There are a few reasons why I wanted to move in the first place. I was committed to being a better version of me, one with enough counter space to pour a bowl of cereal. Also, the old apartment was small and dim - the most magical interior design could not save the space. As a few hundred square feet are wont to do, it held a lot of memories, too.
I didn’t want memories. I wanted a one-bedroom apartment I could afford, which is like wanting a unicorn. Prospects didn’t look so good. I was pretty caught up in changing my life, though, which sometimes starts with lowering my standards. “Maybe I could move to Washington Heights,” I pondered. “Maybe I could move to Inwood.” Maybe I wouldn’t mind living in the middle of nowhere, by NYC standards. (No offense to uptown denizens. I tutor in Washington Heights and know it’s not the worst. Still, it feels extremely isolated from the rest of Manhattan).
Then I saw a too good to be true apartment listing on Craigslist one Friday. I met with the broker a few hours later and walked through with a flashlight, as the electricity had been turned off. I scrutinized every nook and cranny so as not to appear naive, but my heart nearly sprung out of my chest.
“This could be mine!” I thought. “I could sleep in this room, which is not the same one where I could put my desk! I could pour a bowl of cereal here and…this is where I’d put a couch!”
I was the only one to see the apartment. By Monday, it was mine.
So I spent my entire birthday moving in. If that doesn’t make someone feel old, what does? The pieces of my life began to settle in new rooms on another side of Central Park. I stopped wandering around aimlessly in this foreign place with all of my stuff and none of my history. But there was plenty of the previous tenant’s. He left canisters of St. John’s Wort and a flask.
When my dad visited, we put up some decorative items that made the apartment me-er. Almost every picture from the old apartment is now in my bedroom. The rest of the walls wait to be told whom they house.
The last thing I shed from my past life was the round chair salvaged from the trash a long time ago, back when Cade and I were giddy and newly dating. In the thrill of the find, I never realized how uncomfortable the thing was. Reupholstering it wouldn’t change the fact that it made anyone who sat in it feel like an ergonomic P.O.W.
Still, TBID said I should wait to throw it out until I bought another chair. What if someone came over and didn’t want to sit on the yoga mat or office chair? I couldn’t imagine such a situation, but I complied. Then I decided what my apartment really needed was a Poang chair. It’s as ubiquitous as it is springy - a bajillion Ikea shoppers couldn’t be wrong.
Finding a couch proved to be harder. My heart was set on a chaise that wouldn’t make my apartment feel like a matchbox. Lost: One needle in haystack. Answers to Scruffy. $20 reward.
As if it weren’t hard enough to find a couch that didn’t swallow the living room, I also wanted to find a nice used one. I rarely buy anything at full price. My favorite finds are serendipitous discoveries from thrift stores. It was time to visit my friend Craig and try my luck again.
The first couch was a seafoam microsuede dud from Jennifer. It screamed, “Disaster!” You know the ugly stick? This thing had been through an ugly forest fire. Also, it had pen marks on its arms. That’s how my brain works: “Not only are you fugly, someone got a little too excited writing the grocery list during Wheel of Fortune!”
Then a beige couch from Crate and Barrel came into my life. The owner couldn’t part with it for a month, but I relaxed. I was especially excited about possibly getting this particular couch, as it’s the same one Life Coach has. I spent hours sitting on its chaise and wrapping wine glasses in newspaper when I helped him move last fall. I could attest to its comfort.
Things didn’t pan out. The guy decided to be benevolent and give it to his sister for free. I lost respect for him then and there. My sister and I barter favors for even the smallest gift. No birthday is without haggling of some sort. I exaggerate a bit, but there’s a reason I have given Megan opened cds for Christmas before, cds which I have imported to my iTunes playlist before wrapping.
That’s a lie, actually - I don’t wrap presents.
I was losing faith that the universe would send a gorgeous, affordable couch my way. I expanded the search and figured getting a chaise was like my childhood dream of being an aerospace engineer. I’m just not that good at math.
One day I found it, an affordable down-filled sofa from ABC Carpet & Home. That place has placemats more luxurious than my bedding. I’ve been there to roam around, but never thought I might own something from it while still in possession of abundant collagen. My thrifting philosophy is to buy stuff I couldn’t afford at full-price. Goodwill is not the place to buy something from the Gap.
I went to check out the couch one night after tutoring. Jason, the photographer who owned it, seemed very familiar somehow. I’d been sitting on the couch for a few minutes when he snatched my iPhone and tried to take a picture of me sitting on it.
It didn’t work out, and I wasn’t sure the sofa’s unattached back cushions would either. Yet I sat and talked to him forever. Before I left, Jason knew more about my life than most blog readers. He also offered to lower the price of the couch and take my portrait.
This sounds creepy, I know, but it wasn’t. I truly didn’t worry that Jason was about to pin me to the down-filled cushions and start talking about my aperture. Instead, he mused about what our couch encounter could lead to. “And now he’s my best friend!” I chimed in, as he began pretending to be me recounting the story for somebody.
I was delirious with hunger when I finally left and fretting about whether the couch was a good fit - I still pined for a chaise. When I got home, I had an email. I’d accidentally left a stamped package, a book I needed to mail to my mentor, at Jason’s apartment.
In the romantic comedy or thriller version of my life, I’d have returned to the scene of my absent-mindedness and indecision. In the former scenario, the candle-lit room would be covered in rose petals. In the latter, Jason would welcome me back with a blow to the head or a shiny knife.
Instead, he gained my trust with the chain of emails below:
He wrote:
it was a while before i made it back to my Really Comfortable Luxurious Sofa from ABC Carpet with Three Elegant Unique Pillows on the back which make this sofa So Special. as i put my supper down on the spindle table there was something in the way. a duane reade bag with something inside. i realized it wasn’t mine and thought perhaps you’d left me a gift. i didn’t want to cross any boundaries, as i wasn’t sure, but figured i should look. after all, you could be one of those craigslist users that makes their way into people’s apartments only to leave and blow them up after you’ve left. anyway, obviously the package is not for me and as of this time it hasn’t blown up.
i’d offer for you to stop by after work again tomorrow but i won’t be around. plus, it seems to be priority. would you like me to drop it in the mail, or what else would you like to do?
I replied:
If you *hint* wanted to take it by the post office and give it to a clerk *hint*, you really would be my new best friend.
He wrote back:
you mean you came all the way over here and pretended to be interested in my Beautiful Luxurious Sofa with the BEST back cushions JUST so i can do your postal work for you?
i really have to sleep on this one.. i Can’t Stand those lines either and there’s not a post office exactly right next door. how about this, i’ll do it IF you buy my couch. But, you’ll loose the free portrait on couch offer. no, that’s just wrong, like blackmail.. let me see what i can do..
And then later:
it’s official, we’re best friends.
I should’ve bought the couch from him, right? What a nice guy. He braved the post office for me, and he saves fortune cookie fortunes even when they don’t make sense!
But I didn’t. Nice guys don’t have chaises, and nice guys get their couches bought last.
Instead I chose another. It has blue and cream stripes and back cushions that fit snugly. It’s the exact same couch Life Coach has, too, but in a different fabric. It was put on the market after I met Jason’s couch. I’d found one possible match, and then another appeared. They both wanted to hold me. Furniture shopping is a lot like dating.
Despite the fact that this one snores and doesn’t put the seat (or all its down padding) down, I love it. I think it’s best for me, but I really hope Jason and I can be friends.
No wonder you were so beat last week.. you were preparing this epic blog posting.
I’m proud of you for finishing, though. : )
I can’t see the tv from here. love you dad
Nice post and nice couch. How in the heck did you get it to your apt? That’s something I think will be a big adjustment when I move–not having a car to move/buy big things. Btw, I’m down for the book swap by mail. Let me peruse my library and see what I have that might interest you.
i am thrilled to have been part of such an endearing craigslist blog worthy experience and hope we remain friends as well.
The next time you are looking for furniture, bypass Craig and go to one of the auctions at Doyle on East 86th between Lex and Third. We got a rope bed for $100 and a rug for a couple hundred. Auctions are so much fun too.
Great blog, Mrs. Parker would like it too.
Hi, everyone. Thanks for the comments.
INCB, I may blog later about how I got the couch delivered. It was not something I could do myself.
Kevin, what Dorothy Parker events do you participate in? Any? I’d love to be involved.