Where oh where can a decent apartment be? Where or where can one be?

**Before I launch in to this entry, I just want to wish everyone out here in blogger land a very Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and safe & healthy New Years. I hope that everyone enjoyed their festivities, and are all well.**

If I was not living the nightmare of apartment hunting, and witnessed regrettably) some of the apartments I have, would never believe what I am about to share with all of you. And just think, I live in the suburbs, not even in the city. I could only imagine what it must be like to search in an urban area. There has been much drama going on at home, and even though I have toyed with the notion of moving out, never really got off my butt to look for something. But now, things have gotten a bit sticky at home, and mom has made it clear that she does not value my contribution to the house, or respect me and my needs. The breaking point was Christmas Eve for me, when she made it clear that I was not included in our (annual tradition of attending midnight mass.) But I've totally jumped ahead with that comment. anyway, since just before Thanksgiving it became apparent that my days at casa de Lucretia were coming to an end. I started to look for apartments, and even put the word out to respected co-workers and friends to keep their eyes and ears peeled. Enjoy what I've encountered:

1. Apartment located in Bay Shore, NY: This ad was torn down from a paper hanging in the grocery store. It was for a studio apartment, and turned out not to be too far from my best friend Nelson (who was not the one who got me the information.) Anyway, I secure an appointment to look at the space, and the landlord (who was driving home from Brooklyn) was mad late. I mean late to the point where I was getting ready to leave. I had been sitting in front of this dark house, which looked something that could have been nice, yet was still spooky and had a for sale sign on the front lawn. Dude finally shows up and brings me to the BASEMENT apartment. Which OK, a basement apartment would have been fine. But this basement STUDIO apartment? Uh, no! You had to walk down STEEP stairs, and entered in to the sitting area. When I tell you the sitting area wouldn't have been able to accommodate a love seat, I am not kidding. You could not fit two people in to the kitchenette. The bedroom had no closet, which the guy was going to build, and I don't know how you'd be able to fit a bed in there. The only saving grace was the bathroom, which had a bench in the shower stall, so you could sit. If I could have lived in the bathroom, it may have worked. I was so stupefied by this, that I actually considered taking the apartment, called Nelson to have him check it out. THANK GOD Nelson saw it for what it was, and aside from not liking the 'crack city' neighborhood, said to me 'no way in hell are you taking this. Ian and Peter wouldn't even be able to fit down here, let alone The Squirrel'. Needless to say, we moved on.
2. I then called the number from another grocery store which the same friend (who gave me the first number gave me.) The man seemed very nice, yet reluctant to even set up an appointment to view the apartment. Finally he asks me: 'Do you speak Spanish?". So taken slightly aback, as I could tell by his accent that this dude did, I was honest and told him 'no, I do not.' So he asks me to call him tomorrow, and when I do...surprisingly the apartment was rented to a nice 'Espanish' couple. I felt like I was discriminated against for not being Hispanic, and was actually insulted.
3. Then on CraigsList (ahhhh, good old CraigsList) I found yet another apartment in Bay Shore, not too far from Nelson. And this time, it was through a real estate agency. Again, it was listed as a studio, close to the water, cats were allowed. It sounded good. I repeat....sounded. I set the appointment to go view it, and drag Nelson around since he is my voice of reason, and knows certain areas. When I gave him and Peter the address, Peter and him flipped, saying it could possibly be in the drug dealers/ prostitution den on Bay Shore. If we were on one side of the road, don't even stop, but if it was on the other side, it MAY be OK. So Nelson and I go trekking to this apartment, and had the damnedest time even finding it, as there was no adequate lighting or numbering on surrounding buildings. We both began to get a bad feeling about this, turned around since we had gotten tot he marina, and back-tracked. Upon heading back, we saw the building, which was a Victorian style. Nelson said it used to be a rehab house, and he didn't want me staying there. Plus again, bordering on prostitution parkway. Well, lets just sum this up with, after we left we both wanted to take showers. Walking in, the landlord explained that the fireplace in the common area didn't work, new carpeting still needed to be put down. He shows us what COULD have been my apartment, and I was afraid of getting hepatitis c. Filth and grime everywhere. Not to mention it looked like someone smeared feces along the hallway walls.
4. So anyway, I'd all but gave up hope. Until last night. I went and viewed an apartment in Huntington, and plan to bring Nelson back tomorrow to see it. I am pretty sure this is 'THE ONE.' For multiple reasons. It is still small, but quaint. And I can bring the cats. I don't want to say too much more until I know what is going on....but please everyone keep your fingers crossed.

I’m a Good Share-er Mommy…See?

Last night, as I was in the kitchen, trying to do three things at once (as usual) and I was exhausted. Because you know….I think I am Wonder Woman, when really I am just Super Girl. For example: due to summer hours at work, I am in the office until 5:30 at night, which is not anything different, as I usually work late anyway. But then, I stopped off for tanning, and then home to pick up Ida (and mom by the way) and ran to the craft store Michaela, the party supply store Party Hardy, and then stopped off for dinner. Hence our getting home at 9:15 at night, and I still had to get things done.

Because I have failed to mention that Ida convinced me to start a side business with her. Shah! I am the one doing the works, not her. But wanting to get our company name out there, promised Pal-O-Mine a basket to raffle off (full of our goods) at their event which is taking place at Belmont Race Track on June 1st. So for the past week and a half, I have been making handmade soaps, candles, cookies, dog snacks, and chocolates for this gift basket.

Which brings me back to the kitchen? Last night. At 9:15pm. With me trying to package up all the items to put in the gift basket, as well as separate stuff I had made for a co-workers baby shower tomorrow (i.e. chocolates and cookies.) Plus avoid stepping on Blaze the Wonder Pup who is now 7 months old, and HUGE, and enjoys being right along side me, AND talk to a friend of mine, whose mom passed away and her wake is being held today. Get it? See all the things I had to juggle at once? Did you fail not to see the part where I mentioned Blaze being 7 months old, HUGE, and being under foot?

But I was coping, and getting it all done. The basket was looking oh-so-pretty, and oh-so-full. Lisa was actually laughing at a few of my stupid life stories, Blaze was bringing me her baby tiger (the one plush toy she has yet to murder) and we were fetching it between my getting the basket together. BUT THEN…but I repeat, then I see Blaze happily jogging in to the family room, was a jiggly noise. You know…like as if you were to shake a bottle of pills. And I see that she doesn’t have her squeaky sneaker (which she had switched off from her tiger to fetch with) at my feet. Woooahhhhh nelly, what did she have?

‘Blazie-butt….come. What do you have?’ I call concerned and horror stricken. She turns, with tail a wagging, and I note she DOES have a bottle of pills in her mouth. Blaze comes to me, and looks sad, with the ‘uh-oh….are you mad at me?’ look she has perfected way too quickly. So I remove the bottle from her mouth, and notice that it’s a bottle of my prescription medicine…my Zoloft.

What did Blaze do? And why am I titling this entry I’m a Good Share-er Mommy…See?Simple. Because Blaze the Wonder Pup swapped me out her squeaky sneaker (a toy which makes her happy) for my bottle of Zoloft (which keeps my anxiety at bay.) She was sharing, and expected the trade off to be a valid one. Needless to say, my bottle of meds is back upstairs in the medicine cabinet, and she was given her squeaky sneaker and some baby carrots for not destroying the bottle. Maybe that was Blaze’s way of telling me I don’t need the Zoloft anymore, because I have her. Either way, Blaze is a good share-er