Well, it’s happened. My friend Christine has taken the leap from using me to torment her roommate (I mentioned her situation here), to calling me up and threatening to…you know, kill him. So, it seems it’s time to hunt for apartments (or find her a really, really good lawyer), and guess who’s been recruited to help? That’s right – Redhead.
Now, I don’t remember Christine helping me search for apartments when I last had to move, but apparently (as she’s explained it) I owe her – according to her I’ve been blowing her off to ‘hang with the boyfriend’ lately. To this I would like to point out that A) That’s bullshit – I don’t blow her off any more now than I ever did (which admittedly is a lot), and B) Even if I was, this isn’t fair! I call this cruel and unusual punishment – I HATE looking at apartments. It’s tiring, most of them are depressing as hell (and ridiculously fucking expensive), the market in Manhattan is always competitive and stressful, and (let’s be very clear here) I HAVE NO INTEREST IN IT! Some people like doing shit like looking at apartments and picking out paint colors and talking about decorating. I am not one of those people. If I could have made my friends go look at apartments for me (and pick one for me), I would have – hell, I would have paid them to do it. But noooo, I didn’t. Why? Because I’m awesome, that’s why…and they’re not stupid enough to have agreed. (Oh, and FYI – if Christine asks me to help her pack, our relationship is over.)
Having said all that, I can be guilted into things. Including apartment hunting (apparently). But together – I have my pride. Or I did, until last night. Last night I became…I don’t know, Christine’s assistant? Her gopher? Her bitch? This is what happened: I got home from work yesterday and was minding my own business, trying to decide whether I wanted to have an ice pop (orange) or a Red Bull (sugar free) for dinner – I seriously need to go grocery shopping – when my phone rang. I answered it (mistake #1), cautiously said ‘sure’ when Christine asked if I would do her ‘a favor’ (mistake #2), and then didn’t hang up once she explained what that ‘favor’ was (mistake #3).
Turns out, I had unwittingly agreed to walk 7 blocks in the 95 degree heat (and humidity), to go look at a 6th floor walkup for her. Alone. She was ‘stuck’ in a meeting downtown (I suspect this was a lie), and didn’t want to miss out on what sounded like a good deal (it was a reasonably priced one-bedroom in Manhattan – not an easy find). And since I live nearby (damnit), I could easily go check it out (they were having an open house) and give her a call if it was worth trecking uptown. (What…the…fuck?) Yeah, I know – amazing, right? Who agrees to this shit?
Quick sidenote: Christine has decided that if she lives closer to me, we’ll go out more (less of a chance of my complaining and using the ‘lazy’ excuse when she wants to get together). AND, it stands to reason that we will have more of an opportunity to meet hot guys the more often we go out.
One more sidenote: Christine has decided that I’m about a month away from dumping NY Guy, and therefore has concluded that it’s not wrong to plan ahead for my single days. As she put it, “I look forward to the day when you finally fall in love – I really do. I can’t wait actually. I intend to call you whipped and mock you at your rehearsal dinner. But let’s be honest – you’re not there yet.” Ooookay…
Fuck. Anyway, that’s all just a lead in to how I found myself climbing a seemingly endless set of stairs in an unairconditioned building last night. (WTF? Why do stairs never seem to have any bearing on how much you exercise or how in shape you are? I thought I was dying by the time I reached the top floor – yup, the top floor.) Somehow I made it to the top without spontaneously bursting into flames, turned to my right, and was faced with the horror – it was fucking packed. Guess what you don’t want when you’re hot and cranky? That’s right, a crowd of people around you. Yet that’s what I got.
But being a good (nay, awesome – yes I just wrote ‘nay,’ shut up) friend, I soldiered on. Slipping through the door and retreating into the bedroom area, I finally looked around. And it was…adorable. High ceilings, air conditioning (thank God), a loft over part of the living room with an old-fashioned winding staircase leading up to it – it was completely unique and charming. I knew I had to call Christine. Fast.
So after ordering Chris to get her ass in a cab, immediately, I went to work. There were too many people there, many of them asking to fill out applications. And the super was trying to shut down the open house early – he had plenty of interest after just the first 20 minutes. Now the women were a lost cause – they would have torn me limb from limb if I tried to slow them down, but the men could be momentarily distracted. And the super could be sweet-talked. In the 15 minutes or so that it took Christine to arrive, I somehow got one of the last applications, borrowed a pen from a fat guy who hadn’t yet filled out his own application, and tied up the super in a discussion about his dog so he wouldn’t lock up. I also talked two other guys out of the apartment and did everything short of tap dancing to buy Christine some time. Talk about going above and beyond the call of duty – it was the longest 15 minutes of my life.
But she made it (pretty damn quickly actually), and immediately agreed with me – the apartment was perfect. Thank fucking God. Handing her the application and pen, I promptly collapsed in the corner of the kitchen and tried to fend off the fat guy who had (admittedly) been so nice to me.
Isn’t looking for apartments fun?!
Anyway, as I was contemplating how I would make Christine pay me back for this debacle, she finished up her application and we got ready to leave. As we started to troop down the stairs, I zoned out a little. And then it happened…Christine lost her footing. (Note: She does this shit all the time – totally makes her worth hanging out with.) There we were, me going down behind Christine (thankfully), when she misjudged the next step, and WHOOSH! Down she goes – and kept going. Down what was, quite literally, I’m going to guess about half a flight of stairs. Hard. It was…fucking brilliant.
PLUS, she was wearing a dress, and the skirt totally ended up around her waist (woo hoo pink thong!). And…I tried to keep it together. I swear, I really did. I tried to choke out an, ‘Are you okay?’ before completely losing it. And I sort of succeeded. She seemed dazed, more than a little embarrassed, but otherwise okay, yet still I waited for a mumbled ‘I think so’ before completely collapsing. (That’s right – Friend of the Year!)
The super ran out to see what the commotion was and found Christine on the landing below STILL with her skirt about her waist, me sitting on the stairs laughing so hard I was crying (and possibly snorting a little), and a smallish crowd of apartment hunters staring at us in horror. (The fall really did look bad, and my reaction couldn’t really be considered…typical/concerned/kind – but I’m not kidding when I say she does shit like this ALL THE TIME.) Finally, Christine righted herself, stumbled up the stairs to retrieve me – still crumpled on a step hysterically laughing – assured the super she was okay (and wasn’t going to sue) and mumbled something about me not really being insane (blatant lie). Then she tugged me down the rest of the stairs and out of the building.
So, in the end I think I hurt more than helped Christine’s chances of getting the apartment, but what can I say – I’m a loose cannon. Thankfully she didn’t seem too concerned about it one way or the other, and we decided the plusses way outweighed the minuses – Christine finally saw a worthwhile place, I got a REALLY therapeutic laugh out of the whole thing (and so did she after I recounted her fall over and over and over again), and we stopped for beers and got frozen yogurt on the way home (a yummy dinner if ever there was one). All in all, I give last night’s field trip two enthusiastic thumbs up. Did anyone else do anything even remotely interesting?