Okay…in lieu of the second portion of my Emmy story (I’m writing another article for Patrol on the actual party and I’ll post a link asap) I have something of more immediate importance to discuss with all of you: my living situation.
After writing my last rant about my housing dilemma, three different people got back with me asking me to be their roommates. So now I have a real dilemma. Each place has pros and cons, which I will list below. Please vote for the place you think I would most be at home…
Okay, room number one:
Location: Murray Hill, Manhattan.
Price: $4900 to move in (That’s a deposit, and two months rent) plus a $500 move in deposit (which I would get back after not breaking the elevator as I'm moving in). $1,000 a month, utilities included, except for cable.
Pros: Location is FANTASTIC. It’s 10 minutes to work, 5-10 minutes to Union Square (where I go grocery shopping), and 15 minutes to Anthropologie. It has a doorman, elevator (very awesome in NY!), and I like the girls I would be living with.
Cons: It’s a 2 bedroom converted into a 3 bedroom. Which pretty much means they are putting up walls in the middle of the living room and that’s my room. The closet would be outside of these walls and, while there is heat, there is no air conditioning (and no window to put in a unit).
Room number two:
Location: Williamsburg, Brooklyn
Price: $3,600 to move in (That’s a deposit, and first and last months rent). It’s $1200 plus utilities a month.
Pros: The apartment is so cool. It’s very urban, it has an iron spiral staircase that goes all the way up to the roof. It’s the penthouse, so we get the roof and it has an amazing view of lower Manhattan. I get my own floor of the apartment, and that consists of a very small room in the back and a little larger connected space attached to the staircase and towards the front of the apartment. I also like the girl I would be living with. There is central air and heat.
Con: Location. It’s going to be a 40 minute commute to work and while I would say I could read on the subway—that’s not always the case. It’s usually very crowded and you’re lucky to get a seat or room for a book in front of you. It also doesn’t have a door. So not as much privacy, but I don’t care about that as much. The real con is it is a six floor walk up, which means no elevator and sore legs for a few weeks. The ceilings in my space are also very low.
Room number three:
Location: Long Island City, Queens
Price: $2535 to move in (A deposit and two months rent) It’s $845 a month plus an amenities fee and utilities (about 100) a month.
Pros: It’s an amazing location for the money—15 to 20 minutes to midtown (where I work). It’s also an amazing building. 24-hour concierge, a pool, a fitness center, a roof with an amazing view of Manhattan, a laundry service, free wi-fi, etc. The apartment is great too. Awesome living space. Big kitchen. I’d be living with three other girls from 22-24 who also work in Manhattan. It’s a beautiful area as well. Also—elevator!
Cons: I’d be sharing a room with another girl (the master suite) so we’d get a huge bathroom—but I feel like it might be like college again. Which wouldn’t be so bad I guess. I’m the kind of person who can share a space and be pretty cool with it. But it’s still a little bit of a con because I wouldn’t have as much space. The girl I’d be living with is super sweet and works in marketing too. She also went to school in MI.
So—those are the choices. Let me know what you think!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
LA or Bust: Part One
Whenever I want to feel like fall, I eat butternut squash soup. I just got some from this fantastic little soup shop off of 42nd street and it reminds me of what fall would taste like, if fall had a taste. It’s delicious. And it makes me want to carve a pumpkin.
I woke up this morning and kind of felt like someone had run over me with a truck. I didn’t sleep at all on Sunday night because of the after-party and I was in these amazingly masochistic heels that had my feet screaming bloody murder before 1am. But after a while the pangs turned to dull aches, which weren’t so bad. The things we do for beauty.
So, I guess I should just get right down to business: my weekend. Here is a blow-by-blow account and I will upload photos as soon as possible. Some of this stuff you have to see to believe.
On Saturday morning I was picked up by my car service and driven to JFK. When I got there I was instructed to hold a sign that read: TV GUIDE, EMMY RED CARPET WEEKEND at the front doors. This sign was supposed to let clients know, should they miss my huge TV Guide staff badge, that I was someone who could direct them to our private check in. I had some stares. And some puzzled questions from airport personnel. “What’s a red carpet weekend?” was a popular inquiry. Are you serious? I would think. And then politely explain to them what everyone who has had two seconds of American pop-culture exposure has known since…forever.
After all our clients were through, we went through security ourselves. This went surprisingly smoothly. I was just waiting for an airport wide lockdown (that’s what happened the last time I flew through JFK), but alas and alack, we were ushered through with ease. We were then given $60 coupons to buy lunch and snacks for the bus to the hotel in LA. So I got lunch with a friend of mine, Minal. We ordered and ate. It was 11:26 and our flight was at 12. We had some time so I went to buy some magazines and sushi for the plane (I hate airplane snacks. Yuck.) As I am paying for the sushi, I hear: “Last call, flight 217 to Long Beach.” You have got to be kidding me? I think. Shit. I continue to curse in my head as I run through the terminal. I need gate 24. Guess where gate 24 is? Not in this terminal. You have to take a shuttle all the way across to another terminal. And then run all the way across that one to get there. So I ran. I ran and I shook. But I made it…with two minutes to spare.
Safe in the plane I calm down and enjoy my sushi and Vogue. And I watch the Rachel Zoe project marathon on Bravo.
Five and a half hours later we touch down in Long Beach. It is the smallest airport I have ever seen. There are three check-in counters and virtually no walls: it’s practically a tent with airplanes around it. We all deplane, grab our bags, and load into the shuttles. An hour later we’re in LA.
Okay, so LA is pretty much amazing. I would LOVE to live there some day. The weather was impeccable, the views were spectacular, and the people were so much fun to watch. I felt like I was in an alternate universe, like MTV’s The Hills. I’m sure Lauren Conrad was trying to text me that she wanted to meet up at the Kress later and chat about Brody being a jerk…again. I hate my phone—it never works.
We arrived at the hotel (the same one they filmed Pretty Woman in) and I checked in to my room. Or should I say, my private suite. It was HUGE. I had a balcony, a Jacuzzi tub, a 40-inch flat screen, and two giant beds stuffed to the brim with feathers. It was heaven. And just break I needed from the reality of my nasty apartment in New York.
Then we went to dinner. I ordered a California Chardonnay and a lentil and truffle stuffed ravioli. I still maintain, apart from my mother’s lasagna, it was the most delicious Italian meal I have ever eaten. And the Chardonnay was superb. After walking back to the hotel, my co-workers wanted ice cream, so we all went up to the TV Guide hospitality suite and got some. Also…so good. After the wine, the simple carbs, and the sugar, I was done. I kept almost falling asleep and snapping back up—finally they made me go to bed. I felt like a kid, but I didn’t care at that point. I was so tired. I took a bath and went to bed right after asking for a 10am wake up call. My first responsibility wasn’t until 11:30.
The next morning I am wide-awake—at 7:30am (10:30am EST). It was so weird to be up that early without having to force myself to roll out of bed. But I didn’t have to roll out of bed for a while—so I laid there for an hour, snuggling in the sheets. An hour of so later I took another bath. Then I got in the terry cloth rob the hotel had hanging in the bathroom and got back into bed. It was delicious.
All I had to do that day was be around the hospitality suite for an hour and help pass out departure notices. My cousin Perry came to visit me and took me out to lunch—then we went for a walk on Rodeo Dive (which wasn’t all that exciting next to 5th Ave). I just drank in the day. Our hospitality suite was in the top floor penthouse and had access to the roof of the hotel. The view was breathtaking. Perry and I grabbed a few beers and walked up there for an hour of so. The clients weren’t there (they had planned activities like helicopter tours, etc.) so there wasn’t anyone up there to bother. You could also see the Hollywood sign in the hill that everyone always shows in the movies. That was a highlight for me.
As the party got closer and closer I started getting a little nervous. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Before the party, we had a viewing party with the Emmys being streamed live and crazy amounts of food. I’m still not sure who won because I paid no attention…as you will see, this bit me in the butt later on.
Actually, I’ll have to finish this tomorrow! My lunch break is over…stay tuned!
I woke up this morning and kind of felt like someone had run over me with a truck. I didn’t sleep at all on Sunday night because of the after-party and I was in these amazingly masochistic heels that had my feet screaming bloody murder before 1am. But after a while the pangs turned to dull aches, which weren’t so bad. The things we do for beauty.
So, I guess I should just get right down to business: my weekend. Here is a blow-by-blow account and I will upload photos as soon as possible. Some of this stuff you have to see to believe.
On Saturday morning I was picked up by my car service and driven to JFK. When I got there I was instructed to hold a sign that read: TV GUIDE, EMMY RED CARPET WEEKEND at the front doors. This sign was supposed to let clients know, should they miss my huge TV Guide staff badge, that I was someone who could direct them to our private check in. I had some stares. And some puzzled questions from airport personnel. “What’s a red carpet weekend?” was a popular inquiry. Are you serious? I would think. And then politely explain to them what everyone who has had two seconds of American pop-culture exposure has known since…forever.
After all our clients were through, we went through security ourselves. This went surprisingly smoothly. I was just waiting for an airport wide lockdown (that’s what happened the last time I flew through JFK), but alas and alack, we were ushered through with ease. We were then given $60 coupons to buy lunch and snacks for the bus to the hotel in LA. So I got lunch with a friend of mine, Minal. We ordered and ate. It was 11:26 and our flight was at 12. We had some time so I went to buy some magazines and sushi for the plane (I hate airplane snacks. Yuck.) As I am paying for the sushi, I hear: “Last call, flight 217 to Long Beach.” You have got to be kidding me? I think. Shit. I continue to curse in my head as I run through the terminal. I need gate 24. Guess where gate 24 is? Not in this terminal. You have to take a shuttle all the way across to another terminal. And then run all the way across that one to get there. So I ran. I ran and I shook. But I made it…with two minutes to spare.
Safe in the plane I calm down and enjoy my sushi and Vogue. And I watch the Rachel Zoe project marathon on Bravo.
Five and a half hours later we touch down in Long Beach. It is the smallest airport I have ever seen. There are three check-in counters and virtually no walls: it’s practically a tent with airplanes around it. We all deplane, grab our bags, and load into the shuttles. An hour later we’re in LA.
Okay, so LA is pretty much amazing. I would LOVE to live there some day. The weather was impeccable, the views were spectacular, and the people were so much fun to watch. I felt like I was in an alternate universe, like MTV’s The Hills. I’m sure Lauren Conrad was trying to text me that she wanted to meet up at the Kress later and chat about Brody being a jerk…again. I hate my phone—it never works.
We arrived at the hotel (the same one they filmed Pretty Woman in) and I checked in to my room. Or should I say, my private suite. It was HUGE. I had a balcony, a Jacuzzi tub, a 40-inch flat screen, and two giant beds stuffed to the brim with feathers. It was heaven. And just break I needed from the reality of my nasty apartment in New York.
Then we went to dinner. I ordered a California Chardonnay and a lentil and truffle stuffed ravioli. I still maintain, apart from my mother’s lasagna, it was the most delicious Italian meal I have ever eaten. And the Chardonnay was superb. After walking back to the hotel, my co-workers wanted ice cream, so we all went up to the TV Guide hospitality suite and got some. Also…so good. After the wine, the simple carbs, and the sugar, I was done. I kept almost falling asleep and snapping back up—finally they made me go to bed. I felt like a kid, but I didn’t care at that point. I was so tired. I took a bath and went to bed right after asking for a 10am wake up call. My first responsibility wasn’t until 11:30.
The next morning I am wide-awake—at 7:30am (10:30am EST). It was so weird to be up that early without having to force myself to roll out of bed. But I didn’t have to roll out of bed for a while—so I laid there for an hour, snuggling in the sheets. An hour of so later I took another bath. Then I got in the terry cloth rob the hotel had hanging in the bathroom and got back into bed. It was delicious.
All I had to do that day was be around the hospitality suite for an hour and help pass out departure notices. My cousin Perry came to visit me and took me out to lunch—then we went for a walk on Rodeo Dive (which wasn’t all that exciting next to 5th Ave). I just drank in the day. Our hospitality suite was in the top floor penthouse and had access to the roof of the hotel. The view was breathtaking. Perry and I grabbed a few beers and walked up there for an hour of so. The clients weren’t there (they had planned activities like helicopter tours, etc.) so there wasn’t anyone up there to bother. You could also see the Hollywood sign in the hill that everyone always shows in the movies. That was a highlight for me.
As the party got closer and closer I started getting a little nervous. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Before the party, we had a viewing party with the Emmys being streamed live and crazy amounts of food. I’m still not sure who won because I paid no attention…as you will see, this bit me in the butt later on.
Actually, I’ll have to finish this tomorrow! My lunch break is over…stay tuned!
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Also--Boots
One more thing:
I've narrowed my fall boot selections to two (no easy task). Which ones do you guys like better?
href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ7NBtBs9fX9jEwmRPUSqHEp287VWGiTElXaOekmq5FzKBj8nHPvEaFG-rWoj44SJB-1kaCgVSfKJsjFXqAg4QIKfOGLZkdCHHu7ZZ-SQ3y2OD1RlHh3CNJavKO8Rf7jVyVSzpEE4LGX3s/s1600-h/Kenneth+Cole.jpg">
Kenneth Cole?
Or Steve Madden?
I've narrowed my fall boot selections to two (no easy task). Which ones do you guys like better?
href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ7NBtBs9fX9jEwmRPUSqHEp287VWGiTElXaOekmq5FzKBj8nHPvEaFG-rWoj44SJB-1kaCgVSfKJsjFXqAg4QIKfOGLZkdCHHu7ZZ-SQ3y2OD1RlHh3CNJavKO8Rf7jVyVSzpEE4LGX3s/s1600-h/Kenneth+Cole.jpg">
Kenneth Cole?
Or Steve Madden?
Please Address my Mail to Central Park...I'll be on the bench by the zoo...
I’ve been looking for an apartment for almost a month now and all I have to say is, “AHHHHHHHH!”
It’s so frustrating. I call. I go see a place. It’s pretty much crap, but that’s what I’m going to get for my 1,000 a month in Manhattan. Plus utilities. Then I say I might be interested—I’m nice, charming, well dressed, not crazy…
AND I NEVER HEAR FROM THEM AGAIN! It’s a little frustrating. Maybe instead of indifference I should respond with, “Please, dear God, let me live with you? I’ll bake you cookies. I’ll do your laundry. I just don’t want to be homeless?”
What do these people want? They are living in hovels. And they want ME to live in hovels with them. And be ecstatically enthusiastic about the prospect. Excuse me for not jumping for joy. Ugh. I think I give up. I’ll live with the hobos in Central Park.
At least that’s free.
Well--except for bribing the police to let me stay after dark…
It’s so frustrating. I call. I go see a place. It’s pretty much crap, but that’s what I’m going to get for my 1,000 a month in Manhattan. Plus utilities. Then I say I might be interested—I’m nice, charming, well dressed, not crazy…
AND I NEVER HEAR FROM THEM AGAIN! It’s a little frustrating. Maybe instead of indifference I should respond with, “Please, dear God, let me live with you? I’ll bake you cookies. I’ll do your laundry. I just don’t want to be homeless?”
What do these people want? They are living in hovels. And they want ME to live in hovels with them. And be ecstatically enthusiastic about the prospect. Excuse me for not jumping for joy. Ugh. I think I give up. I’ll live with the hobos in Central Park.
At least that’s free.
Well--except for bribing the police to let me stay after dark…
Friday, September 12, 2008
An Update of Epic Proportions...or as epic as I can get at 4 in the afternoon...
I’m so sorry for my appalling lapse of posting in the last few weeks. Remember all those posts about how my job is sort of boring? Well—the Emmys have made that NOT the case anymore. Combine that with my search for a new apartment—and I barely have time to scarf down the pathetic excuse for sustenance I pack for myself every night. Which is probably a good thing because my boobs are a little big for my dress (which I will be posting a picture of soon—my dress—not my boobs.)
In other news—I think I might have found an apartment. It’s in Williamsburg and it has a fantastic roof/porch/thing. I’m going to look at it on Sunday, so we’ll see. I’ll keep you posted.
I don’t think I ever posted about my trip home to Florida. Man, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Well, I got my hair chopped off. And I mean CHOPPED OFF. It’s short, people. Not Victoria Beckham at the Marc Jacob’s show short—more like Jennifer Hudson at the Sex and the City premier short. Pictures to come. I also ate SO much. Mom and Dad had EVERY kind of food I could ever want, and I ate it ALL. It was so nice to see them and Sarah. I can’t wait until they come up in October.
I’m trying to think of what else to say. I feel like I’m on autopilot a little bit right now. I work all day. I eat, workout, and sleep at night. Then I get up and do it again until the weekend. But honestly, I’m starting to really like my job. All the nuisances of marketing are starting to make sense and I’m getting the publishing “lingo.” You need edit and creative? Circs and subs? Hell yeah, I can get that for you. Or at least tell you where to get it.
So once I move out of my bedbug/mice invested apartment and settle in somewhere less hostile to human life—my life will be pretty good. I just have to get through this month. Please God…let me get through this month.
In other news—I think I might have found an apartment. It’s in Williamsburg and it has a fantastic roof/porch/thing. I’m going to look at it on Sunday, so we’ll see. I’ll keep you posted.
I don’t think I ever posted about my trip home to Florida. Man, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Well, I got my hair chopped off. And I mean CHOPPED OFF. It’s short, people. Not Victoria Beckham at the Marc Jacob’s show short—more like Jennifer Hudson at the Sex and the City premier short. Pictures to come. I also ate SO much. Mom and Dad had EVERY kind of food I could ever want, and I ate it ALL. It was so nice to see them and Sarah. I can’t wait until they come up in October.
I’m trying to think of what else to say. I feel like I’m on autopilot a little bit right now. I work all day. I eat, workout, and sleep at night. Then I get up and do it again until the weekend. But honestly, I’m starting to really like my job. All the nuisances of marketing are starting to make sense and I’m getting the publishing “lingo.” You need edit and creative? Circs and subs? Hell yeah, I can get that for you. Or at least tell you where to get it.
So once I move out of my bedbug/mice invested apartment and settle in somewhere less hostile to human life—my life will be pretty good. I just have to get through this month. Please God…let me get through this month.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Fashion Week EXTRAVAGANZA!
Check out my adventure at Fashion Week at Patrol Magazine: http://www.patrolmag.com/
It was CRAAAZYYY!!!!
XOXO
I'll update more soon.
It was CRAAAZYYY!!!!
XOXO
I'll update more soon.
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