Attic Adventurs: 2017

It started Tuesday night, with the sound of fire trucks outside the window. It continued for hours, late into the night.

WHY? WHY?! Jackhammering. At 10:30 pm. Outside the window. Strange septic aroma. Pickaxes. Backhoes. An excavator. Flashing lights. Emergency vehicles. Union dudes.
Sleep was going to be challenging. 

Wednesday night. Note on the elevator. No cooking gas that night.

Tonight. Note on the elevator that gas/electric utilities needed to be in Attic on Friday and upcoming Monday - and OH THEN...

THEN the super and his wife presented me with this box and made me sign for it while they said - there will be notes under alllllllllllllllllll of the tenants' doors.
 

Long story short, I will not be cooking with gas for possibly 4-6 weeks. So. Yeah. Or using the dryers in the building.

Hello landlord-provided shiny new kinda hot plate? Where the hell am I plugging you in in the Attic of no kitchen counters?

(Honestly I am relieved. Was beginning to think the smell was a neighbor who... hadn't been seen for a while and was possibly a 'former neighbor'.)

Attic vs. AirBnB

It's been a quiet Saturday of work, snugged away in the Attic, which while snug, sometimes is TOO snug -- especially when the neighbors are tromping away upstairs, your next door neighbor has decided to pull out his upright bass to work on scales (I mean, why?), and you would like to escape to another room ... Except, there isn't another room to escape to.

How lovely would it be to go outside and work, or an office, or to spread out on a lounging piece of furniture that is NOT your bed? Or to indulge in your favorite decor styles, or experiment - except ... you can't because it's snug?

Oh well. Since I didn't win the lottery to make this happen, I can pull out my photos from my recent New Year's trip to Long Island courtesy of Christine's very generously extravagant Christmas present, where we stayed in an out-wardly unassuming late 70/80s split-level ranch, which had been updated to a very lovely AirBnB, basically lifted from shelter magazines, and the pages of Williams Sonoma, Pottery Barn, and Restoration Hardware.

Look at this beautiful back porch table. 

All the light. The room. The seashells.

(It was really hard not to pocket this blue hunk of crystal!)

Even beyond the hot-tub, fancy Kohler showroom bathrooms, the chrome kitchen, 

and the downstairs wet bar that is fancier than my entire kitchenette, 

 the three bedrooms mixed with my favorite blue and white, wood, and nickel finishes,

 or vintage school desk/beach cottage features, 

A dedicated OFFICE,

my dream entry wall, color schemes, finishes, salvaged stained glass, and beach-combed chic,

there were two places that I could have willing never left.

This lounger.

Doesn't it just invite you to spend an entire Saturday on it, 

reading, blogging, and/or sleeping?

EXCEPT ...

It looked directly at this assumedly vintage wooden advertising sign.

I love the graphics, but ...

it still irritates me for one HUGE reason.

 If you don't know why it irritates me, we can't be friends.

And then there was this couch in the "basement." 

The deepest leather couch I have ever had the glory to curl up in.

Next to the "fireplace," in front of the sharpest HDTV ever.

What with an all-weekend Downtown Abbey marathon, a wet-bar behind us, a bathroom within steps, the only thing to figure out was how to maneuver to the snacks and drinks when it was so deep. 

If you ever can't find me, maybe check that I haven't checked myself back into this AirBnB, or decamped to a Restoration Hardware showroom somewhere.

Who needs shelter magazines? A lot of THIS is exactly what I wish I could afford ... 

One day.

Okay. Enough dreaming.
Back to work.

AFTER I bang on my neighbors' wall in a very passive-agressive kind-of way.
 
 
~ photos by iPhone

Real Estate Envy

I was in the City having lunch with my friend Poopeh today, when I got a bit disoriented coming out of the subway, and I zigged instead of zagged. I stumbled West toward the Park instead of East toward the River. I was in a super chichi part of town, when I came across this townhouse.

I now have a serious case of real estate envy. I have never seen a stoop like this. Look at the alcove. The arched windows. All the iron work.

BUT WAIT!

Scan down.

THE STAIRS CURVE!

AND 

THERE's another entrance.

I mean.

COME ON!

Max and Mary Mission Update: Moving

I don't think Grandmary and Grumpa have lived in an apartment since I was a wee toddler, which is over 40+ years ago. They have perhaps gotten a wee bit used to living in a house, and more recently, gotten used to a house with a larger bathroom - and, in the UT house, TWO bathrooms. Oui?

As a NYC-adjacent apartment dweller of MANY years, I have gotten more used to some of the things which the folks are re-experiencing. At least the apartment is furnished - so they didn't have to haul major furniture and appliances.

Read below:

E-mail updates from Dad on Friday, 9/26:

We were awake early with people upstairs moving around, the trains in the area, and getting used to a new place. We found the mall and picked up a few odds and ends to help us settle in.

Most of you know we got here Thursday evening about 3:45 and had the truck unloaded by 4 PM with the help of about ten people.

We have all but two of the 11 bins unpacked as well as the suitcases. Things put away, dishes washed, and Mom is doing laundry now.

I slipped out this afternoon and took a few pictures of where we are staying.
Below is the front of building 18 and we are in apt. 103 we are on far side of building.

Picture below is of the apartment door. Apartment 102 to the right and 104 to the left. Mailboxes are in the foreground.

We have the west facing, back windows so stay warm, I have on AC and a fan this afternoon.

I would rather park in the back of the building and come in a back, ground-level entrance. The front has three sets of steps going down.

Looking into the front room from doorway. Two chairs, couch, and the living room is done. Dining room has nice table and chairs, and makes it so we don’t have to have big group to dinner.

 Looking down hall and seeing part of kitchen with large walk-in pantry.

Fridge is behind the light switch along with some more counter-tops. It was about 4:15 PM here and we had been out shopping this morning.

Down hallway past closet and shelves on left you see door to main bedroom. Door way to the right goes to small bedroom. 

This is the small single bed room with a desk for the computer and printer, places to put clothes and a good closet. West facing windows as well.

This is the hardest part of the apartment - an RV size bathroom with tub and shower together. Too tight for two.

I am standing in the walking closet, looking at the west facing windows with another set to the left above the two chairs. We think these two chairs and one in the living room are left over from another time. The bed is a king being made by pushing two twins together and putting a foam to cover the valley in the middle. Maybe next year they will be putting in a new queen instead.

Looking from my side of the bed toward the closet and hitting the mirror with the flash. We seem to have room for most of the clothes that arrived but leaving winter coats in a bin for a while.

With my back in the corner of two windows looking toward bathroom. Mom has to remember to go left now instead of right with her eyes closed at night.

This last shot is back into the living room from bedroom. I am wondering why they didn’t put pull-out couches in the living rooms.

J just flashed an email back after getting the first batch of photos. Yes, we have picked up the computer printer, TV, and a little food. Larry the Cable Guy will be coming in the “Late Morning” to hook up the Direct TV receiver we brought with us. He seemed to be as disappointed as I am that the Receiver is not HD. Mom thinks I need the TV, but she needs the noise to cover some of the building group.

Anyway we are pooped out today and glad that Saturday is allowing for a little more down time.
 
I think we are going to make it even if I look and feel the youngest ones we have seen so far. Bless the people that are here, and pray they are still here in the morning.
  
Love you all!

Finding the Funny in the Fumes*

You know, I only have myself to blame. I didn't follow-up. I didn't return the voice message. I took the landlord's word for it. I made the cardinal mistake of remembering that the story you've been told is never the whole story - if you even get to hear the story at all.

Let me back up.

This week has been kicking my butt.

I've felt icky since the weekend, so took two, highly uncharacteristic sick days. I guess the fever chills, sweats, queasiness, headache, lethargy, and nap were symptomatic of something, but I don't know what - except maybe an end-of-summer cold, not eating right, stress or something. So two days off should have been fine.

Day Two of the sick days, I tried to work from home. Again, I should have known. If I say I'm taking a sick day, I shouldn't try to work ... but NO! I spent all day arguing with my computer connections. I rebooted numerous times. I hit refresh. I unplugged the "modem" and the cables over and over. I managed to get to the regular Internet, but despite hours and hours of hitting buttons, the work intranet website and my VPN didn't come up -- until -- of course -- 5:15 p.m. Whatever. So I logged on and caught up on e-mail and did a few database things.

Day Two was also the day I prepared my bathroom for what my landlord has said was "reglazing of the tub." I've only been peeling the glaze off my post-war tenement bathroom tub for 3 years and two building owners -- so, you know -- it was a bit ghetto looking. I should have taken a photo, but it shouldn't have been documented. It was gross, even clean. I pulled everything out of the room, cleaned all the surfaces (as much as you can in a 50 something year old bathroom where it's being held together by the dust, grit, and who knows what else), and prepared to be disrupted for about a day. Everything is all over the kitchenette. It's a small studio. It's not good to have stuff all over the place. It junks it up fast.

The plan was to head to work on Wednesday/today. I had to vacate the apartment anyway for the reglazing, and three days out of the office - especially when the bosses are on vacation - is not such a good idea for work flow or accountability. I should have known the day was going to go to crap, when I woke up to the first of the alarms, burst into tears and very maturely started to whine: "I don't wanna go to work." (Yes, I'm a 40-year-old-woman. Yes, I was crying. Not a good sign.)

I regrouped. Did my apartment straightening. Got ready. Got everything in the bathroom clean again. Took the computer apart and hid it. Had my bags packed and was actually early! Plenty of time to leave the keys with the super.... but ... Strike 2 of the day. No one answering the super's bell. No one answering the phone. WHAT TO DO!? So, I waited in the lobby. Missed my train. Started to run late. I knocked again. No answer. Decided to call 1 more time, and then to figure out what to do with keys/calling into office about being out AGAIN. Call 2: Apparently I had woken the super's wife (sorry Sylvia) who was enjoying the last few days of summer vacation with her kids. Many apologies on both sides. Left the keys. Caught slowpoke local train. ONLY 1/2 hour late - YAY but grrrr.

The rest of the main part of the day mostly had it's moments of meeeeeegh. I enjoyed having the office to myself, so I could sit in the dimly lit room, ALONE, and power through a bunch of projects with a headache and still some chills. However, the rumor mills started to churn, especially as we arrived and noticed all the NYPD barricades. We knew that POTUS (The President of the United States) was going to be in town for fund-raisers, what we didn't realize was that he was going to be right next door giving speeches and that all of our normal exits would be blocked, the subway would be closed, and that just walking across the street would be impeded. Fine, I thought. I'll just work late and he'll have moved on to the next engagement.

HA! SO MUCH HA!

Day goes by. Some people desert at 4:00, others linger, like me. Office finally clears out of everyone else at 6:30. I do a few more things, hit a good pausing point, and I notice it's 7 p.m. Hey, maybe I should go home! I figure: It's a beautiful night, I'll just walk to Grand Central again, and avoid all the areas with closures due to POTUS, except...

I CANNOT LEAVE THE BUILDING.

SERIOUSLY. We couldn't even get near an exit. The frozen zone extended all the way up to, and past our main entrance, on the 1st floor - of the building NEXT to the building that he wasn't even going to be near.

ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDING ME?

I WANNA GO HOME!

The NYPD (through no fault of theirs I am sure) had to freeze us in the building for another 20 minutes. Good grief. I'm all for safety of the head of state, but ... ENOUGH WITH THE NYC FUNDRAISERS. YOU ARE ALIENATING A MAJOR PORTION OF YOUR POSSIBLE VOTING BASE BY FREEZING THE UPPER WEST SIDE, MR. POTUS.

I had a moment of: Do I go back to my desk and work or do I bang on locked doors screaming "Attica Attica" 'til the NYPD or Secret Service free me from the Big Grey Box that is my office building?

I wisely decided that getting arrested was not a good idea and spent few minutes huddling with a colleague in her office, since we were both stuck and we needed to discuss a few things anyway. (Pretty sad that we finally have time to have a meeting after 7 on a work day, just because we can't leave the building - but that's how it is.)

When we were finally sprung from the Big House, we still couldn't quite get to our subway so we wandered down and around and through the side streets and back alleys of NYC until we got to Columbus Circle where upon I decided to skip the walk and take mass transit home. Spent the ride and lots of time at Times Square Shuttle area continuing "discussion" (aka thinly veiled snarkfest) with colleague about work until I realized I really needed to go home ASAP! Her too. To be continued. RUN to shuttles for the trains.

P.S. When did the sun start going down before 8:00 p.m.? Because that wasn't fun to see when the train pulled out of the Park Avenue tunnel. The days are getting too short, especially when you are at work for 10 hours.

And, now we hit the real high point of the day. (And I use HIGH on purpose.)

I arrive to my apartment to find a note on the exterior door reading:

Please if you can don't use the bathtub till Friday evening. So it can dry off completely.

Thanks Super.

Excuse me?

No one said ANYTHING about NOT having shower access for 2 more mornings?!

So I open the door to my apartment, about get knocked out by fumes like I haven't inhaled in years (accidentally, while painting, or doing automotive work or working in fast food with industrial cleaners), and saw this:

WHAT.THE.WHAT?!

This is not a usable bathroom in anyway shape or form!

I ran back downstairs to the super's, got my keys from poor Ms. Sylvia, and she assured me that I could use the sink and the toilet, but ... no go on the shower until Friday - which means Saturday really. No other units in the building are free so I could sneak in and use their showers, because the ones that aren't occupied are in the same situation as this. And, I'm sorry. I am not going to use the super's bathroom, no matter how sweet his wife is, because she has two kids home from summer break and it's not her fault the landlord didn't tell either of us that THIS was going to be the situation. I would have stayed in the dorm, with a friend, or gotten a hotel room or something. I'm going to be going old-school with a sink shower in the a.m. (It's good to be reminded that at least I have the option of a sink shower - not everyone does. Yes, these are all First World Problems and my ancestors are up there laughing their angel wings off at me.)

Even with a window open, the air conditioning on, and a fan blowing on the tub in the bathroom, the fumes are .... a tad ...... WHEEEEEEEE. I'm not intentionally huffing, but I can't help it. There's no choice.

Imagine fumes from old fashioned paint + wallpaper adhesive + linoleum + magic markers = Still not as strong as glazing fumes here right now.

However, I am remembering why I actually LIKE paint fumes. They are an appetite suppressant. If keep inhaling glazing fumes, will I lose weight? Because I am losing brain cells. Pretty sure that's what the headache is from.

Who says living in/near NYC is glamorous? 'Cause it ain't.
Old apartments are ever so delightful.
You never know when the City is going to grind to a stop because of some out-of-towner.
And the best laid plans of mice and men? Often go astray.

I want a do over for this week.

Though, I only have myself to blame.

P.S. Also, even though you think 10:30 p.m. may be too late for your super to visit to check in on you, and you may have decided to get into some of your p.j.s and "liberate the girls," it's probably a good idea not to leave your unmentionables drying on the fan by the bathroom. You just never know. It's hard to whisk somethings away discretely without embarrassing yourself and the super. I think I need to leave a bigger Christmas tip this year. Poor guy.

And

P.S.S. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Fumes are FUNNNNNN!

NOT

Later updates:

The week got a little more interesting after this was posted on the Wednesday it happened. Thursday night around 11 p.m. I returned a call from dear friend Wendy - who was out West with Ms. Emily visiting her father, dropping her eldest off at the MTC, and seeing my parents. She and Emily were due to fly back to NYC and see me on Friday for dinner, but her transport plans hit a snafu and she was wondering if ... they could stay over with me! WHAT?!

UM, sure Wendy? As long as you don't mind sleeping on the floor in a crowded studio apartment with no access to the shower because even though the super said that the shower should be okay by Friday night, they called and said to let it cure for another night -- Saturday by this point? Oh, and I need to be back in NYC at the train station by around 8:30 a.m. because I already have plans?! Come on over! The more the merrier and it's almost like those times at Girl Camp, except we do have an indoor toilet and air conditioning and take-out, and cable t.v. and a computer! However, the 13 year old is sleeping on the floor and you get the air mattress.

So that happened. No shower for a few days. Horrid fumes that gave me the fume-fugue for two days of dopiness. Last minute house guests. Three people in a tiny studio.

And then...

When I FINALLY got to take a shower on Saturday night around 9:30 p.m. when I got home and had unwrapped the bathroom, and cleaned it up, and scrubbed my self down, and then washed my hair twice and conditioned, and groomed, did I have to deal with the fact that I was standing in calf-deep water because ...

the.dang.shower.wouldn't.drain!

At 10p.m. I had to bail it out, 1 cup at a time, clean it all over again, and then spend 2 days dumping Liquid Plumber and hot water down it to get it drain correctly!

I REALLY WANT A DO OVER FOR THAT WHOLE WEEK! So I could have gotten a hotel room or something. I feel horrible about being a bad hostess with no shower for weary travelers!

*A couple of friends told me later that this should have been subtitled: The Huffington Post !

New National Holiday!

Did you know that Sunday, March 28th was a little-known national holiday? Me neither. Luckily I have neighbors who let us know about such things.*

Apparently yesterday was National Return the Laundry Cart Day!
Festivities include the plastering of your building and the elevators with reminders to:

It is a very low-key holiday. It's not even sponsored by a detergent or fabric softener company who could pay for the design and printing of fancy decorations/flyers.

Think of the sponsorship opportunities. We could have Pimp Your Laundry Cart days, ala the Pimp Your Bookcart contests run by these guys and sponsored by the major bookcart company. Since it was so close to Easter this year, the carts could have been decorated like Easter Baskets. Think of the Halloween tie-ins ... A Where's Waldo? costume for the laundry cart would also be appropriate!

This holiday is an opportunity to bring shared-laundry room apartment/condo/co-op dwellers closer together ... to put names to the faces of those laundry cart hogs, er, I mean, users. We could debate the pros and cons of the amounts, sizes, and other attributes of the carts we have:

i.e. Do you like the ones with the bars or not?

When do you use the carts the most? For laundry or grocery hauling?

Is the cart EVER there when you need it?

What color would you like to paint the cart, if you could?

What about names for the cars? Squeaky? Gimpy? Pokey?

So, next year when March 28th rolls around, won't you join us in celebrating National Return the Laundry Cart Day? Spread the word -- and return the )(#*)!( cart!

* This isn't the first time.

Wakeup Call

What's better than four alarm clocks, running for an early train, and/or a caffeinated beverage to get you going in the morning? FREEZING COLD SHOWERS!

Our building is full of college students and working stiffs; two groups of people who hate the morning for various reasons. Getting up is difficult, so any help is appreciated. ... well, almost any help. (reference above)

The following notices went up around the building last week.

Like this time of year isn't hard enough, what with school and depressing anniversaries, and the health warnings about washing up properly so as not to get the H1N1 virus, now there is NO HOT WATER? Eh, at least we got notices this time. Usually we find out the hard way. ... Canyou say, shrinkage?

Mr. Landlord,

If you must "motivate" us in the morning, I would prefer an ice cold Diet Coke over an ice cold shower.

Just a suggestion.

Hugs and kisses,

Auntie Nettie

Commuting ViEWWs

I've been taking the Metro-North train home for years, and have never quite noticed what I did last Friday. I'm usually reading, staring off into space, or spinning stories about the residents who live in the apartments in the area. Plus, after so many years of commuting, you stop paying attention to what is familiar...

To set the scene: Trains pull into the platform at 125th Street right next to some apartments. This particular building is pretty sketchy and looks rather dilapidated. Residents on the upper floors have a direct look onto the platform and into the train cars. Here's a view:

Friday afternoon, I realized HOW blase one resident has gotten about her view. Look carefully beyond the "curtain" into the room beyond the middle apartment. Can't see it?

Look carefully at this closeup ...

EWWWWWWWW!

I count myself lucky that I didn't see anyone using the furnishings in this room! But that.is.gross! Close the curtain people, PLEASE!

Joys of Apartment Dwelling

I came home from work the other night and found this posted in the elevator.

I hope they return the carts soon. I have 5 loads of laundry to do!