Let's Go!

Ok- So I can admit it.  I'm 24, live in Manhattan, and yes- I am staying in on a Friday night.  Yea, I am totally cool with this.  Not an inch of regret about this.  Nope.  Nada.  Well... maybe.  Let's recap my night so far:

Half New Bedding and Hammer

I left work a little after 4:30.  After battling the elements to get back to my apartment-- feeling exhausted-- I suddenly had a jolt of energy in discovering that my bedding from Ruelala.com had arrived- Vera Wang really makes some sweet bedding.  Wait... I am definitely missing some details... Let me back up here for a moment...

Once my parents realized that I, their youngest child (and daughter) was going to be moving to Manhattan after college, my mom was on a mission to get me an apartment... not shockingly... one with a doorman in Murray Hill.  And for any of you who live in doorman buildings in Murray Hill or in Manhattan for that matter, will attest not all of these doorman are exactly the best line of defense.  I've had nearly obese doorman and some which probably had no idea who actually lived in their building-- but more focused on the cute girls living there and seeing who is drunk, who is coming back with who, who is doing the walk of shame the next morning, etc... After years of doing this, I'd imagine they'd think all Jewish girls from the NY Metro area all begin to look alike-- however, I would tend to worry less about the 5 foot- nothing girl with the Louboutins and the Chanel purse than the homeless man who is passed out and peeing himself.  Yes, mom and dad-- you made me move to Murray Hill after graduating, but you moved me into a building only a couple of blocks away from a homeless shelter.  I'm sure the unattended elevator building in SOHO would have been just as safe!  But here I go, digressing again.

My point of bringing up doormen was to call attention to one of my current doormen.  This man is perhaps one of the worst doormen in the entire city.  After seeing him every single day for 4 months, he continued to ask me where I was going every time I'd come home from work-- "To my apartment... you know... that I've lived in since JUNE!"-- this of course, was if he'd even look up from his sudoku puzzle to see who was coming in at all.  While some doormen open the door for you... this man does not.  While some doormen say thank you after giving them (sadly) a tenth of your biweekly salary for holiday tips... this man does not.  And probably most aggravating to me.... when you call down to your doorman because you are faced with an intruder in your apartment... he says, "I can't leave my post."  This coming from the same man who leaves his "post" to pee every 20 minutes and locks the front door of the building!

This intruder scared the crap out of me.  After saying "shape up or ship out" to my boyfriend of 2 years, I moved out of his apartment and into one of my own.  My apartment is my sanctuary, my haven.  Things are perfect-- perfectly MY way: clean, neat, girly... think of the design child of Pottery Barn and West Elm-- that's my apartment.  So I nearly had a heart attack to come home from a weekend at my parent's house to see a black roach on my WHITE FABRIC Pottery Barn head board (For those of you who know, it's the Louis headboard)!!!!!  What is a girl to do?  Well... I watched this thing.  I couldn't kill it-- it was on my fabric head board!  The guts would have smeared everywhere!  I didn't want to touch it!  I needed to know it didn't disappear somewhere else.  I'm a pretty self-sufficient person and I really like to do things on my own-- I don't ask for help so easily.  So after realizing that I wasn't going to kill this guy, I called my doorman.  And what did he say?  Well, I already told you.  So... I did what any Jewish girl would do: I called Daddy.  Following my father's advice, I took my upright vacuum put it on top of the roach-- it bounced off my headboard, onto my unmade bed, and hit the floor running.  With my cat-like reflexes, I got the vacuum positioned and sucked it up... letting the vacuum continue to run... until my boyfriend came and cleaned the vacuum bag out. ;)

My nephew Charlie

So for the above reasons, I dislike one of my doormen.  So coming home to find him was no real treat.  Ready for the worst, he repeatedly told me I didn't have any packages.  I made him check 2x and sure enough(!!) two packages: my bedding and a Jonathan Adler gift from my amazing sister (Miss you, bear!).

Are you still with me?  I digress a lot.  But I believe details are important.  They add the color to the black and white monotony of my life.

So I made my bed-- realized I had to buy another sham and Euro pillow case-- now I have mixed-matched pillow cases until the others arrive... which I hate(!), watched the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (Loveeeee Bravo!), made dinner, and then watched Valentine's Day on demand.  Worst movie ever.  Video chatted with my sister, her husband, and dog get ready for a party.  Then watched an episode of Jersey Shore.  Listened (though I swear I tried not to) as my upstairs neighbor had sex with her boyfriend.

Seriously.  The first time this happened, I giggled.  The second time, I laughed a little and thought "oh you guys!  I can hear you!"... and... well...today, I have a hammer I keep on my end table and whenever they start in, I start banging.  It's one thing if it were just a banging headboard or a bed moving back and forth on the floor, but they are vocal.  The things I hear make ME blush.  I don't want to know about how much he "releases" or what tastes like what.  I'm not joking.  I hear this.  I hear she is a quiet Indian girl from the neighbors on my floor who have shared an elevator with her.  I set the record straight.  She is NOT quiet and from the panting I can hear, she doesn't seem to be aerobically in shape.  There is A LOT of panting.  One day, I worry I am going to hear: Bang! Bang!-- enter dialogue-- Bang. Clunk...."  Am I responsible to call and make sure he/she is Ok?  I can just imagine how this conversation would go.  "Yes officer, I was listening to them f***ing and I am concerned because he/she exhibited some unusual breathing patterns from their usual panting and then I heard a 'clunk'..."  I've had these awkward conversations with the doormen in my building who are supposed to call up and ask them to keep it down.  The doormen (including the aforementioned) are not young.  At first the conversation I'd have to have kept me from calling them to complain, but now... I don't hold back.  "Yes, she is screwing her boyfriend and she's loud as hell."  One time, I even when up there at 2:00AM when I was woken up and had a big meeting at work the next day.  I heard her say to her boyfriend, "don't answer the door."  To which I screamed, "I know you are f***ing in there!  I can HEAR you!!!!"  I don't do too well when people wake me up....

Well now it's almost 11 and here I am.  I debated going to the gym and then thought I'd take myself for a walk.  Alone.  Because my boyfriend is having a Guy's Night, which he deserves.  This thought process happened about 2 hours ago.  Now here I am.  Blogging.

I never thought about Blogging until one of my coworkers asked if I ever chronicled any of the daily crazy I encounter-- I hadn't.

Now about that walk...