Nicole In A Nutshell

April 2, 2009


Filed under: Apartamentos,It's All About Me,Shopping,Steals and Deals — by Nicole @ 10:04 pm

Well, boys and girls, FOREVER took a lot less time than I thought, as I have found an apartment and signed a lease!!! There are so many wonderful features about this place that it is hard to figure out where to begin. Actually, it’s not so hard…the place is less than 3 blocks from work, which means “Sayonara MTA!!!” I cannot, repeat, CANNOT wait to flip that fucking system (and my heinous daily commute) the bird in just a few short weeks. Someone told me that there was a study which found a direct correlation between short commutes and overall happiness. I haven’t even moved in yet, but I can already tell you that I’m near certain that htis will be the case for me. No more unwashed masses, no more throwing elbows before I’ve had my coffee, no more seat face-offs. Serenity now.

I have to give a big shout out and thank you to Lauren Dulberg, my wonderful broker. She knows her stuff and will make sure you’ve got your shit together so that you can get into the perfect home. I highly recommend that you trust her with your realty needs :).

Now onto some shopping goodness: if you’re into Juicy Couture, do yourself a favor and print out this coupon, which is good at the Juicy factory outlets. Just one caveat: please make sure you write “Mary Horan” on the page before you turn it over to the cashier so that she gets credit for the sale(s). Thanks, and happy shopping!

Juicy Couture 30% off coupon

March 30, 2009

Snoozing and losing

Filed under: Apartamentos,bitchin' and moanin',It's All About Me — by Nicole @ 11:32 pm

I’m going to go ahead and borrow a line from one of my favorites to express my feelings on the NYC real estate market: “Rat farts!!!” Let me rewind and say that I have indeed found a wonderful broker whom I trust and know will help me find the perfect place (thanks for the suggestion J, and thanks for putting up with me L!). Now with that being said, I need a kick in the ass. I’d do it myself, but I’ve got a bad knee.

Allow me to share the chronology of my latest hunting experience (note: looking for apartments is the only kind of hunting real New Yorkers do). Found the cutest place. Went back to see it three times. Displayed a stunning lack of decisiveness. Finally decided to go for it. Picked out paint colors and furniture. Gathered all of the necessary paperwork (including application, tax returns, second grade report card, 500 word essay on why I am the perfect renter, and photo ID). Paid the credit check fee. Waited, fairly impatiently, for the application decision. Found out that apartment had been snatched out from under me within a matter of hours. Got really annoyed. Re-ignited futile Craigslist searching.

Moral of the story: don’t be a pussy. Had I sacked up and made a decision when my instinct told me that I would be happy in this place, I could have signed a lease today. Had I spent less time choosing acoutrements and decorations than taking care of actual business, I would be toasting to my new 3 block work commute. I’m telling myself that this apartment wasn’t meant to be for me, but that’s just so I don’t stay up all night pondering what might have been.

So it’s back to the drawing board. If you need me, I’ll be out hitting the pavement. FOREVER.

March 25, 2009

Pop-ins, pricks, and Paula

Yes, I’m all over the place today. Bear with me.

Let’s start with PRICKS. Fuck the MTA. Somewhere really uncomfortable. Like in the back of a Volkswagen. Fuck the board members who know nothing of the crowded, unwashed masses that comprise rush hour traffic. Fuck these assholes who just a few years ago maintained a massive surplus (where’d it go, because it certainly didn’t go towards inproving service) and now cry poverty. Fuck these bitches who are not only hiking fares by alarmingly significant amounts, but are simultaneously making giant service cuts. Fuck their subsidized housing. Fuck their towncar rides to work. Fuck them all. Their time will come, and my only hope is that I be there to see it. I envision it might look something like the undoing of Mussolini at Piazzale Loreto.

Now, onto POP-INS. Since I live in the borough of Siberia, I don’t get many pop-ins. However, it can be a serious problem for some (well, maybe not so serious), and I address it now. Let’s use the generic example of the pop-in on a newly relocated person/couple/family/roommate conglomeration/etc. We’ll say that it took place at about 11 a.m. on a Saturday with no advanced notice.

The pop-in is a multifaceted maneuver, so let’s first examine the issue of timing. Not only was our pop-in in question undertaken just weeks after the big move, but it went down on a weekend morning. Whoa. There are red flags flying all over the place. I believe that a societal rule should be set in stone right here and now: no pop-ins on a fresh move until after the housewarming party*. To me, it’s just a matter of courtesy.

* N.B.: We are talking only about pop-ins. This rule does not apply to previously invited guests.

As for the weekend morning situation, I’ll borrow a line from one of the heroes of our time, a Mr. GOB Bluth, and that line is “Come on!!!” The morning pop-in moratorium is something that shouldn’t even have to be said, but alas, it seems to be an issue. As a self-accepting lifelong “non-morning person”, I might be alone on this one, but I really don’t think I am.

We now come to the question of notice: how much is enough? Unless it’s an emergency, simply pressing the buzzer to announce your presence does not notice make. A pop-in is not, by definition, an orchestrated event. It is an “I was in the neighborhood” kind of thing. As such, there is no reason to give less than 5 minutes notice for a standard pop-in. If one is already in the ‘hood, one can find something to do with one’s time for 5 minutes if need be. Find a Starbucks. I think this can happen if people pull together and realize how they’d react if someone was ringin’ on their door at an inopportune moment. Again, putting this guideline in place is common civility at work.

Finally, we get to PAULA. Girl, please get some styling help tout de suite. In fact, I hereby offer my services. The evening gown/tutu hybrid works on NO ONE. The Wednesday night Idol outfit served only 2 purposes: to confuse young children (who were up past their bedtime) by combining two pieces that even they would know not to put together whilst playing dress-up, and to just add fuel to the fire that is your reputation as a wacked out looney toon. The hair was pretty, and I’ll give you that. However, fire your wardrobe chick. YESTERDAY.

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