Siddity in the City

Girl at ATM #1: “God, I need that fucking check. My mom’s being such a bitch. Doesn’t she understand I’m a big girl with bills to pay?”

Girl at ATM #2: “Um, yeah, that she pays for.”

Girl #1: “Well, at least I’m doing an internship, she has to give me credit for that.”

***

Speaks for itself, dunnit?

No, I did not clothesline her as she left. I have more self control than that. However, if I had known at the time that the apartment for which I had just applied had already been given away to someone else that morning, I might have. I might have had to at least trip the little snatch.

That makes #3, by the way, of apartments I actually briefly believed I “had” slipping through mine fingers. I told them I wanted it Wednesday, didn’t get my materials in until Friday afternoon. They rented it Friday morning. Sigh. When I found out, Saturday afternoon, I had a little breakdown on the N, whereupon Stolie and Bro reassured me it was normal to suffer this much in New York. And they, of course, are right.

Agh. Why am I staying here? Why not move back to Boston, or to Philly, or to Chicago, make my fortune, and take NYC on when I’m better positioned to do so?

Because once I leave, I’m not coming back, so I need to get it all out of my system now. Because as much of a pain in the ass as it is to deal with the crowds, or the attitude, or the unclefucking sky-high rents, it’s pretty much the only place you can make a run to get coffee for yourself and run into Matt Dillon at 10 am, have lunch next to a gabillionaire at 2 pm, pay $20 for rush tickets to Tosca and after it’s over be home in your jammies having a Heinie and bacon cheeseburger delivered to your door at 1:30 in the morning. Are all these things ridiculous and shallow? Yes. Do I want them, all the same? Yep. At least for a little while.

But, if I haven’t found an apartment OR job by Dec. 1, I’m going to travel for a few weeks and retool my plan. Sigh.