Me Against The World

So I have this image of what 28 year old women should look/act like and I often do not fit into that mold. I wonder if there's something wrong with me or whether I'm just holding others up to an unrealistic ideal. Probably both. For example:

Imaginary normal woman: Blow dries hair, wears makeup, makes attempt at fashionable work/play outfits.
Me: I usually but not always brush my hair in the morning. Makeup is strictly a special event occurrence, and consists of some eye and lip stuff. I do not own a blow dryer and my outfits are often whatever I can pull out of my (clean, unfolded) laundry basket.

Imaginary normal woman: Eats healthy and works out a few days a week. Since this is New York, the workout probably involves yoga or pilates and some element of spirituality is involved.
Me: I sometimes try half heartedly to touch my toes while I watch TV. Every now and then I'll take the stairs at work if I'm feeling particularly blimp like.

Imaginary normal woman: House is kept relatively clean and tidy, and there are often fresh flowers somewhere. The walls are covered in tasteful art/pictures of loved ones.
Me: I've got some paintings and pictures up, but there are walls left untouched. Let's say I'm halfway to normal in this respect.  I do try to keep up with the cleaning; I'm actually doing better on that.

And it goes on. So are others actually closer to my level of not-accepting-adulthood than I think, or am I really in need of a kick in the ass to get my shit together?

At least I'm responsible about my budget. That's something, right?

Packing

Right now I feel like I say too much and too little at once. The things that eat at me aren't my things to talk about or share, but they hurt anyway. And when something slips out I immediately feel like I've said too much. Like saying anything is a betrayal.

This isn't even about one thing. This is about when I talk about any of the things in my life that involve other people. Everything. What else is life? And yet I'm not a naturally private person I don't think. When I'm upset, or thinking, or processing I like to talk it out with friends. And yet often by talking I say too much about things that are not mine to tell. And even when I manage to hold back I feel guilty about wanting to talk. And when I talk around a subject or take a stand without being able to explain why I feel like I'm just being an argumentative bitch for no reason.

Anyway. None of this makes sense. I'm not really saying anything clearly. But as soon as I post it I'll feel like I've said too much. As usual, again.

Home Design

I'm not Martha Stewart. I know that may be confusing for most people, but despite the similarities (female? That's kind of it.) I am not her. And therefore I do not have her talent for all the various types of home making that exist.

In other words, I need help.  At the risk of outing myself and ruining my half-assed attempt at anonymity, below are a couple room designs. If anyone feels so inclined, I'd love an opinion. I'm trying to re-organize my brand new (1 bedroom! Spacious!) apartment after having been crammed into a studio for years, and I've come to realize it is not a natural talent of mine.  Here's what my apartment looks like now:

The gray rectangle is the radiator, and therefore not movable. The brown rectangles are half-shelves.

Not exactly a wonder of layout. Especially since the only plug is behind my table (which is hanging off the room b/c in actuality the side folds down. The layout program did not have a half-circle table.).  Therefore there is a whole mess of cords stretching across the doorway from the table to the tv.

This might be more accurate:

Here are a couple ideas I have to improve the situation:

Option 1

Option 2

I've put this up on Facebook for a friend vote (which is why I'm a little worried about blowing my cover) but I wanted to see if any budding design stars out there had any ideas or opinions as well.  So. What do you think?

Pulled the trigger

Well, I've done it. I've found the holy grail of New York living: an affordable, rent stabilized apartment. And I've moved into it.

See below for a window to window comparison:

After, in my (as yet packed up) one bedroom

Before, in my small basement studio

Those windows say a lot. Everything is bigger. Everything is brighter. And I'm still trying to get used to it; it feels too big right now. I've basically been existing in the living room on the (new) couch while the bedroom wallows in boxes. I've visited the kitchen, and even spent a morning there (Thanksgiving) but it is as yet a separate island. 

Eventually things will be unpacked and it will feel like home, but in the meantime, despite the sense of displacement, I'm enjoying having much more space.  I am worried about how I will change lightbulbs though. No joke, but even on a chair I can't reach the ceiling. I'm going to have to go for the expensive bulbs here so that they last longer, and I foresee changing them to be a furniture moving adventure. 

Also, if anyone wanders into this corner of the blogosphere who happens to have clever ideas of how to turn 1 electrical outlet in the living room and 1 in the bedroom into enough for an entire house, feel free to share. There are no plugs in the bathroom, and none visible in the kitchen (presumably there's one behind the fridge). Pre-war indeed.

As I get things together I may once again actually (gasp) post a recipe or two. Or photograph my attempt to highlight the very pretty picture frame molding that the apartment came with. Right now everything is painted the same off white/cream color so they don't stand out at all, but once I get myself in order that will change. 

In other news, right around when the apartment thing was coming together my 5-year relationship was sputtering to a stop. So that might also be contributing to the couch living. It's strange but it's always when there's the most chaos and disorder in my life that this particular relationship felt the most vulnerable.  Or maybe that's not strange at all; I guess that's how it goes. So that's happening and I'm kind of stepping back and trying to deal with it little by little. 

More pictures will be forthcoming when things are unpacked.  I will then be able to gloat more affectively about what a deal I've gotten.

To leave or not to leave?

I've been looking for a new apartment in a kind of half assed, lazy way for a while now. I figure when the perfect, amazingly priced gem of a deal falls into my lap I'll be ready. Those kinds of deals, as everyone knows, are many and frequent in New York.  But regardless, other than the fact that my apartment floods periodically, I had nothing really pushing this potential relocation other than my desire for more room and a window that actually lets in some sunlight. Little things.

But my ass of a landlord might have just kicked the search into high gear today. He came by to fix a leaky sink and toilet (BTW, things are always breaking here). In his honer I cleaned the bathroom. It might have been a ten minute speed clean, but it was a clean.  And what does he do?  He does the landlord equivalent of spitting in my face.

When he entered the newly tolerably clean room, rather than make a benign comment about the weather we've been having or maybe apologize for renting out a shit hole of an apartment where things are constantly springing leaks, flooding, or generally breaking down, he ran a piece of tissue along the dust on the side of the base of the toilet (Note!! Not the bowl, or the floor [which I mopped!!!!]) and told me that I needed to "keep up" the apartment because the toilet was "disgusting." Oh no he didn't. To my face.  Also, dude, it's a toilet. It's never going to be not disgusting, even if I steam cleaned it.

So to sum up, my basically clean toilet had some dust and cat hair on the side of it, and he decided to straight up try to shame me about it.  He also told me that a reason my apartment floods is because a small ceramic pot I have outside, which doesn't happen to have a plant in it this year (I do have tomato, basil, sage, and a rose plant in other pots) is creating mud that clogs the drain.  Yeah, that's the problem.  Not the wonky ass plumbing.

So furious. I may not be Martha Stewart (and I admit it) but if I'm going to make the effort to clean before someone comes over, I'd rather them not call me filthy. Yep, it's time to find a new place.

When You Assume...

I just put toothpaste on a cut thinking it was neosporin. Sigh.

Heat Wave

It's 100 degrees in Brooklyn right now, but it feels like 104. This isn't me being dramatic; weather.com says it feels like 104. Yesterday when I checked it was 104, felt like 113. That wasn't even the high, that was solidly in the late afternoon. In other words, my wish for some sweltering weather has been answered, about four months late. Thanks, February.

Not that I'm complaining. While it may be about 10 degrees above my ideal comfort zone, most of the winter was a good 50 degrees under it. So while everyone else swans around moaning, I'm keeping my bitching mainly internal. I don't want to tempt the weather gods! Warm is good, thank you, you can keep the freezing sleet. I'll even sacrifice something (a beetle maybe, they've been hanging around my apartment) in honor of that sentiment.

The cats might appreciate a cool breeze though. They've been in kitty comas in front of my only fan for the past few days.

In other news, my basil has been taken over by this little brown bugs that are eating it up. Any suggestions? I want to still be able to eat it myself, so commercial spray is out.