At Long Last, my nyc experience is complete

I've battled roaches, and won.

I've fought with mice, and lost, then won, only to lose again.

I've melted into a puddle on the sidewalk in the middle of the summer when it's 95 outside and 92% humidity.

I've frozen my a$$ off in winter.

I've experienced an epic snowstorm.

I've navigated the City and subway on crutches.

I've seen the marathon, several parades (Thanksgiving, St. Patrick's, Mermaid, Tartan, etc.), watched the tree lighting at Rock Center, seen the ball drop at Times Square, dancing at Lincoln Square and the Winter Festival.

I've been to holiday markets, and green farmers markets.

I've listened to pipes rattle, squeal, hiss, ding, spit, and howl when the heat comes on in the winter.

I've fallen asleep to the hum of air conditioners on a summer night, only to be awoken later when people at the sports club a block away cheer at the latest touchdown.

I've watched the fireworks from the FDR.

I've been trapped in an elevator. (Not for very long, but still, it counts.)

I've awoken early in the morning to a woman screaming from the middle of the street, "Call the police, call the police, call the police."

So I did. (The domestic dispute, eventually ended. She was fine.)

I've seen the garbage and construction crews work the tunnels in the subway, and have wondered and read a book about Mole People.

I've been stuck on a subway and waited hours for the A train late at night.

I've learned to sleep through sirens of all sorts unless the stop at my building.

I've attended protests, seen the Central Park Skate Dancers, and been harassed by rent-a-cops for taking pictures.

I've walked past accidents where a bus and a semi-truck have run over people, and seen a body covered with a sheet.

I've had a neighbor in the apartment across from mine, die, then decompose in his apartment for three days. In the summer.

His relatives succeeded in dripping his oozing decomposing bodily fluids along the hallway into the elevator, then back along the hallway and down three flights of steps, then across the lobby as they removed the mattress from said apartment.

I've lived on a fourth floor walk-up and hauled my laundry, down the stairs, around the corner, past fancy restaurants and café's a couple of blocks away to the Laundromat.

I've arrived home late at night to find Amsterdam Ave blocked off at 79th street and filled with fire trucks and ambulances, only to discover that said fire trucks were responding to a now gutted building that just so happened to be right next to mine.

I've peered out my window and looked at the shattered windows and blackened rooms across the narrow chasm between buildings, and slept in a room that smelled like smoke for days, with a broken front door (thanks firemen, No, REALLY! Thank you!) because I had no place else to go.

I've walked from the very tip top of Manhattan to the other tip (Inwood to Battery Park) mostly.

And yet, until tonight my NYC experience wasn't complete.

You see it all started with a leak.

Or should I say drip.

Yes, drip. Or several or hundreds of them. And bulging bubbles of paint that hung from my bathroom ceiling over my sink.

Resulting in me vacating the medicine cabinet and moving all my skin and hair care products into the hallway.

And a couple of calls to my Super. (He lives upstairs from me.)

Tonight when I arrived home from a night out on the town, (book browsing, dinner @ Whole Foods, and the movies (Twilight, it half-way sucked)) I found disaster.

The only thing that remains of half my bathroom ceiling are the original lathe (as in lathe and plaster) slats from 1920.

Oh, and creepy dark crevices that make me scared that roaches will begin to invade again, or that mice will drop between.

I'm just glad I had the foresight , or shall we say intuition, to close my bathroom door today when I left.

Oh, so happy that the resultant mounds of dirt, dust and plaster chunks were contained to the bathroom.

Although, I am saddened to know my hesitance in removing my trusty, fluffy, cozy bathroom rug led directly to its demise.

-Bitter

No, I didn't take a picture, I cleaned the mess up, sanitized, and disinfected quickly, since the facilities were needed immediately.

Woe Is Me, light pollution & that d@#*! fly

I’ve always been sensitive to light while I sleep. I think it hearkens back to the days when I briefly --What’s a couple of years when you’re getting on in years? -- shared a room with my two older sisters.

I spent my mornings flinging a pillow over my head morning after morning as they arose an hour and a half earlier than me to get ready for high school. (No they couldn’t get dressed in the dark.) I quickly learned the fine art of blocking out light while maintaining a steady supply of fresh air.

So NYC is not the darkest spot on the planet. In order to sleep, I’ve hung dark blankets over my curtains, and more recently invested in a nice handy dandy sleep mask. You know, those scraps of silky smooth satin and elastic band made in great colors and occasionally accompanied by ruffles.

Audrey Hepburn wore one in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.



But I digress, sometime last week in the middle of the night I managed to loose my eye mask. The one I wear to block out the streetlight shinning across the street, and that wonderful morning sun that insists on rising first thing (6:00am) no matter how much I complain.

So last week at some point in the night, my eye mask disappeared. Unfortunately when they’re new the elastic is firm and springy, and they tend to slide off fairly easily. At least they do on me.

I vaguely remember it sliding smoothly over my hair and the feeling of cool air caressing skin that had been covered. In particular, I remember the firm tug of elastic against one of my fingers as the eye mask spring boarded off my head and across the room.

Alas, that is the last time I saw, or rather, felt my eye mask, the bringer of sleep to the light sensitive and fashion accessory to the jaded.

I’ve searched high and low, dug through piles of bills I’ve been meaning to shred, and luggage that I’ve not yet put away.

Restless nights have plagued me ever since, complete with psycho creams and tired itchy eyes that stay with me all day. I yawned all day at work on Tuesday and I’ve been dragging ever since. Who knew light and the things we condition ourselves to could make such a difference?

I did a little digging about sleep and lack of darkness for this post, and found out some interesting facts. Did you know that a simple nightlight can children's eyesight? That light pollution has been tied to breast cancer in labrotory mice, and as for my complaint of the moment, lack of restful sleep.

Turn out those lights and pull down those black-out shades. The dark is good for you.

So you’d think my life was bad enough with no sleep, but then the fly came.

I spent Tuesday night with a big fat fly buzzing around my room. Who knows where it had been, I refuse to think about it because is showed a disturbing tendency to be near me. I think it was drawn to my sparkling personality, but regardless of why it liked me, it was quite annoying.

Before I went to sleep and turned out my lights, it kept landing on my arm or leg, and thankfully it decided to go to sleep when I did. When I finally put my book down and turned out my lamp it quit bothering me. That is until the next morning.

At 7:00 am the fly reminded me of its presence. Since I wouldn’t wake up and play, it took to landing on my face (lip, chin, and nostril…). Moment after moment, I brushed it away until I was fully awake long before I needed to be. Once my mind was alert and thinking, I couldn’t help but ponder the poisonous roach traps in my apartment or the boric acid sprinkled around the walls. I wondered if the fly had stopped by those places, and if I was going to die a horrible painful death by the end of the day.

I left my bathroom and front room windows open when I left for work, and I am happy to report that the fly is gone. It either died or flew away. I’ll take either one, at least it’s gone, and I’m still alive.

So wish me luck while I dig through my bedroom this weekend, I really don’t want to buy another mask, but I need to do something before I go crazy. I need sleep.

Inarticulately, (Because really, how could write anything half-decent while I’m half asleep?)

-Bitter

Spiders, no thanks

This article in the NY Times made my skin crawl!

Got Arachnophobia? Here’s Your Worst Nightmare