I once had a Serbian broker.

I don't know if you know, but New York real estate is HORRIBLE. It's like some secret club and, guess what, the old members don't want any new members, so they make it as hard as possible for you to join said club and all you want to do is go home and cry and maybe watch Babysitter's Club because you know they would let you join. Well, maybe not all of them. Maybe Kristy would cause some problems with your approval. She's so bossy! Anyway, I digress.

Initially I thought looking for an apartment in New York would be a breeze. I thought it would be much harder for me to find work or figure out what to do with my life instead of finding an apartment. Oh just how wrong I was...

Originally, I was supposed to be rooming with one person, then it became 3, then 4, then back to three, then we found an apartment, then that fell through, it then it was back to 2. Still is, actually. But that's not the point. The point is I had a Serbian real estate broker.

I was looking at 3 bedroom apartments in Manhattan and found a listing that was in our price range and in a decent neighborhood, so I called the number listed to make an appointement. It rang for a bit before a woman answered, sounding as though she were in wind tunnel. "Hullo!," she said.

"H-hi. I'm calling about the apartment on 64th street." I said.

"Yes, you are from insurance company."

"No, I--what? I'm trying to make an appointment?"

"Yes, you are from the insurance company. When is check coming to me?"

By this time I was very confused. Cornfused, even. I was fairly certain I didn't work for an insurance company, but who knows, I also knew that this woman was not listening to me.

"NO. I'm not from the insurance company! I've never talked to you before! I would like to make an appointment to view one of your apartments!" I said, trying to be firm but polite.

"Ahhhh, okay," she said, seeming to understand what I was saying, "Listen you meet me at Barnes & Noble, we'll go from there. 2 pm."

"Ok...wait, which Barnes & Noble??" I asked

"Ok, yes. There is a small park right across the street from it. 66th street. 2 pm. Goodbye."

"Goo---" I started to say, but she had hung up.

I was quite unsure at this moment. I had a very hard time understanding this woman's English, but I figured it was just a bad connection or something. Again, I keep thinking wrong...ly. I spent most of the next day futsing and trying to figure out the right questions to ask before heading up to meet her. When I finally arrived at the Barnes & Noble, I was 25 minutes early. Nothing like awkwardly walking around a small "park" after walking around a Barnes & Noble for 15 minutes, right? Right. Finally, she called me. She instructed me to meet her across the street. I did. She then had me sign a sort of affidavit which I assume gave her the rights to harvest my organs at anytime, before we were on our way...

Now, I've had my fair share of awkward moments in life (though some may find that surprising!) but this whole experience was really something. I think if I really tried to tell you the whole story you and I would be dead by the time I was finished. Probably by your hands. And even then, I still don't think I'd be done talking. Wow, I'm sorry, that was grim. And I don't think it entirely made sense. Suffice to say, the apartments she showed me that day ranged from junkie-themed heroin den, to pretty-okay if small, to holyshitsomeonewouldactuallyliveinthisplace?

But what was really memorable that day, and what really brought me and my Serbian broker together, was our bus ride. Or bus rides, rather. I'm gonna need you to stay with me now and read the next post for the story of "Vincent". Or, if you'd like, take a break, get a snack, etc. If you've actually made it to the end of this post without giving up, I'd say you deserve it. Anyway, see you reaaaal soon...(that was meant to be menacing.)

The one where the bug flew down my shirt.

When I was in New York on my suuuuper amazing apartment hunting trip (I can't always tell if irony fairs well in written form?) my friends and I planned to meet up for Margaritas one Saturday evening in Manhattan. I was staying with my brother in Brooklyn, and we were meeting at 8, so I left in plenty of time for the subway ride, but I eventually had to take a cab to the restaurant because I went the wrong way once I got off the train, but that's neither here nor there.

It was a very warm night. I had on a dress with a scooped neck and a sort-of summer cardigan if you will, and my hair was down. We chatted and caught up whilst waiting for our 4th person to arrive before we could sit. The restaurant was very loud and quite dark, also very packed, but this did not particularly bother me. What did end up bothering me was moments away.

I mentioned that it was quite warm and that my hair was down, so I decided to put it up. No sooner had I gathered my tresses when I felt something fall out of my hair, land on my shoulder and slip down the inside of my dress. I remained calm. I did not want to cause a scene. I turned to the side to remove said something, thinking it was a leaf (I had been standing near a tree) when I finally realized what it was.

A cockroach. A cockroach had either been on my person, or along the wall where I sat and had then nestled itself down my dress, in my bra. I quickly used my hand-claws to fling it away from me, staving off vomit, towards a couple a table over. It hit one of them in the leg, falling to the ground dead. The next few minutes were a blur. I think half-famished from wandering around in the New York heat, half in shock, I continued to sit in this restaurant. I drank a Margarita. Worse, I stayed and ate a quesadilla. Actually, what really might be worse is that I did not alert my friends to said trauma that I had just underwent. I didn't really know how to though. I was mortified and disgusted, but also in disbelief...surely these things don't happen to people. Disgustingly foul insects just don't ended up in people's cleavage on hot summer nights, do they?

Well, yes, in New York, I guess they do.

Contamination Hazard Urban Disposal

Ok. So here's the thing...I may or may not have an irrational fear of C.H.U.D.s. And when I say may not, I mean Yes, I really do have an irrational fear of Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers, or C.H.U.D.s, for short. They don't exist you say? Well, I'm sorry, I just don't believe you. The subway's a creepy place and enough weird things happen in it that they could totally exist and be waiting for their next meal when some innocent person (ME) least expects it.

I suppose this fear is doubly irrational because it would seem I am more concerned over a possibly fictitious humanoid character (also called Morlocks, Troglodytes, etc.) than I am of say, a mugger, or murderer, you know, something more classically New York, but just think about it! It's totally legit. They have it all planned out. No cell phone reception, very dark, smelly, dirty (notorious C.H.U.D. characteristics (since they used to be homeless (nothing against homeless people, cause, to be fair, they've got it pra-hitty ruff))); and to top it all off, the rats! What do you think C.H.U.D.s live off of when they can't get the human they so love? RATS! And other rodents able to avoid being electrocuted by the third rail.

That's another thing, I think the third rail was most likely invented to keep C.H.U.D.s at bay, but they can't be stopped. They can't be contained. They are coming. They are hungry and you, you, smell like pot roast. So..just think about that the next time you're stumbling back to Brooklyn at 2:45 in the morning. You might just end up a meal for an ex-homeless person that's now a mutant. And not the good kind either, like Professor Xavier. But, of course, I don't mean the bad kind like Magneto, I literally mean the bad kind of mutant that was once human and now eats humans for energy...C.H.U.D.s!

Going back to Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn...

Remember that Colin Quinn song that was a parody of LL's Going Back to Cali? Yeah, me too...Anyway, I'm moving to New York in, like, a week and I'm totally fine. Yup, not nervous at all! I've started packing and everything! Oh shit...no, I haven't. Oh gaaddddd, whyyy am I dooing thissssss?!?!?! Err, sorry my, um, internet cut out for a second...question mark?

Ok, so I'm pretty sure you're wondering why I'm moving to the city, and I'd really like to let you know, It's all because of the opening scene of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: Secret of the Ooze. Obviously a life-changing filmic experience on its own, the opening scene perfectly captures what New York is all about: Pizza and depression. Two things I really really love!! Wait, that's not eggzactly right is it? Hmm..anyway. I really love pizza. And I learned from that movie, and subsequent visits to New York, that New Yorkers really love pizza. I even have it on good authority that all New Yorkers do is go to important business meetings and eat pizza. Sometimes, they do this AT the same time. Can you IMAGINE? Wow...dream big!

Anyway, I highly suggest you check out the forgotten classic TMNT II:SOTO as a sort of crash course for all things New York City. These things include (but are not limited too): Asians delivering pizzas!, Asians fighting Ninja gangs side-by-side with giant turtles!, Giant turtles living in a reaaaally nice (albeit, unbelievable) apartment with a human woman!, A human woman befriending giant turtles!, That guy from Time Bandits being a scientist making small animals into giant animals!, Underground parties where Vanilla Ice will come up with a rap hand-tailored for you on the spot!, and so much more. Trust me, you'll learn more about New York City from one movie than you ever would by actually being there.

And this is my blog. Welcome to Candleshoe. What? I don't know, I just didn't really know how to end this post.