Experiencing student life (well nearly).

So kitten is here, downstairs seeing to the apartment. She turned up, as usual a little late and a little tired, always a good opener for your cleaner. She’s clearly toiling away, waving the broom in front of the floor and pretending to clean the bath. Oh life is good. The real use of a cleaner is the way they seem to motivate you to clean your apartment before they turn up, which is precisely what I have done today.

Here’s the view from where I’m sitting at this moment.

…and that’where’ is on the 29th floor of my building where there is a recreation room. They do breakfast in the morning, offer free wi-fi and cable news throughout the day – so I’m sold.

However, so is most of the obviously growing student population in this building. I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad, but one this is clear – it’s noisy. Now, I was never the biggest fan of studying, I should have gone to the Institute of Easily Distracted Youth to be honest, but I do understand the need for an environment that enables thought and process to flourish.

Therefore, as I sit here with very bright Cornell student and watch him work on formulas that look like someone nail bombed a can of Alphabetti Spaghetti I’m increasingly angry at the phlegm of students sat  at the other end of the room.

The noise is incredible, and it is so to type. Talk about girls, drinking, open bars etc. All completed over a Starbucks they probably bought last week and some empty crisp packets.

Never mind that their books look like you could still take them back to Borders, or that their laptops seem to be permantly fixed to Facebook; these chunks of meat really are solid muscle from the neck up.

How to stop terrorists in their tracks.

Coat-hangers. That’s the answer. I’ve overcome disease, stress, despair, disaster (and an earthquake) but one thing that always stops me dead in my tracks is the sorted of coat-hangers. Coupled with the fact, that like biological warfare they breed – I seem to have a ratio now of 2 hangers to 1 hangable thing. 

It’s clear to me that this is some subterfuge by Donald Rumsfeld (and if he denies it we can just say it’s one of the things he doesn’t know he doesn’t know. Someone has, as an anti terrorism measure, infiltrated my California Closet with this weapon of mass confusion.

I don’t know if you saw that leaked footage from Guantanamo recently – showing the ‘civilian combatants’ in head to toe orange outfits sorting through wire baskets of coat-hangers. I believe the UN has outlawed it as akin to waterboarding.  

Either way, it seems to have worked it’s way into new apartment and it’s driving me mad.

Kitten strikes again.

So Kitten is here, my cleaner from South America. She’s adorable. Never ACTUALLY does any cleaning, but does all the right gestures and smiles a lot. She’s also sex-obsessed and, as you’ll recall from last time, is prone to showing me graphic pictures of black men that she claims to sleep with (although you can almost see the ‘Falcon’ logo in the corner of the images)…

Today we’re here together, her and I. Me working for money from clients, her lolling around pushing a cloth over the counter and draining my resources – but, hell, what’s new? I’m happy. Happy in fact to tell you that she just discovered my Pedro Almodovar collection and immediately went on to describe a sex scene with Antonio Banderas. A description so graphic it included a grimace, a turn to be profile on to me – and at least a dozen fist punches into thin air; all whilst wearing surgical gloves and holding a floor duster.

One of the best emails EVER.

 

I received this tonight:

 

HOT TUB OUT OF SERVICE TILL WEDNESDAY 10/15This E-mail was sent via the BuildingLink Address Book by Bldg Mgmt: Malby Almonte.

 

 

Nice.

Welcome to my Home-tel

There is nothing quite like living in a serviced apartment. Fact. It’s been 36 hours and to be frank every one of those hours has been paradise. Including, but not limited to:

 

1. Tearing the place apart to try and find the switch to turn on the central air conditioning (corner apartments that face West get a LOT of sunshine). Then asking quite innocently with the concierge and having Joe, the uniformed handyman fix it in 8 seconds.

2. Discovering my fridge has both an icemaker AND a chilled water dispenser (holy shit, that’s the stuff that built the American Dream is it not?)

3. A spa bath, deeper than my knee and box shaped – and fuck it, just HAVING A BATH TUB.

4. A separate bedroom – yes, you can fry fish and not sleep with it.

5. Having a man open the door for you. Everytime.

6. A digital mailroom – you know what you’ve got before you even get to it.

Oh I could go on. But what made it really special was Kitten the cleaner, who’d been round a few times whilst I was in Bali and unpacked lots of stuff, and filled the fridge with the things she knows I love (Fiji Water, Babybel and ham)… god BLESS her.

And finally, a chance to take a new portfolio of pictures. I’ve been snap happy – and here’s my favourite – right now:

I’m In!

Joy of joys (it’s turning out to be a bloody good week I can tell you) I have the keys to my new apartment! I’m frankly ecstatic. It was tense because of my trip to Bali – for which I leave tomorrow – and the logistical nightmare of moving in when you’re in Indonesia and your flats are in Manhattan. But it’s OK. Because I’m bloody in!

Aron and I took a stroll over earlier to get the keys. A landmark moment, and he liked it and let me tell you – he’s picky, v e r y picky. In fact he summed it up with a laugh and the phrase ‘this is a bachelor pad’. Yes I think it is. 

So, thanks to good friends (Rachael) who will oversee my movers and watch them destroy all my cherished posessions, and my cleaner, Kitten – who has now offered to do all my laundry, run errands and COOK FOR ME, I’m in good hands.

I liked the fact that Kitten the cleaner told me that I was not to eat any more ’send-y out-y junk’ and she would make Uruguayan food for me, whatever the hell that is. I’m excited. She’s also going to pre-stock my fridge and do stuff like that. So Kitten is now a Maid, not a cleaner. Fact.

It’s been a shitty couple of weeks, so what with this, Holley graduating, and my trip to Bali – I feel like a corner is being turned, a cloud lifting and a new beginning, er, beginning.

Hurrah! All that remains now is another trip to London to catch up with dear friends and we’re all set!

 

Shot below is my new living room.