my roommate and some friends drinking 40’s. I will remember it fondly. However, there are times I would like to forget. Pretty much every night I had to get completely drunk or take a sleeping pill in order to not have a full on nervous breakdown trying to get to sleep. It was at the front of the apartment on the first floor. I could hear EVERYTHING that ever happened in the apartment. One night a girl was having a bigger nervous breakdown that myself. She was screaming and crying. Really bad.

Herman, my landlord, never came around to get my security deposit or sign a lease of any sort. So I decided to sublet my room ASAP and move in with Clementine. I got a girl to take the place and paid me half the rent. So it wasn’t a complete and utter loss.  I was surprised that another girl would sign on for this filthy place but she did. And I ran away quick to Clementine and Kendall’s.

During this time I continued to go out (of course) never doing anything cultural (of course) but lots of drinking (of course). Places worth mentioning:

Veggie sloppy joe and cheese ballz!

The Levee: Awesome dive. Free cheese balls upon request, which is particularly amazing for me as I am officially trying not to spend too much money on food. They also have a menu that has everything either meat of tofu based which I think is pretty nifty. All in all, I feel that warm and fuzzy feeling there because I miss the Upper Deck. Oh the Upper Deck Tavern of Charleston, SC. I miss your stale smell and $5 special.

schnitzel. 

Lomzynianka: Polish food in Greenpoint. Amazing. A steal. AND it is B.Y.O.B. I mean how can you beat that? I had the Wiener schnitzel, which reminds me of my grandfather. Made me feel warm and fuzzy too.  Kelsey got the meatloaf and Brandon S. got the veal liver. You get mashed potatoes and veggies and whatever entrée for less than $10. 

Phoebe’s Café: During my time in Bushwick, I didn’t have internet (how medieval) so I had to go to a coffee shop everyday to 1. Look for a job 2. Try to find a sublet 3. Find an apartment and 4. Get the fuck out of the crack den. Lugging my laptop around for a week has my back still in knots. Or maybe that was sleeping on a futon? One or the other. But I was left with no other choice so I started going to this place Phoebe’s Café near the first place I lived. Near the Graham stop on the L, it was only a few stops away. Love it there. Good coffee. Good music. Run by French people? Great fresh avocado and tomato sandwiches.

        In that same vein, Penelope’s in Manhattan is equally delicious with great coffee. Kendall works there and seems to like it. Best veggie burger I have EVER had. There always seems to be a bit of a wait but who cares. It’s New York, I hear waiting is normal.


                 Apartment Number Three:
          A Lovely Loft without the Basic Amenities

All right, Clementine and Kendall said that I could stay in their loft near Bedford. It seemed a little wacky to me but I wanted to be with friends! I wanted to feel the comfort of people who actually care about me seemed the highest priority on my list. So I talked to Kendall, she said she would hide the keys for me in a planter by the door. She had to work and Clementine was in Manhattan. I thought okay, easy enough. So I packed up my bags, called a car service and waited. They were supposed to come at 5:30 p.m. I put Hux promptly in his carrier at 5:20. Promptly might be an overstatement. I started attempting to put him in there around 5:15. He was not so easily maneuvered this time. It always depends on the day. Well he was pissed. At one point, I was petting his head through this petting hole and he tried escaping! But he is just too big so I had to shove his head back through. It was truly a terrible experience for both of us.

                    The Cab Ride from Hell

           

The car service never comes. After 30 minutes of waiting and 30 minutes of Hux crying, mewing, and scratching, I called another car service who came before the other one even called! Okay, so my cabby parks his car, and starts loading up all my stuff- which has grown to be more than just two bags and a cat by the way (sheets, pillows, etc.).  Everyone in the street is yelling at us because the cab is blocking the way. It had recently snowed so all movements were treacherous. With a 15.5-pound cat, and extremely heavy suitcases, my cab driver and I were panting and frantic. We finally get on the road.

Along this, let’s say, what should’ve been, a 10-minute ride, I learned many things about my cab driver.  I learned he’s from Ecuador, lives in Queens in a one bedroom for very cheap, and that he speaks little to no English. He was very surprised I didn’t have a boyfriend, not so much due to my beauty or anything, more so about my age. I mean, a girl of 23 should most definitely be married. I politely told him that I had other things to do. He snickered and responded, “like what?” He explained in his broken English that in his village girls are married by 16 at the latest. Then he asked if I had a good relationship with my father and was flabbergasted that I didn’t live with him. He could only surmise that we must not be speaking if I did not live with him.

Anyways, we finally arrive at the loft. And we can’t find the keys. Anywhere. My Ecuadorian cab friend and I dig through the snow, through the dirt, through the trash. No keys were to be found. I called Clementine; it was going to be an hour before she could get to me. Kendall was at work. And to make matters worse, Kendall’s brother Sam needed the car key off of this chain. I asked my dear friend John to please let me stay at his place until Kendall got off work but he flat out refused due to Hux. I am near tears and the man refuses me. COLD AND HEARTLESS.

My cab driver and I head to Manhattan to get the keys from Kendall. I realize now that the man is the scariest driver of all time. He’s hitting snow banks, he’s texting or something, and keeps asking me questions about the directions. I repeatedly told him I just moved here and honestly don’t give a shit what way you take as long as you get me there fast. Then he pulls out his cell phone and says, “This is my new toy” with a big Ecuadorian grin on his face. He proceeds to play with this new toy throughout the ride. Honestly, I thought we were going to get in a major wreck at every turn. This may sound silly, but in my mind I thought, cabs never get in accidents. There is just no way. This thought process and power of positive thinking obviously saved my life because we did make it back to the loft safely. By then Kendall’s brother was there, thankfully, because I honestly have NO IDEA how I thought I was going to carry all of my stuff up the stairs to the loft. Thank you, Sam.

Okay, so the loft. I never told my mom this or any family members because it would’ve made them lose their minds, but now that all is well (oops don’t mean to spoil it for you) I must unveil this one detail.  This loft was not meant for anyone to live in it. We had no shower. The bathroom was down the hall. And essentially, it was highly illegal for three ladies and a cat to be living there. But we were blissful, or at least I was. I could stay there, borrow all the new clothes I wanted, and honestly I’ve never laughed so hard. Oh those were good good times. Sadly-they were not to remain.

First meal in the loft.

Hux enjoying the loft. Pondering,
"will she shove me back in that
bag?"

After three days of happiness/moving all the furniture around the apartment to make it habitable for three not two. But all was in vain, the sink was broken and the landlord and plumber came to fix it. They saw the three beds and the cat roaming around the room and that was that. In order for the other girls to stay, I had to leave.

Places to mention:

Momofuku: Overpriced and under flavored noodles.  I went there with my friend Courtney and hers was by far better than mine. Granted, I ate that soup for two days after but only due to legitimate starvation, not to enjoy it.

Wild Ginger: Thai food on Bedford Ave. The green curry was delicious as were the spring rolls. Their lunch deal is only $5.95 from 12:00-4:00 everyday. I liked it; I’d go back, thank you delicious Thai food.

            Apartment Number Four: Back At Where I Started

So now I am back at the original apartment on Grand. When I pulled up in my taxi, my friend was there to greet me (or so I thought), but actually it was to tell me we could not go in the building because his landlord was in the building. He didn’t want him seeing a girl with two suitcases and a cat coming in…so we dropped my luggage off at a furniture store and took my cat to a bar. Yes. I sat and drank with my cat at a bar. Near tears, completely defeated, I drank with my cat. We finally got into the building and here I am now. Same situation, poorer, and a little worse for wear. But not all is lost. I found another apartment, good price, cat friendly, and great location!

Not actually Hux. 

Places to mention:

Sweet Ups: The bar down the street that let me bring in my cat. Thank you so very much. Happy hour, buy one get one free Sweet Ups beers and well-alcohol. Stealy deal.