Money makes friendships not-as-good.

So Starlet is moving out. She's going to Boston to live her dream and work toward becoming a veterinarian. Great for her! I'm so happy and proud whenever any of my friends decides to live the dream! Go dreamers!

So today, the day before rent is due, she drops a bomb on me and asks if she can use her deposit as her rent for this, her last month.

Excuse me?

We'd discussed getting the deposit back before - discussed it and said it would come back to her when she moved out, like any deposit. Now she's throwing a fit and saying that since we have a renter for next month it shouldn't be any big deal. She has to pay for her classes. Blah blah.

I need to pay for my LIFE!

I wish I could help her out, but I don't have my rent AND her rent sitting around in a bank account somewhere. I can't just throw money at it and say whatever, I've been pouring every spare dime I have into my credit card debt! If she'd come to me a month ago and told me this was coming I might be able to float her the cash as a favor...but with no notice? I'm not exactly rolling in it, you know? If I was do you think I'd be living in Crown Heights? No! I'd be living in a nice place in Park Slope with roommates who understand that your deposit isn't your last month's rent, it's your DEPOSIT.

Goddammit.

Po' Folk

I'm poor. Not by normal standards, but by New York standards. I can't afford more than $800 in rent. I've lived with $600 rent for a year now and haven't saved any money. Thanks to my long stint of unemployment, I actually accrued some debt.

Part of this, admittedly, is due to consumerism, but most of it is just plain fact. I'm poor. I've actually always been poor. I could have been not-poor in New Orleans, but I chose to support someone else. I could have been not-poor in college, but I chose to go away to school instead of staying close to home. I guess I could be not-poor now and stay in the apartment I can more-than-afford for $600 instead of moving somewhere where I pay $800.

My apartment is okay. It's not fabulous, but when I think about the hovel I lived in when I was in Lefferts it's pretty great. I mean, at least my room is big, the super is nice, and sure I have roommates, but if I choose to not see them I really don't have to. Big room. Private entrance. Roof access. Two very happy cats who get plenty of exercise running up and down the big hallway.

Yes, the kitchen being next to my room drives me batshit. And Heartwarmer is a loud chewer and doesn't clean dishes properly. Yes, nobody EVER wants to come out here. Yes, I got mugged last year. Yes, I HATE carpeting with an extraordinary, glorious passion. And I am nervous about finding a new roommate to live with us, and I hate the expensive cab rides home and I hate that I can never seem to get my room organized no matter how many organizational tools I acquire and I hate the loud people who moved in downstairs.

But it's home. For $600 a month.

Of Beets and Sisters

I bought some beets at the Whole Foods tonight. I plan to roast them with lemon and olive oil. And then I will consume them mightily for lunch, as I am once again jobless.

I love beets. If I were going to participate in the 25 Random Things About Me fad I might include that particular random thing about me. As it is, I think my blog gives plenty of random facts about me.

Here's another one: I have only one sibling, and she is older than me. That means I'm the baby. I have always liked being the baby. I got to tread in Salty's footsteps as she brazenly blazed a trail of rebellion, body modification and dietary contrariness. I get to learn from her mistakes (thank goodness she got divorced before I got married), aspire to her greatnesses (like running and stuff) but still do stuff my own way if I want to. It's good. It works for me.

Enter the sidekicks. Suddenly I am not the baby anymore. Suddenly I'm an old lady with two fresh-outta-the-box girls on my hands. They love me. I love them. I enjoy their cuteness as they embark on this adulthood thing. I teach them what I can and wince when they make mistakes but know that they'll be better for having made them. I often wonder if I am too quick to offer them advice and sometimes think I should let them do what they want. Then they do some adorable thing like asking me to help read insurance statements and admitting that they've never done their own taxes. It brings a tear to my eye, remembering how I panicked and begged Salty for help the first time I had to do these things.

Needless to say, it's working out.... But I can't help but feel like we're on a different wavelength. That six years actually does make a difference. This is how Salty must have felt five years ago. We have a great dynamic, but I'm feeling the need to assert myself as a person whose recent memories don't include graduation or dorm rooms. I need to spend a little more time on my own with people my own age. And older. I like people who are older than me.

They make me feel like I'm still the baby.

What is attractive about this man?

Really, what is?

I had a really great ongoing discussion with my sidekicks today about what they find attractive about men and what makes them physically attracted to any particular one over any particular other.

The photo is arbitrary; I just pulled it from Flickr. Personally he doesn't do it for me. I like his hat...it's kinda cool. But what's with the losery-looking shorts? I hate shorts, by the way. I don't really agree with them as a matter of course. Also his t-shirt is too big for him and makes him look kinda dumpy. I mean, he probably doesn't care...it looks like he's at some sort of hot sweaty music festival or something and he really just wants to get across to the grandstand so he can see Joe's Band play or whatever. But really the point here is that I don't know anything about him, so how can I possibly find him attractive? Someone did, as evidenced by the tags on this flickr photo.

The Heartwarmer says she knows right away when she sees a man if she is attracted to him. The Starlet says she automatically assumes there will be no requisition of any attraction, so she sort of blocks herself from getting attracted.

Me, I don't know. Clothes aside, I guess this dude is okay. I mean, if he came up to me and struck up a conversation I'd probably talk to him for a little while. He'd have to smile and make a joke though, because that is something I find attractive. He'd have to have a nice voice. He'd have to admit that his shorts are ridiculous. He'd have to be polite and charming and all that. But even that isn't enough.

There's that...je ne sais quoi. Now that's hot.

Amazing, wonderful, supportive, style-cramping sidekicks.

I haven't posted anything about my home life in a long while. I guess that's because I equate life with being social, and now that I have roommates I actually have a home life.

I still firmly hold the belief that it is less cool to live with roommates than to live without. However, my quality of life has drastically increased thanks to my two roommates, The Starlet and The Booklet. They are truly awesome, because I get along with them. I am not at all an easy person to live with, but these two girls...well, when describing them to others, I often liken them to "the two little sisters I never had." I attribute much of our dynamic to the age difference: they're twenty-two and fresh out of college.

Seriously, my life is better with the girls at my side. I feel like a superhero with two adorable, fun-loving sidekicks. They're there for me if I forget to feed the cats or if I lock myself out of the apartment when I go running. They're there to talk to at the end of the day. They buy me dinner when I get canned. They got me flowers for my New York Birthday. I no longer wander the streets of the City alone; now I have my dear sweet girls with me, and together we explore lovely Brooklyn under the pretext of our brunch club. We go out together, we stay in together... We share....like.... EVERYTHING. Even feelings, and that's saying a lot for The Booklet. These two personify what roommates should be.

Okay, so there's that.

Now I've been doing a little of that dating thing again. And...well...I've managed to avoid it thus far, but eventually it's going to come time to bring someone to my apartment.

Panic.

So, happy as I am living with these two wonderful gals, why the panic? I'm not ashamed to live with them; quite the contrary! But I must confess that I am a little ashamed that I am twenty-eight and live...you know...with two roommates. In Brooklyn. It's not exactly the life I pictured for myself when I set forth on this adventure. I figured if I was going to live with roommates I would at least live in Manhattan. And if I was going to live with roommates in Brooklyn it wouldn't be...you know...two of them.... two...22 year old...roommates...

See, I tend to like people who are slightly older than me (know anyone cute and in their early thirties?). People who are generally a little more...ahem..."established" than me. People who can afford solo apartments and who are old enough that they just don't want to do the roommate thing anymore. Hell, sometimes I think I'm too old for the roommate thing (but I'm so much happier this way).

But I'm happier this way! And our rent is dirt freakin' cheap!

This strikes a panic in me! What do I do when it happens!? How do I explain all the tofu in the fridge (they're vegetarian and vegan girls, respectively), or Starlet's gigantic electric toothbrush that always falls out of the medicine cabinet or Booklet's intense breakfast-cooking regimen right outside my bedroom door? How do I explain the lack of nice furniture or decoration on the walls (this is their first apartment and I came from a studio)? How do I have some nice person sleep over in my big giant bedroom with my adorable cat purring on the foot of the bed, only to have this nice person run into a 22 year old on his or her way to the bathroom?

OH MY GOD. My room is next to the kitchen...What if I bring someone home and we're...you know... and.... OH MY GOD!

Oh the horror. I can't expose my dear sweet little girls to that. I can't face their innocent, darling little doe-eyes after something like that.

And then, what happens when they meet this hypothetical person? What if my adopted little sisters don't like him or her? What if it's a her and they freak out? They know, but it hasn't been in their faces yet. We all know I'm not looking for my next great romance too...what if they disapprove of my casual approach!? Oh the conflict! Oh the angst!

Panic. Quiet, dull panic, but panic nonetheless.