I Think I Need a Hug and a Drink

In the last few days, I have been driven to insanity, had my emotions toyed with, my heartstrings pulled, my hopes lifted, and the same hopes ultimately dashed... over and over again.

And who is responsible?

Brooklyn, NY.

So wonderful, yet so harrowing.

Aha! You weren't expecting that, were you? You thought I was going to say You Know Who, didn't you? Surprisingly enough, it is my new least favorite game called Are You My New Apartment? that is literally making me sit right here at my desk to skip class, blog, and simultaneously pull my hair out. Which, of course, requires typing with the tip of my nose, since both my hands are engaged in strenuous hair-pulling and nailbiting.

But I don't particularly want to blog about the details of this apartment hunt. Those are boring and stressful (big bathroom! bad location! broker fee!) and forcing those on you, WMWC readers, would only make the whole situation worse. I think, instead, I would like to continue with the "Brooklyn as my new abusive (hipster) boyfriend" metaphor and tell you a little story complete with (control yourself!) a SCENE.

Scene: Park Slope, Brooklyn. Cupcake Lover and BiddyLuddy are wrangling their umbrellas as the wind and rain assault them, full-force. BiddyLuddy's umbrella has seen better days as it droops in more places than one. Cupcake Lover quietly curses her decision to wear a dress that essentially covers little more than her [tights-covered] ass cheeks, considering the hurricane winds that are now threatening to expose more than she would like all of Park Slope to be privy to. Luckily, few people have braved the rain, and so CL silently makes a note that underwear exposure chances should be slim-to-none. Just then, two sketchy looking men walk in the direction of CL and BL. The two women continue their conversation.

Cupcake Lover: (About the apartment) I WANT it! I want to live in it! I want to buy it, I will put down a deposit...

Biddy Luddy: Me too! I hope we get it I hope we - Oh look! It's so close to the mall too! It's perfect, it's so perfect.

Sketchy looking men come closer, start taunting.

Sketcher #1: Oh, mamis, you're hot, you're so hot!

Sketcher #2: [Agrees with similar tone of voice]

Sketcher#1: You're beautiful, you're sooo beautiful.

At this moment, Sketcher #1 proceeds to reach out as he passes and run his hand along the side of Cupcake Lover's [wish-it-was-a-liiiiittle-thinner] thigh. She jumps a foot in the air and starts freaking out.

Cupcake Lover: AHH I hate when they touch me I hate it! I hate when they talk to me but I REALLY HATE WHEN THEY TOUCH ME I hate it I hate it I feel so dirty.

Cupcake Lover gets over it, gets on the subway, and heads home to blog about the experience, all the while wondering if perhaps she had worn pants or a skirt that wasn't so devilishly close to exposure, she would have avoided the uncomfortable borough-molestation that had befallen her.

Oh, Brooklyn. I include this scene because it is a perfect example of the way our apartment hunt has made me feel these past few days. I feel used and dirty... put through a vicious spin cycle and hung out to dry on a windy day. I've been to so many apartments and fallen in love with them, only to realize that we may not secure them and that we may not secure ANY place. Each lovely little affordable Brooklyn nook gives me wonderful visions: Me, at a Natural Foods store, inevitably wearing plaid. Me, lounging in a park in Ray-Bans. Me, barbecuing in the backyard or on the roof. Me, jogging along the residential streets. Me, in the local coffee shop with Wi-Fi. Me, working at some adorable hipster bar.

And the ever popular: Me, opening the charming door of a lovely brownstone to welcome The Well-Intentioned Ex-Boyfriend, knowing full well that there is a parking space outside for him to put his shiny car and a sunny, beautiful apartment we can hang out in.

Yeah, that last one is the most far-fetched (except for maybe the Ray-Bans... those are expensive!), but I am, as usual, hopeful and utterly hopeless (insert shoulder shrug here). I'm not going to apologize for it - I figure by now you must be used to it.

I also hope that by now you understand what it is I'm feeling. I have all those previously described visions for my summer, my school year, my LIFE, and I just can't seem to get any of them to come true in this moment. My life is currently filled to the brim with potential - potential for gorgeous living space, for exciting summer job, for romantic bliss. And yet when I hold up my fingers, hoping to slowly fold them down one by one, I can't reduce my checklist at all. It is utterly exhausting. What does a girl do?

Well, I happen to think the question is really, "What choice do I have?" I don't have one. I can't go back to Connecticut for the summer only to amuse myself with awkward high school run-ins and typical suburbia fare that includes, but isn't limited to: mall, movies, and cheap beer. It's find an apartment or bust. It's get a job or bust. And if The Well-Intentioned Ex-Boyfriend isn't going to be showing up on my doorstep (that I WILL secure!) well, then, someone else will be. I'm on the verge of so many great things. I just know it.

I'm crossing my fingers and saying a little prayer that maybe - just maybe - something good is coming.