I’m finally looking into getting my own damn apartment in New York, after having crashed with my pal Smyres for, oh, about elevendy-million weeks now. Let this be a lesson to you, my little friends: when someone asks you if they can stay with you for awhile, say no. Just say no. Don’t ask how long. The answer is “too long.” Don’t ask why. The answer is “because maybe the cops won’t find me if I’m hiding in your storage closet.” Please ignore me. I’ve been watching the Law & Order marathon all day.
My problem is that many fun neighborhoods look sorta dicey to me. This is because I’m a pantywaist. I’m currently trying to get this apartment in the East Village, and I keep going back and forth about whether I really want it. The argument goes like this:
Pro: Fun area. Many interesting things to do, most involving music or writing.
Con: I stick out like sore thumb among the hipsters. (Perhaps I should stop licking my palm and using it to flatten my cowlick.)
Pro: Apartment is cute.
Con: Also the size of a shoebox.
Pro: Apartment is recently redone.
Con: Shower is in the kitchen.
Pro: Access to the roof.
Con: Through the window, which I should probably keep double-locked anyway.
Pro: No fee.
Con: So expensive.
I love making lists. Now that I’m looking at everything all lined up, it’s clear that I should buy some MACE and burgler locks and stop being such a baby. Oh, and knock over a bank.
Can I stay at your place for awhile?