Queens Crown Jewel

I sit in front of a computer for about 10 hours every day, only to come home and to delve into reading blogs, articles, and occasionally ranting about stuff on my blog. Thankfully there's always TV for a change of scenery and expanding the brain.

So the boyfriend and I moved in together. In Queens. In a 2-bedroom. The second bedroom could very well be an oversized walk-in closet, but we will give it the benefit of the doubt.

My rent naturally increased proportionally to the amount of space we have now (about double). In return the shower sprays something that pretends to be hot water but after 5 min gives up and turns cold. The radiators are loudly oppinionated and throw tantrums with no warning.

Underneeth us is a lovely lady in her 100ths, who paid me a visit to tell me that, despite the fact that we have carpeting, and that I walk barefoot, I step so hard that their light (they live below us) blinks. Which leaves housewarming party out of the question. I suppose mastering teleportation or levitation might help.

The love-nest is a five-floor walk up, where the boyfriend broke his back last Saturday in order to carry all the boxes of mostly useless stuff that we both own, as well as a couch and a mattress. The whole time he was stoically carrying stuff up the tower, I was already planning my escape and thinking that if I ever get to move out of here, I'll just pick up a backpack with my paperwork and leave everything else here. Kind of like the movie "What's Eating Gilbert Grape" -- when the hero's mother died, but she was so temendously fat that they couldn't take the corpse out of the house. So they just said "fuck it" and set the whole house on fire. That's how I see myself leaving this place - by settin everything on fire.

The boyfriend seems pretty cheerful about this apartment. He points out that we live on a busy street with lot of shops. True - the neighbourhood is Middle Eastern/Arab. We live across from a small mosque, and are surrounded by coffee shops with hookah smoking customers. Midtown Manhattan is 5 stops away -- pretty much my ray of sunshine in this whole living arrangement so far.

I don't know what I expected when we decided to move in with the boyfriend. I'm just annoyed by the cold shower. I couldn't go to work with greasy hair so I washed it in the kitchen sink that has hot water.

Another thing that particularly stresses me out is that I cannot/have no desire to cook. I also hate cleaning of any sort. I'm ready to pay a maid to come by once a week than to dust, vacuum and scrub. I could be spending that time out with friends (that I see so little of lately) drinking after annoying day at work. And now I feel that, as the girlfriend of the house, it is understood that I'll assume my womanly resposibilies. I've always thought that someday I'll earn so much money that I'll never have to learn how to cook/clean, and I'm still working on that goal.