Money is a huge driving force in my life. I wouldn’t call it financial responsibility or greed so much as fiscal hysteria. Every time I have to reach into savings or I use my credit card, I can feel a tiny panic fairy dancing in my heart.
Currently, that fairy has let the rhythm take control. He is letting it move him. After nearly six years, nineteen roommates, three evictions (by me, not to me), and four particularly charismatic mice, I am leaving the Upper West Side. There is a studio in Brooklyn neighborhood Fort Greene that is literally going to have my name on it in a month. The Cheeky Chipmunk, aka Roommate #17, lives in the building and gave me a head’s up when a place too good to miss became available. I’m excited to make a change; six years of anything is a long time. I have all sorts of decorating ideas and dreams, though the expense of paying a big deposit, more rent per month, and furnishing a little place on my own is daunting.
Everyone I’ve told has been helpful and awesome. The Siberian Fox (#14) has been extra awesome and supportive, which is much appreciated, since the burden of apartment responsibility now falls on her. Gigi (#6) volunteered her car. When I told my mom (not a roommate in my current apartment, but #1 in overall roommate chronology) how nice the neighborhood is, she reacted with a kind, but skeptical, “Oh, really? In Brooklyn?”
In the world of New York realty, I am a unicorn. I had a sublet waiting for me when I moved to the city and then fell into my current apartment by word of mouth and stayed from 2006-2012. I’m like Cher from Clueless, except that I can, in fact, drive. I’ve never met up with a stranger from Craig’s List to look at her apartment. I shrink in terror at the thought of paying a broker find a place for me. The last time I moved, I paid a guy with a pick-up truck $80 to haul my mattress and seven boxes uptown, knowing but not fully understanding that I had approximately a fifty percent chance of his chopping me up into little pieces. I ended up only enduring early hipster apathy. This time I will be hiring movers, missing out on the adrenaline rush that accompanies hurtling up the FDR with a stranger and all my worldly possessions. Though those are the exact expenses that cause the panic fairy to shake his little bon-bon, it will be money well spent.