Dear loyal followers and people who only read this to gain sick pleasure out of my troubles,
I actually have a story that isn’t about being desperately lonely or failed sex romps. It’s about life lessons and living in Spew York, the main objective of this blog.
Now, Rent Controlled apartments, the unicorn of New York City apartments where you can obtain prime real estate for minimal pricing. They’re real guys. They’re so real. Matter of factly I live in one. I learned this yesterday because I have my mother visiting, my mother is of an inquisitive disposition and so she accidentally obtained this information much to my great satisfaction.
I live in Williamsburg, formerly a ghetto where gang violence and car bombs were the norm. Not a desirable neighborhood for those who valued their life. My roommates family immigrated to this land from the Dominican Republic and wound up in this area, I love the stories that his mother tells when she visits. I have recently been quite ill and spent a lot of time in my apartment with both my roommates mother and grandmother. They took care of me and made sure I was eating every fucking hour. My mother arrived two days later and hit it off with these ladies, my family is Argentinian and so their mother tongue is similar some may argue it’s the same. Regardless of such technicalities they got talking about stuff and things, I was in the background just listening in cause I’m nowhere near as amicable and sociable as my mother.
The reason I bring this up was because people who are familiar with my area know that the rent is sky high, like hilariously expensive. I pay $900 monthly which is considerably cheap for the location. Sure I live among vermin on a 6 floor walk up in a building that constantly wreaks of weed, beans and rice with a subtle hint of human waste. The water sometimes won’t run so I can’t finish showering properly, my powerpoints pose a great risk of causing an electrical fire or electrocution, but I try not to let it get to me.
Firstly on Saturday I learned that the lady across the hall paid $200 a month for her two bedroom apartment. That’s not a typing error on my part literally TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS! She’s been living there for 30 years and the housing board is desperately trying to get her to leave so they can pump the pricing to market value… I’m guessing that’s about at least 10 times that. Further deduction and prying courtesy my lovely mother caused for a slip up of my roommate’s mother then revealing that my two bedroom apartment in Williamsburg leases for only $400 a month. Remember as I mentioned before, I pay $900. Oopsies.
Now before we go ahead and get outraged, I’m not actually mad. I understand that everyone needs to get ahead and that my roommate actually aids his mother financially as she is unemployed. I mean, what can I really do about it? I like to think I’m a pretty reasonable guy.
However I reserve the right to be mad about a particular instance or rather a build up of circumstances. I’ve hosted a few friends who have visited from other parts, by a few I mean literally two who have stayed for a series of days and maybe two or three who crashed for a night.
One night I gave him heads up that my friend was sleeping on my couch because it had got late and I was too lazy to change my romance stained sheets so she could sleep with me… I get this as a reply:
“I’m going to be honest. I’m not liking all these different people staying over at the apt. It makes me very uncomfortable. It would be cool if it was the same friends but it’s always someone different that stays over. And it’s every week or two weeks that you have people staying over. To be honest is not cool. Hope you understand where I’m coming from.”
No asshole, you listen to me! I’ve had 4 people stay at my apartment, aside from the boys I bring to (plow) my yard but I’ve never once complained about your random skanks or the fact your mother will stay for weeks at a time and literally hog the couch for that entire time watching Mexican soap operas. I love Mexican soap operas, but you understand my rage?
Obviously I didn’t say that because I wanted to keep the peace. I was all diplomatic and agreed. If you know me, not normally my style. He never wrote back to my text but we more or less put down our arms after this. Still I never complained about his guests and it was a shock to me when he complained about mine.
Now I know how much rent I’m paying contrasted to how much he’s paying and I’m probably a little irritated I guess. But I guess I won’t get mad because there’s no point. Let’s reiterate. I pay $900, the apartment costs $400.
End of rant.
Friendzoning New York 