Before I had an apartment.

With money I didn’t have.

Because I liked it.

Normally, I wouldn’t resort to such irrational acts of shopping, but after being in New York for more than 2 weeks at that time and not having anything (and I mean, anything) go as planned, you bet your gosh darn relaxed mind I was going to make an impulsive decision.

So I did.

PROBLEM NO. 1 -
I was in the middle of applying for the studio I live in now (and yes, that means that things do get better eventually), so I had an idea of the place and took the leap of faith that I would have it soon enough that I could, in fact, buy this couch. Basically, I bought a couch with no place to put it.

No problem, I thought. I’ll ask Housing Works to hold it.

And they did.

But their policy only allows to hold things for two days. I bought the couch on Thursday. I thought I’d be in my place by Sunday. Oh, what to do for that one day?

Housing Works suggested I … get a mover to hold it! Perfect. I’ll call them.

So I did.

PROBLEM NO. 2 -
Movers are so expensive here. And frankly, I am still in denial that I need them. Had I been in LA (i.e. home), I would have taken my car or a friend’s truck and picked it up. Instead, here in the city, I have to pay a mover $200+ to take my couch from 77th and 3rd to 108th and Broadway. Roughly, a 3-mile journey. So sad, right?

I had to suck it up and call. Calling around made me more distressed. Not only would they charge me $200+ to move the couch, they’d charge extra to hold it. Ay caramba, NY, I’m not made of money! I’m a journalist, for goodness’ sake.

Then, lucky me! I find this man whose brother moves stuff for cheap… for college students. Great! I call and he will gladly move my couch from 77th and 3rd to 108th and Broadway.

PROBLEM NO. 3 -
He can move it on Monday. He’s booked on Sunday. Fine, fine. I decided to call Housing Works. My well-being is less valuable than a $200 Ethan Allen couch anyway.

So I did.

I begged Housing Works for one more precious day that would help this poor Los Angeleno girl lost in the city.

Fail.

I call back David, the mover, and let it all out on him. The stress, the tears, the school, the poverty I am ensuing for having bought this couch, etc. etc. etc.

He said.. HE’D DO IT! David would pick it up on Sunday and drop it off Monday for the humble fee of $150. Holla at yo girl!

PROBLEM NO. 4 -
David can’t drop it off Monday because his wife is sick.

I have class every other day. So we decided that on Wednesday, during my break from class, I’ll run down the short 8 blocks and meet him for delivery. Finally, a problem easily resolved.

PROBLEM NO. 5 -
“This isn’t going to fit in the elevator.”

They carried the 3-seater massive couch up to the 4th floor. David and his friend.

“Is this one of the hardest couches you’ve moved?” I asked.
“No, no,” David said.
“It’s the hardest one we’ve moved,” his friend said.

Great, don’t I feel like the user. Wait, no. I’m paying them.

You think that’s the end?

PROBLEM NO. 6 -
“Did you measure this couch before you bought it?” David’s friend asks as he looks at my small door while holding my couch.

I swear that couch grew! Or my door shrunk! AH!

Roughly 45 minutes later… The couch was in by means of angles I didn’t know existed. Threats were made that they would take off my door without the super’s approval or that they would have to leave. LEAVE!?!? Yeah, leave. But it made it in. On Wednesday. I bought it on Thursday.

It took some begging. Ok, a lot. But it took begging, embarrassment, sweat, and a lot of money, but that couch is what I am leaning on now to write this. And boy, do I feel accomplished.

LESSON NO. 1 -
Measure before you buy.

LESSON NO. 2 -
If you’re homeless, don’t buy furniture.

NOTE: If something is too good to be true… remember that.

Let me emphasize that. If something is too good to be true… remember that!

I read this listing online about a one-bedroom in a shared two-bedroom apartment. Some details were as follows:

$1275
All utilities included
Fully furnished (bed, nightstand, desk, dresser, TV stand)
TV included
Internet
A/C
Mini-refrigerator in the room
Private full bathroom
Large kitchen with dishwasher/microwave/refrigerator/stove
Doorman building
12th floor with views of the Hudson and Midtown (corner room)

I mean, what more could you want?!

Less stuff and… a younger roommate.

You see, Irene, the owner of the apartment and current resident of room #2, is in her late 70s/early 80s. Sweet woman, odd choice of roommate. And, she’s a hoarder of newspapers, books, and magazines. If I remember correctly, she also collects plastic bags in the kitchen. I mean, what happens when I wanna go to the movies or watch Real Housewives? Or rather, when I want to sit in the living room but it’s covered in paper as far as the eye can see!

Because of her age, what happens when if I’m not there?! Am I responsible for her well-being?? This wasn’t a hospice, right!?

She ended up finding a 50-year-old woman who was also interested in the place. My competition!

But you know, since I’m such a nice person, I let the older woman win.

NOTE: If something is too good to be true… remember that.

There was a listing on Craig’s List for a one-bedroom in a shared apartment with (I think) 2 other girls. It was super cheap at $950. Great location! West 95th street, so it was right by the subway stop. The apartment had a large kitchen listed AND… ALL UTILITIES were included.

I’m there!

Rather, Asim and I went over after calling up the girl.

There was another girl who was taking a look at it before me. Popular place! It was a very old, dingy looking building from the inside. Dark, broken elevator. Straight out of a movie (or Cairo, for that matter). The apartment was very Cairo-esque too. Long hallways, high ceilings, narrow walkways.

Guess what? The owner, Liz, was from the OC. Cali, holla!

The bedroom was spacious, furnished, it was good. Not totally clean, but whateva leatha, you know? Now, as Asim and I were in the kitchen, Liz got a phone call. Another interested viewer.

I step out and look into the bathroom while Asim stands outside behind… facing a girl sitting in her room opposite the bathroom. She gestures to him. I don’t see it.

I turn around and this girl shaking her head, signaling cutting off her neck and saying very emphatically what might be “Don’t live here.”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

We quickly say thank you and leave. Was that girl trapped?? Scared?? Who is LIZ anyway?? Is she crazy? Mean?? A GHOST!?

When Asim and I go downstairs and outside, the girl who was looking at the place before us came up to us.

“Did you guys see that girl in the room?”

Straight out of a movie.

I made my way to the Columbia bookstore around 3:30 because, well, I could. And yes, that means I did nothing before that.

Sometimes I really do wonder if people consciously put on the clothes/accessories they do. No mirror? And it concerns me that they actually might!

Anyway, I need a bag for school. I wanted this backpack from this store that was closing shop but the lowest clearance price they would go was $55. Come on… So now I’m off to Columbia where any bag will probably be at least that much but with a crown. Is the crown worth it?

Most definitely.

Apartment! If you’ve been following, you know I still need one. Well… I’ll be officially living…

I don’t know where just quite yet, but I’ll talk about it when it happens.

So I strolled to Columbia today. What a stroll it was. I’ve never really knowingly strolled before. And you know what I realized? That sometimes, many times, you really get what you want. I got Columbia. The Stones are probably still right though, so don’t get your hopes up too high! Haha.

I bought some artisanal bread pizza from the farmer’s marker at Columbia. Cold. But I just realized while sitting in Strauss Park at the corner of Broadway of 107th, that there’s no microwave at the apt I’m staying at.

I also made my first purchase at

Columbia (as a student), if you don’t count the >50k tuition I’ve already given. A planner. And it’s pink. With gold. How royal, right? And you thought the crown wasn’t worth it?

By the way, the backpacks with crowns should be arriving soon.

There’s a man sitting next to me. Probably 80+, near death from the sound of his deep, incessant cough. And what is he doing but smoking a cigar.
4:30pm

I saw a 1-bedroom duplex yesterday. Basically, it’s a 2-story 1-bedroom situation. When I saw the listing, I was excited! Finally, a 1-bedroom unit that could accommodate two people! I mean, it’s two stories, right?

Well… little did I know.

The one, actual bedroom was cute. Very small, but that’s New York, so it was perfect.

The living room was really nice. Brick, a fireplace that no longer functions, and a long window for light.

The kitchen was meh.

The bathroom was recently renovated, so it was really nice. And then I saw this ladder leaning against the bathroom door…

From the bottom, I saw that it led to what appeared to be an area above the kitchen and bathroom that was decent in space (relative to NY), but seemed a little, shall we say, low?

“Oh, someone can totally sleep up there and use that as a room,” my broker said.

When I climbed up, it was about 3.5-4 feet high! What the hay!?

A “Cinderella cubby” as a friend described it. I don’t know who would volunteer to live up in a cubby that could probably fit a slim, twin-sized bed and a human body before making very serious interaction with the ceiling. And with open views of the living room, anyone visiting would know the little maid girl sleeps up there. Umm… no thank you, Disney.

The hunt continues at noon today.

It’s brutal.

As you may or may not know, I’m homeless at the moment: lounging on the couch of a friend’s good friend in the Upper West Side. I have until Friday to find a place to live. Da mumkin? Mumkin. But if tomorrow goes anything like today, da not mumkin for a while. Mumkin I’ll be like the vagabonds I joked about for three years at USC (basically anyone who stayed at the Vagabond Inn, pretty much).

What happened today, you might ask?

I took the train to Columbus Circle, walked about 6 blocks in total.
Went with the broker’s show-er (because she’s got a bad knee) to an apartment on 88th, but insisted (God knows why!) we walk from the 72nd stop where we picked up the keys. 16 blocks north, 3 blocks west.
Then walked to an apartment on 91st. 3 blocks north, 5 blocks west.
Then went to place on 82nd. 2 blocks south, 4 blocks west.
Then saw a place on 94th (it opened later, so we had to go back). 1 block north, 1 block east.

In five hours, we saw two apartments (the other two were failures – one had a key that no longer worked and the other we couldn’t see until tomorrow). Yeah, holy mother of pearl indeed.

Rule number one – find a broker who owns (and is willing to drive) a car
Rule number two – plan ahead and don’t want 16 blocks for fun
Rule number three – don’t go with an Eastern European show-er who likes to talk about the openness of Europeans and their sexuality for five hours
Rule number four – if three must be broken, find another broker

I then met up with a friend for dinner and dessert and another for a post-dinner snack (and subsequently, a LOT of additional walking). It’s nice having friends here; it makes me feel less alone in an overbearing city that makes you walk until death do you part to no avail.

Let’s hope tomorrow is apartmentally better.

I have to face what I have to face now that I’m in the east coast (and currently visiting my friend, Safia, in Philadelphia): humidity.

They say it makes your bones soft. I think it makes you sleepy.

They say it’s good for your skin. I think it’s making my makeup melt off of my face.

They say it feels like an oven outside. I think an oven would treat my hair better. And yes, I have an afro now.

But the one thing I find particularly interesting are these bugs (and in this sense, I mean bugs and some people) that rather enjoy the humidity. Have you heard of cicadas? Neither had I.

Imagine scattered broken sprinklers all around echoing into the night. It’s fascinating what these creatures do when it gets really humid. It’s more fascinating that, get this, they enjoy humidity.

And now Sunpocalypse hits the east coast. Sure, I’m in Philly and this is more in D.C., but I’m still thousands of miles closer than when I was in the warm, humid-less California I’m really starting to miss.

And then there’s the host of state-regulated demands you can read on the freeway.

Read a book.
Don’t tailgaite.
Fender Bender? Pull to the side of the road.
No texting while walking.

Kiran’s definitely not in Cali anymore.

My friends and I saw Avenue Q while in NYC this past weekend. This was quite possibly my favorite song. Let’s all sing about racism!

But to go along with this, here’s my overdramatized, comedic racist story:

I was leaving LA from the John Wayne Airport last week. I got there barely in time to make my flight. I ran to the TSA line since my boarding pass had already been taken care of at home. Does anyone else wonder why people STILL don’t print their boarding passes at home? Anyway, I’m in line. Waiting, waiting.

I take my shoes off. I put them in the bin.

I take my bag off. I put it in the bin.

I take my luggage. I put it next to the bin.

I push them all in.

Now, right before I’m about to walk through the metal detectors, the TSA woman on the either side looks at me. And before I can even make remote eye contact, she makes her judgement. She racially profiles me in my black sweat pants, USC Pride shirt, and Stuart Weitzman Jesus flats… It might have been my eyebrows and brown skin. It could have been my large eyes or black hair, who knows? Everyone’s a little bit racist, right?

But she had the audacity to ask me, “Are you wearing bangles?”

BANGLES!?

Ladies and gentlemen, if this isn’t racism I don’t know what is. I might as well have been asked if I was carrying curry.

I am.

photo by Asim Bharwani

Her new network, OWN (Oprah Winfrey Network – catchy, huh?) is going to have a reality show this fall entitled “Your OWN Show” in which contestants compete for their own show! I know, it’s crazy amazing.

It’s been my childhood dream to be her. Check out my scholarship profile, I said it there too!

I’m campaigning to be on the reality show right now and you can help! Watch my video HERE and vote as many times as you’d like. Send it to your friends if you believe in my idea!

And what’s the idea, you ask? Here’s what I wrote in my application:

Are you ready for this?

My generation will make the future of this world. Isn’t it about time everyone found out what we’re planning on doing?

It’s going to be a traditional talk show in the sense that various topics (politics, humor, entertainment, social, cultural) will be discussed. Every topic brought onto the show would be related to some news in the country and/or world. Everything. I have a news background, so although I want to have a talk show I want to make sure the topics are relevant to TODAY and will be educating people about important issues. Everyone should leave the show feeling more educated.

The guests on the show would be whoever are relevant to the topic. World leaders, business owners, victims, volunteers, heros, villains, etc. HOWEVER, every topic discussed will also have a related guest in the 18-24 age range. Sounds weird? Think again. Many people assume people in my age group don’t care about issues. To an extent, they’re right. But has anyone thought about why? No one includes us in higher level discourse. I want to bring people of my generation to the discussion table about topics being discussed in the rest of the world. This isn’t about isolating my age group and giving them their own show. It’s about bringing age gaps together. Because if no one cares what we think, we really won’t care to say much – which seems to be the case right now.

If we’re going to talk about divorce rates peaking in the US, we’re going to bring in people my age and talk about their apprehensions about marriage, what they’re learning by seeing their parents, how their thinking is different. The world could find out what marriage is going to be like in 10 years if they just talked to us about it. If we’re going to talk about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, we’re going to bring in high political profiles, but also students on campuses like UC Irvine (10 students were arrested for speaking out against Michael B. Oren, Israeli-American Ambassador) and NYU (many protested Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s speech at the campus a few years ago). What do people my age think? What are they going to do or what are they doing now? This can only be found out if we talk to them about the issues only older people are getting a chance to talk about.

The new generation is a different breed of people and because they’re going to the change the world with older people soon, their elders need to start talking to them now. The young generation is the future and if we talk to them, influence them, teach them while doing the same to the older generations, this world WILL be a better place.

When a police car drives past or even when I see a police man/woman anywhere, the first thought that comes to mind – WHAT AM I DOING WRONG!?

That’s the power law enforcement yields over me. Last night, the power manifested like no other – so much so that I could have been deemed guilty just for being so scared. Yikes!

What happened? Let me explain.

I left Beechwood, the restaurant where my friend had her post-graduation celebration. I left innocently around 12:30am. I don’t drink alcohol. It’s pretty simple, so something like a SOBRIETY CHECKPOINT really doesn’t scare me. No, let me rephrase that. Something like a SOBRIETY CHECKPOINT really didn’t used to scare me.

Please look at the image below.

The gray line that innocently goes down Washington and turns right onto Lincoln represents Maximus and me. What happened in that brief 5-minute drive still haunts me.

I left Beechwood and when I got to the Lincoln/Washington signal there was a silver Corolla in front of me. He (or she) turned right. I followed suit.

Now, all these police officers and police cars were really already giving me a scare. I was turning my GPS on, I was about to call my sister, and I was now also getting flustered by law enforcement.

AS SOON AS I GOT MY PHONE out of my bag, I saw the Corolla drive straight on the LEFT side of the cones – undisturbed. And oh my mother of pearl, #1 asked me … to stop.

DID HE SEE ME USE MY PHONE!? EVEN THOUGH I HADN’T YET!? Did he just know? My God, my God, my God. I put my phone in my lap and tried to strategically move it to the floor or under me – anywhere it couldn’t be seen.

“Ma’am [seriously, how old do I look?], can you please pull over there?”
“Yeah, sure.”

WHAT THE HAY!? He saw me, he saw me! He’s psychic! I knew it! I drive to the RIGHT of the cones. Shoot me now. I think my leg is nervously shaking, but I don’t know. When your hearts beats this fast, you aren’t that coherent.

Look at the image again. I stop at #2. He stares at me for like 3 seconds – it felt like eternity.

I say, “Hi.”
“Ma’am, please go down to the end. Down to the end.”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Ok, must stay calm, must stay calm. The phone. Where’s the phone? Under my thigh, I should be fine. You can’t see it, right? Don’t, DON’T, look down. Oh! I turned my GPS on. Is that illegal!? Oh God, I don’t know! What did I drink? What did I drink?? I had a latte. Ok. That’s all. I had water before that. I don’t drink, what am I thinking!? CALM DOWN.

“Ma’am, can you roll down your window?”
I obey.
“Ma’am, where are you from?”
Does he mean ethnically? Nationally? Geographically?
“Chino Hills.”
“Where are you coming from?”
…gosh. He could have been specific.
“Beechwood. My friend had a party.”
“May I see your driver’s license.”
WHAT IN GOD’S NAME IS GOING ON?!
I hand it to him. Ayyayyay.
He looks at it. For a while. What the hay? It’s real. He needs to just caaaaaaalm down.
He gives me back my license.

I’M FREE!

Not.

“Ma’am, I’m going to move my finger back and forth. I need your eyes to follow them. Do not move your head.”

Now, please understand I was so nervous I could hardly comprehend what he was saying. I needed to make sure I did whatever I needed to do correctly. Goodness, I only had a coffee!

“So just follow your finger. Don’t move my head?”
“No.”
He does it. I follow.

Did I pass?

Of course not!

“Ok, I’m going to need you to…”

Oh my GOD! Get out of my car?!

“Ok, I’m going to need you to look up and to both sides.” He takes out his flashlight and flashes my eyes. Jesus louises. Maybe there IS alcohol in my blood!

He gave me a funny look. Looked at the man behind him and said, “Ok, Ma’am. Drive safely.”

I’m not a ma’am. Whatever.

As I drove off, my leg was shaking, my heart was beating, and I could hardly swallow what had just happened. I didn’t do anything, but I felt like I did! Are my eyes that strange that so much investigation took place? What the hay, right?

And by the way, why did that silver Corolla get to pass through?

No more lattes for me. They might have alcohol.