Today ends easily the happiest year of my life, and by far the most stressful year of my life. Officially the lease of the apartment love of my life (So far) ended and with it the nightmare of 9 months of subletting. I've had my share of issues with sublettors in New York, the crisis hit and I couldn't find a sublettor for more than 2 months, I've had sublettors not pay rent, move out without notice and I had a sublettor hire a lawyer after he failed to pay bills for 6 months and flooded the bathroom- instead of mopping it up, he laid out the weekend edition of the New York Times. I got the money for the bills, but found it too stressful to deal with fighting for the water damage while living in Chile. Last week in New York my neighbor directly below me knocked on the door with the super and complained his ceiling had been about to fall in for... you guessed it, 9 months.
In deciding to move to Chile I had to sublet my own room, with all of my personal things, my paintings, my ultra comfortable bed, and several pieces of furniture I had made myself. I hated leaving, but I had the chance of a lifetime to follow my heart and explore the world. Unfortunately the only person interested in renting my room gave me an immediate bad impression. I had no choice, and even though she was pushy and rude I rented her my room. My rent for my 3 bedroom apartment was 2600 and I rented her my room furnished for 1100- 10% extra for having been furnished. In the 9 months I was gone, rent was never paid by the first despite 3 sublease agreements stipulating this. Bills had become a mess, and although I came home at Christmas to sort out the confusion I was met with hostility and the annoying feeling of having a person you truly found pushy, self-absorbed and unfriendly have intimate contact with all your stuff. Moreover having decided she wanted my file cabinet which had not come with the room, she emptied the contents of what had been a well organized and personal file cabinet into another container so she could use it herself. Thanks for asking...
A couple months later, Sylvain and I decided we weren't interested in living with roommates anymore, we decided to give up the lease on the apartment. Around the same time this girl decided she wasn't going to pay her last months rent despite our sublease agreement specifically dictating the deposit was not to be used for the last months rent. She didn't warn me, or consult me, she just did it. Apparently she had met someone who said I had "stolen" her deposit. I was at a loss for who this could be, as I had never stolen a deposit before. Later I discovered it was someone who moved in for two weeks began classes at Columbia and decided she didn't like her program and moved out. She did not give the required one month notice as stipulated by the sublease agreement, and of course her deposit was forfeited for this reason. Since we had both agreed to these terms I find it rather insane to accuse me of stealing. Put simply, sublettors are a nightmare, you always lose money, and more than anything it is hugely stressful. Last week I was accused of profiting on my apartment because I subletted the room for 10% higher than the rent- this is legal under New York State law. I wonder how this person would have felt if it was his dishes being broken, his things being ruined from never having used a coaster, or spills on microfiber couches. In the end these are just things, and things are not all that important- but one feels a sort of offense when people break, and soil, and take for granted your things.
So when I went home two weeks ago, I just wanted the girl gone, I never cared about the money, she had just been so arrogant and rude, and mean people suck. I just didn't want her in my apartment anymore, which, by the way had not been cleaned since I had left in January, the kitchen had been turned into a recycling center and the shower, oh my god the shower, a black ring of mold around the basin, and it was the orange color of make-up base- needless to say, I didn't shower there until it had been cleaned. When I asked for bill money she refused- saying she always wrote a check to the other roommate- she was apparently afraid I was also a bill stealer, although since the bills were in my name, I do not see the logic in refusing to give a check written out to Con-Ed for all of 18 dollars. In the end I would have happily paid 18 dollars just to see her leave- but she refused and seemed eager to continue arguing over nothing. So I told her to forget the 18 dollars and just, um, leave. She wouldn't and continued to argue for some time, while I sat on my couch and laughed at her. Finally her dad said, but Marina, you're an illegal sublettor so what can she do? And so finally she left. She had been an illegal sublettor, but when she stopped paying rent I told the reality company she was subletting from me, knowing I couldn't trust her and wanting to cover my Parisian ass.
So there it is. My story. An end and a new start. I think I have an unread The Sun to get to... kind of perfect start to this new beginning.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
And after Paris?
Last night Sylvain came home from Marseille having had to take the TOEFL and present himself to a jury at his University. I did not feel like cooking and so we went out to Timbale, the only place in our neighborhood that is pleasant. We had a nice meal and Sylvain told me we could move back in August if I get a job. I had been pushing somewhat for this, but he had always held fast that we would stay until Xmas. So this came as a bit of a surprise, and I had only applied to one teaching job as a sort of well let's just see. We are open to anywhere but there's a crisis so even if we wanted to move elsewhere, NYC is probably the only place I have a chance at getting a job right now.
A week ago I said an emotional good-bye to NYC, my friends sent me off with a consolatory "You'll be back!" and I thought, I hope, maybe. I know I would be happy again in New York, but part of me wants to see somewhere else, try something new. It's been hard starting over in Valparaiso, and Paris, but mostly due to language and paper issues. I can work in America, I have paperwork! I'm a citizen! But my boyfriend is not. So he needs to be able to find an internship somewhere, which in this climate will be hard. His English is fine, as opposed to my Spanish and French, but still, he's French. All of this is, overwhelming. We have a chance to move back in August if I find a teaching opportunity, this would be amazing for me, finally some brain stimulation and life as I once knew it, adult living! On the other hand if I don't find a job we move at Xmas, with potentially nothing. Sure we could move anywhere, our options are open, but how are we going to live? I could substitute, but the struggle would not be over. On the other hand, Xmas gives us more time to figure out what to do with Sylvain, and how to find him a job or internship... There isn't an actual choice to be made here, if I don't get a job, the choice is made for us, if I do, we move to that job... It's just that one of us is always limited without having paperwork...
A week ago I said an emotional good-bye to NYC, my friends sent me off with a consolatory "You'll be back!" and I thought, I hope, maybe. I know I would be happy again in New York, but part of me wants to see somewhere else, try something new. It's been hard starting over in Valparaiso, and Paris, but mostly due to language and paper issues. I can work in America, I have paperwork! I'm a citizen! But my boyfriend is not. So he needs to be able to find an internship somewhere, which in this climate will be hard. His English is fine, as opposed to my Spanish and French, but still, he's French. All of this is, overwhelming. We have a chance to move back in August if I find a teaching opportunity, this would be amazing for me, finally some brain stimulation and life as I once knew it, adult living! On the other hand if I don't find a job we move at Xmas, with potentially nothing. Sure we could move anywhere, our options are open, but how are we going to live? I could substitute, but the struggle would not be over. On the other hand, Xmas gives us more time to figure out what to do with Sylvain, and how to find him a job or internship... There isn't an actual choice to be made here, if I don't get a job, the choice is made for us, if I do, we move to that job... It's just that one of us is always limited without having paperwork...
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Location location location
I spent two summers in London, and they were two of the sunniest, and pleasing summers of my life, typified by happy people sitting out on the green having picnics and a pitcher of pimms and lemonade. Everyone talks about the bad weather in London, but I'd never seen anything to complain about.
Paris is another story, the weather here, is um, terrible. We have had about 4 random days of nice weather in the last three months, 4. If anything can be called typical London weather, I'd say Paris has got it. It rains most days, when the sky is blue, the temperature is cool and breezy. I was depending on the uplifting nature of sunny weather to get me through the next couple months of nannyhood. Who minds sitting at the playground if basking in the warmth of the sun? The sun would be my salve to the monotony and brainlessness of my job.
A week of rain did not go down well after a beautiful week in New York punctuated by picnics with my lovely friends and long walks in the park, something that's impossible to do in Paris as parks don't exist. We are geared up to stay in Paris until Christmas, but I'm finding my resolve to be shaky. Two months of summer sun would bring me to the last leg of the race which I could pysch myself up for after a glorious summer, but if "summer" is going to be a wash, then I don't know how I'm going to keep the troops' spirits alive for another 6 months.
Paris is another story, the weather here, is um, terrible. We have had about 4 random days of nice weather in the last three months, 4. If anything can be called typical London weather, I'd say Paris has got it. It rains most days, when the sky is blue, the temperature is cool and breezy. I was depending on the uplifting nature of sunny weather to get me through the next couple months of nannyhood. Who minds sitting at the playground if basking in the warmth of the sun? The sun would be my salve to the monotony and brainlessness of my job.
A week of rain did not go down well after a beautiful week in New York punctuated by picnics with my lovely friends and long walks in the park, something that's impossible to do in Paris as parks don't exist. We are geared up to stay in Paris until Christmas, but I'm finding my resolve to be shaky. Two months of summer sun would bring me to the last leg of the race which I could pysch myself up for after a glorious summer, but if "summer" is going to be a wash, then I don't know how I'm going to keep the troops' spirits alive for another 6 months.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Forward This
Do you have people in your life who send you forwards about religious or political junk that is so obviously written by some college drop-out in their parents basement who writes r or u instead of spelling out the whole word, or if we're talking spelling- let's face it, no one's perfect, but that's why Word has the "spellcheck" feature, consider using it when wanting to be taken seriously.
Last week my grandmother who is in her 80's sent me yet another forwarded email about Obama and his muslim faith, and why he is a traitor. Some grandmother's bake cookies, and plant garden's they send you cards or call on your birthday, and they call you sugar and ask you about your beau. My grandmother sends hateful emails about democrats and immigrants. I have responded to these emails from time to time, like the one by a "teacher" in California who complained about "illegal" immigrants who attend her school and vandalize the schools computers. Um, yeah, all high schoolers vandalize school property, that's what being bored in class is all about, it isn't just the Mexican's my friend, and the computer and the desk still work even if it has HELL is carved into it's tough plastic outer shell.
I responded because, I happen to be a teacher (or did) and I worked in the college office of a bilingual school where I helped immigrant kids get into college, we had Chinese immigrants, African immigrants, Polish immigrants, Dominican immigrants, and plenty others. We only had one illegal, I know because I had extensive access to parental finances and tax forms. The one kid who was illegal, was sold to his uncle from China, after working in a factory for 3 years at the age of 16. He arrived in New York and shared an apartment with 10 or so other super poor Chinese immigrants, he worked after school and on weekends to pay his uncle back, and he learned English on his own. He was our valedictorian. All on his own he did this. From age 16. I don't know many American's who could do that, 16 or 35, he wanted a chance. It's hard for me to hate on illegal immigrants because, the ones I know are pretty amazing people. I think I might even be an illegal immigrant, and I know I've got guts and balls enough to get a little respect.
However, not everyone appreciated my- "uplifting" tale of some 16 year old kid who fought and made it, he'd be a hero in a movie but in real life no one wanted to hear how my student worked harder and gave up more in his four years of high school than most Americans I know do for most of their life. So this Obama is a muslim traitor forward, I thought, this is ridiculous, every third word is spelled wrong and as much as you may dislike Obama, you can't have it both ways, either you get the Rev Wright scandal or you get to be stupid and call him a muslim (and even if he was, who cares) or a traitor, so why forward this, it's so obviously half-baked and not true. So I hit reply, and sent my Grandma the link to Factcheck.org thinking, lady rather than disseminate angry racist garbage, why not fact check it first!
Of course, everyone always shoots the messenger, yup, once again, I try to speak a little truth and somehow I get blamed for trying to teach an old dog new tricks. But see, that was never my point, I've worked in the South Bronx, I do not carry around with me a little pinch of idealism in my pocket, I get that an old woman in her 80's who for as long as I've known her has called Black people "darkies" and locked her car doors when driving through black enighborhoods isn't going to stop being racist, she's never going to go Left on us, but I thought, since she's also my Godmother and a faithful Sunday worshipper she might try to seek truth.
Instead she went to complain to my mom. Who then got on my ass. Well, you know what, I'm 30 now, and I ain't changing either. I don't care if your 85 or 150, forwards are lame, especially when they're racist, hateful and negative- unless they're about Jesus when they're just crazy. Forwards aren't news, they're not facts, they don't have authors or footnotes or sources or truth.
Last week my grandmother who is in her 80's sent me yet another forwarded email about Obama and his muslim faith, and why he is a traitor. Some grandmother's bake cookies, and plant garden's they send you cards or call on your birthday, and they call you sugar and ask you about your beau. My grandmother sends hateful emails about democrats and immigrants. I have responded to these emails from time to time, like the one by a "teacher" in California who complained about "illegal" immigrants who attend her school and vandalize the schools computers. Um, yeah, all high schoolers vandalize school property, that's what being bored in class is all about, it isn't just the Mexican's my friend, and the computer and the desk still work even if it has HELL is carved into it's tough plastic outer shell.
I responded because, I happen to be a teacher (or did) and I worked in the college office of a bilingual school where I helped immigrant kids get into college, we had Chinese immigrants, African immigrants, Polish immigrants, Dominican immigrants, and plenty others. We only had one illegal, I know because I had extensive access to parental finances and tax forms. The one kid who was illegal, was sold to his uncle from China, after working in a factory for 3 years at the age of 16. He arrived in New York and shared an apartment with 10 or so other super poor Chinese immigrants, he worked after school and on weekends to pay his uncle back, and he learned English on his own. He was our valedictorian. All on his own he did this. From age 16. I don't know many American's who could do that, 16 or 35, he wanted a chance. It's hard for me to hate on illegal immigrants because, the ones I know are pretty amazing people. I think I might even be an illegal immigrant, and I know I've got guts and balls enough to get a little respect.
However, not everyone appreciated my- "uplifting" tale of some 16 year old kid who fought and made it, he'd be a hero in a movie but in real life no one wanted to hear how my student worked harder and gave up more in his four years of high school than most Americans I know do for most of their life. So this Obama is a muslim traitor forward, I thought, this is ridiculous, every third word is spelled wrong and as much as you may dislike Obama, you can't have it both ways, either you get the Rev Wright scandal or you get to be stupid and call him a muslim (and even if he was, who cares) or a traitor, so why forward this, it's so obviously half-baked and not true. So I hit reply, and sent my Grandma the link to Factcheck.org thinking, lady rather than disseminate angry racist garbage, why not fact check it first!
Of course, everyone always shoots the messenger, yup, once again, I try to speak a little truth and somehow I get blamed for trying to teach an old dog new tricks. But see, that was never my point, I've worked in the South Bronx, I do not carry around with me a little pinch of idealism in my pocket, I get that an old woman in her 80's who for as long as I've known her has called Black people "darkies" and locked her car doors when driving through black enighborhoods isn't going to stop being racist, she's never going to go Left on us, but I thought, since she's also my Godmother and a faithful Sunday worshipper she might try to seek truth.
Instead she went to complain to my mom. Who then got on my ass. Well, you know what, I'm 30 now, and I ain't changing either. I don't care if your 85 or 150, forwards are lame, especially when they're racist, hateful and negative- unless they're about Jesus when they're just crazy. Forwards aren't news, they're not facts, they don't have authors or footnotes or sources or truth.
Friday, May 21, 2010
America the Beautiful
During the almost 4 days while my mom was here helping me move she wore at least three different t-shirts with American flags emblazoned across her chest. I hate it when people think the American flag is somehow fashion, but also this low-rent Kmart pride in your country sort of pisses me off. Flag fashion should never be worn outside of international sporting events, and even then you're only really justified wearing it when your an athlete. Anyone that takes stock of what our country is, has more to be ashamed of than proud of. This does not mean I don't love my country, but I recognize that it's got a lot of work to do before I would go around wearing it on my body. In the end it's like animal print, always a bad idea, and never classy.
It's said that the unexamined life is not worth living, but I believe it's important to apply that further, like the unexamined country is not worth being proud of, or unexamined dogmatic faith for example.
I say this because coming back "home" has felt great, and so no matter how critical I am of my country, I am, after all, American, and there are many aspects of American life that charm the pants off of me. Paris, London and Valparaiso may have been experiences of a lifetime, but I'll always be American. It's one of the things I worry about most with my boyfriend. I don't want him to lose his identity as a Frenchman, any more than I want to lose my Americaness. I don't know how international couples manage this.
In other news I got another forward today from my grandmother, that called Obama a muslim, and a traitor and had on average every third word spelled wrong. I think everyone with their head screwed on straight knows Obama is not a muslim, but honestly, why is being a muslim so offensive, most muslims are nice people just going about their business no different than their atheist and Christian counterparts.
It's said that the unexamined life is not worth living, but I believe it's important to apply that further, like the unexamined country is not worth being proud of, or unexamined dogmatic faith for example.
I say this because coming back "home" has felt great, and so no matter how critical I am of my country, I am, after all, American, and there are many aspects of American life that charm the pants off of me. Paris, London and Valparaiso may have been experiences of a lifetime, but I'll always be American. It's one of the things I worry about most with my boyfriend. I don't want him to lose his identity as a Frenchman, any more than I want to lose my Americaness. I don't know how international couples manage this.
In other news I got another forward today from my grandmother, that called Obama a muslim, and a traitor and had on average every third word spelled wrong. I think everyone with their head screwed on straight knows Obama is not a muslim, but honestly, why is being a muslim so offensive, most muslims are nice people just going about their business no different than their atheist and Christian counterparts.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Leaving Las Vegas
There are a lot of people in my life who tell me life/my life in NYC is unsustainable, that it's too hard, too expensive, not healthy, too stressful, impossible to raise kids. Some or all of those things may be true, true for some people, but NYC is full of people who don't make a lot of money and make their lives here, raise their children, workout and eat healthy and most importantly are fulfilled and happy.
I left NYC in August last year ready to take a break from New York, in the meantime I have lived in a small city in Chile, and Paris. When we returned from Valparaiso in December it felt like heaven. This last week here has been equally, if not more blissful because of the summer weather.
NYC feels like my home, my soul home, the place where everything rings in harmony. It was really important for me to leave when I did, I got to look at my life in NYC and take stock, what made it harder than it needed to be (roommates, subletters, and my car for the most part). I love my apartment so much it was hard to move to the next step and seriously look at buying, still I grew up where people lived in houses and had mortgages, so it felt like renting wasn't smart. I don't need a car here, and I no longer need to share my living space with anyone but my boyfriend, but was it just a honeymoon period, this desire to "come home". Normally I'd give a lot of stock to this possibility, but when I came back in January I went back to work, worked out at my gym, and fell back into what was almost my life before I left.
But how do you grow old with NYC, there are several apartments opening up in my building this month as people "go home" to wherever they moved here from. I know that moving back here probably means moving to brooklyn or queens, even if the upper west side and harlem hold a permanent place in my heart. I know that I will never want to lug a baby stroller up any subway stairs, and I know that eventually NYC weighs down on you. But even if that weight eventually gets too heavy to bare, what if until it does it makes you really really happy, what if nowhere else every feels this much like home? What if you never find friends like Jon or Renee or Rob/Cindy or Chris elsewhere?
I left NYC in August last year ready to take a break from New York, in the meantime I have lived in a small city in Chile, and Paris. When we returned from Valparaiso in December it felt like heaven. This last week here has been equally, if not more blissful because of the summer weather.
NYC feels like my home, my soul home, the place where everything rings in harmony. It was really important for me to leave when I did, I got to look at my life in NYC and take stock, what made it harder than it needed to be (roommates, subletters, and my car for the most part). I love my apartment so much it was hard to move to the next step and seriously look at buying, still I grew up where people lived in houses and had mortgages, so it felt like renting wasn't smart. I don't need a car here, and I no longer need to share my living space with anyone but my boyfriend, but was it just a honeymoon period, this desire to "come home". Normally I'd give a lot of stock to this possibility, but when I came back in January I went back to work, worked out at my gym, and fell back into what was almost my life before I left.
But how do you grow old with NYC, there are several apartments opening up in my building this month as people "go home" to wherever they moved here from. I know that moving back here probably means moving to brooklyn or queens, even if the upper west side and harlem hold a permanent place in my heart. I know that I will never want to lug a baby stroller up any subway stairs, and I know that eventually NYC weighs down on you. But even if that weight eventually gets too heavy to bare, what if until it does it makes you really really happy, what if nowhere else every feels this much like home? What if you never find friends like Jon or Renee or Rob/Cindy or Chris elsewhere?
Saturday, May 8, 2010
The American Library in Paris and my Kindle
I love my Kindle, in my book club new members meet me by asking whether I'm Abigail, or the one with the Kindle.... It's just so light and convenient and perfect for a girl living abroad... But having joined the American Library in Paris I've rekindled the joy of book borrowing. It's been a long time since I belonged to the library and it's a great resource and money saver. What's more is there was a growing list of books I wasn't able or didn't want to get (a French book with maps that I thought I'd frequently want to consult etc) on my Kindle and the American Library of Paris conveniently have them in their collection.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Smoking Section
This easter my mother sent me an elaborate easter bag filled with candy eggs and chocolate inside were some measuring cups- the same ones she pointed out to me at Christmas that I said no thanks to (but no you don't understand! these collapse for easy storage!). For Sylvain the same elaborate bag with chocolate goodness and chewing gum, a lint brush. On the phone she confessed to me she had no idea what to get him, I said, oh, that's easy: nicorette gum.
So last week another package arrived and inside, nicorette gum and the patch. Sylvain, enjoys smoking, he's French, it's part of the culture, the lifestyle, and frankly there are none of those social stigma's you find in the states that demonize smoking or smokers. So while he was interested in cutting back, he had never talked about quitting. Personally, his smoking doesn't bother me, except for the fact that I shudder at the idea of the health problems he might face as a smoker, he's not a chain smoker and he smokes outside so as long as he's taking it easy I generally don't break his balls. Then Saturday he slapped on a patch, and I thought, what is this? The patch is for people who want to quit, it's serious, so I was quietly excited by this turn of events, but I didn't want to make a big deal about it, or blow it out of proportion, after all one day on non-smoking does not a non-smoker make.
After two days of not smoking, I was getting excited, but on the third day his friend Lucio shows up with some beers and I knew this was a test that Sylvain was unlikely to pass. Drinking and smoking go together like milk and honey, it would be hard to do one without the other. And Sylvain didn't, I pressed him to consider staying on the wagon, but I had come home too late and two beers in, his conviction was muddled.
It's hard to know how to be with someone trying to quit, because Sylvain has to want to quit and to want to quit enough to make it stick, the pamphlet says to get lots of support from friends and family so I want to try to be supportive, but without putting pressure or expectations on him. How do you cheerlead without actually cheerleading? He doesn't need me to get worked up when the social pressure to smoke is too convincing, he's not the type who needs someone to say, you can do it! don't break from the pressure! but instead maybe those fighting addictions, just need someone to say, so you had a cigarette, I still love you and it doesn't make you weak or bad.
I watched an episode of this show called Intervention, in the episode Gabe W was struggling with his addiction to heroin and cocaine. His family were all addicted to God and his father considered his addiction a sin, his lifestyle, a sin; that to save him from his addiction he needed to "get right with God". Thankfully the counselor was like, uh, yeah, that's just you judging him, he doesn't need that, it's nice that you have faith, but his addiction isn't about him being bad, it's about him being sick.
So last week another package arrived and inside, nicorette gum and the patch. Sylvain, enjoys smoking, he's French, it's part of the culture, the lifestyle, and frankly there are none of those social stigma's you find in the states that demonize smoking or smokers. So while he was interested in cutting back, he had never talked about quitting. Personally, his smoking doesn't bother me, except for the fact that I shudder at the idea of the health problems he might face as a smoker, he's not a chain smoker and he smokes outside so as long as he's taking it easy I generally don't break his balls. Then Saturday he slapped on a patch, and I thought, what is this? The patch is for people who want to quit, it's serious, so I was quietly excited by this turn of events, but I didn't want to make a big deal about it, or blow it out of proportion, after all one day on non-smoking does not a non-smoker make.
After two days of not smoking, I was getting excited, but on the third day his friend Lucio shows up with some beers and I knew this was a test that Sylvain was unlikely to pass. Drinking and smoking go together like milk and honey, it would be hard to do one without the other. And Sylvain didn't, I pressed him to consider staying on the wagon, but I had come home too late and two beers in, his conviction was muddled.
It's hard to know how to be with someone trying to quit, because Sylvain has to want to quit and to want to quit enough to make it stick, the pamphlet says to get lots of support from friends and family so I want to try to be supportive, but without putting pressure or expectations on him. How do you cheerlead without actually cheerleading? He doesn't need me to get worked up when the social pressure to smoke is too convincing, he's not the type who needs someone to say, you can do it! don't break from the pressure! but instead maybe those fighting addictions, just need someone to say, so you had a cigarette, I still love you and it doesn't make you weak or bad.
I watched an episode of this show called Intervention, in the episode Gabe W was struggling with his addiction to heroin and cocaine. His family were all addicted to God and his father considered his addiction a sin, his lifestyle, a sin; that to save him from his addiction he needed to "get right with God". Thankfully the counselor was like, uh, yeah, that's just you judging him, he doesn't need that, it's nice that you have faith, but his addiction isn't about him being bad, it's about him being sick.
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