As the much needed fail of the MTV Washington Heights reality show moves into its next week of pointless drama, I give you part 2 of Apt 45.
One thing about this year is that the resolution gym rush occurred in February. All the people who promised to be gym rats starting January 1 are delivering on that promise in February; delayed start, but can't hate the intention. In the spirit of embodying the New Year Spirit in February, I'd like to tell you about the best of the worst New Year's Eve/Day stories ever experienced by this here writer -- in apt 45.
Remember 2009? It was a big one for me. It was the year I finished college, moved to New York and moved in with a crazy person. For almost four months I had to play a challenging game of let the hood rat run around until she evicts herself. The game goes something like this: hood rat does something crazy, Ohio girl attempts to let it go and documents the occurrence -- and repeat. My goal was to gather enough altercations (unprovoked) to convince the remaining tenants that life would really be much better without her. Well, this proved to be so much easier once I discovered the rat was a squatting one -- she wasn't paying rent. Determined with the lack of work ethic to not settle for a job and therefore not have any money for rent, my roommate squatted, but like a sitting duck she had to be nice to me and she had to be smart about her actions; the latter was something I certainly had an upper hand on. So as a self-declared master of passive aggressive activity, I began to sting small arguments with the venom of, "well I'm paying rent so ..." The veracity of my statement and the amazing teeter of the power structure let me sleep better at night (even with the ridiculous radio playing).
Now that you have a sense of the tension that broached the apartment, picture: December 31, 2009 a joyous night that celebrates the past and designates positivity for the future. My sane roommate and my bf are getting ready for a night out together. The crazy one comes by to let us know that she's having a party tonight and that it should be over by like 2. Annoyed of the idea that the apartment might be infected with her hood rat friends, we reside to agreeing that being back by 3am will give people plenty of time to leave and we'll be back without having to experience it ...
Boy were we wrong.
Enter 3:15am New Year's Day 2010.
As I walk out the elevator towards our apartment I hear music blaring, but an empty apartment! I'm thinking great we missed them, now off to bed. As I was quickly corrected, her party wasn't starting until 3:30. The level of anger cannot be explained in this post, but just think about narrowing escaping a really bad situation only to find out that you were still in the wrong place at the wrong time, in fact it was your living quarters. Seething, I return to bed hoping for the party to be over as soon as humanely possible.
7:30am ... Party is still going, music, drunk people, running up and down the hallway, knocking on doors while we pretend to sleep, and the kicker: my roommate was nowhere to be found... I hadn't slept, the cat was hungry and I was beyond done. I go outside to feed him and am accosted by someone I could only describe as a misdirected Tim Burton character.
That I believe is what they call the straw that broke the camel's back, I succumbed to calling the police on my own apartment.
I mean, who has to disguise their voice as a scared neighbor to get the police to come to their apartment and break up the party ...? This lady. In apt 45.
Don't worry it can't get worse than this, right?
Stay tuned for more ...