Sane Person Seeks Apartment

I've succeeded in sleeping until 2:15pm (a near-record for go-go-go manic me), and am now presently perched on my large red leather couch contemplating my breakfast-drink choices of a large coffee or a Heineken.  I'm a little stressed out at the moment, as any New Yorker might would be if they were facing roughly fourteen days to find a new apartment.

I've lived on the Upper West Side for two years now, and even though it's Breeder Central up here with all the baby strollers (which have unnervingly nearly doubled in numbers since April), and early-thirty-something couples brunching at all hours -- the location couldn't be more astoundingly beautiful.  After a year of living in creativity-sucking hell (i.e. functioning as a full-time Manhattan real estate agent), I was able to succeed in securing a fabulous two bedroom apartment in a brownstone in the West 80s not more than twenty steps from Central Park.  Bird-chirping-out-the-window tree-lined-street utopia.  While the location isn't really that central in regard to getting to auditions and such, I've grown to adore it.

Naturally, the "MOVE THE #*@& OUT" notice comes shortly thereafter.

I finally received a statement in my mailbox that the landlords (who live directly below me) are "renovating" my apartment, and thus while they've "enjoyed my stay", I have to get the heck out of here by June 1st.  Frankly, I'd bet money that these people aren't doing anything short of painting the walls before they hike the rent by  50% and some square iBanker couple moves in. 

Unfortunately, I fear I've steadily established myself as an insane person for the past two years.

Again, with these people living directly below me in a sound-seeping hundred-year-old brownstone, the singing of Weird Al Yankovic and likely every major song that ever hit Broadway at odd hours in my shower (I'm a belter), including usually switching dialects even sixteen bars or so (imagine Amish Paradise sung with a country accent, an Arabian accent, a Cockney British accent...), is something I can't imagine has gone over well.  We also have three pianos in this apartment, all of which are played on a regular basis.  Then there's the soirees I tend to throw (perhaps it was the firetruck/ambulance combo that came to the last one that caused this "renovation" decision), the loud talking to myself with the windows open (monologue practice), and the nineteen different psychotic roommates I've had move in and out in the past twenty four months. 

It could also be the fact that I trot up to top of the brownstone every month or so and "roof-hop".  Enough said.

Well, after laying all that out, I kinda can't blame them for kicking me out.  While I (usually) pay rent on time and have had ConEd shut off the power on only a few instances, I've been a pretty good tenant.  I haven't set anything on fire (that they know of), or pulled any practical jokes on them (that they can trace me to).  But the deal is over.  Lovely 1000 square foot two-bedder, you are no longer mine.

It'll be interesting where I end up next.  In the interim, since I absolutely refuse to deal with brokers -- I've concocted this new campaign that I'm posting all over the entirety of downtown.  It's the "Sane Person Seeks Apartment" campaign.  With the exception of this little old guy who chased me off his brownstone stoop on 22nd Street, it seems to be going over well.  Optimism and industrial strength duct tape shall prevail!

-- Ashley Avis

Comments

[Justine]

Kinda confused by all this. Did they give you notice? I would assume they did, and if they're renovating then I would also think maybe they have to give you some sort of compensation for the move out. But if you did things that could be looked at as violations (noise complaints, etc.), then maybe not. But in that case I'd think they'd just tell you why they are making you leave rather than disguising it as something else.

At any rate, I'd suggest the Craigslist subletting boards, which you are probably already frantically checking. They've worked for me in the past.