Today is my lovely husband's 27th birthday. What better way to celebrate than to get drunk? Unfortunately, festivities were not long-lived as he has a terrible head cold and life is miserable when you're sick. But, being the party girl I am (and by party girl I mean I drink in the dark by myself and listen to 70's hits), I set out on the several block trek to the liquor store. Yes, they know me by name there. But I prefer to see it as a testament to my winning personality and not because I'm a "regular."
After I exchange pleasantries and currency with my buddies down the block, I proceed home only to realize...it's trash day! One of NYC's greatest hidden treasures! Poor artists can furnish their entire home by bringing other's refuse in. And here, with this thinking, I thought I had found a treasure. Right by the dumpster cage that houses the largest population of rats on our block I saw it: the perfect end table/cabinet that we needed! Although my hands were full with liquor and mixer, I still found a way to pull it out from the other curb trash and give it a quick "once over."
"This looks great! I just need to make it home fast enough to drop this stuff off and come back with my roll-y cart. Oh shit! That lady's looking over here. I'll be damned if she gets it before me."
She was homeless...
So, I truck it back home, make a quick drink for my darling, grab the rolly cart, and shag ass to acquire my "find." But even in my haste to make it back to the dump, I grabbed a flashlight so that I could thoroughly check out the goods. It was night and I didn't want to bring trash into my home after all!
Lucky for me *ha ha* my beloved cabinet was still there. I pull out the flashlight and start examining the goods. Another lady eyes me, not homeless.
"Ha! These fools don't know what they're passing up! And I'm going to get it."
Upon further inspection, I found it to be severely water damaged, missing a drawer, and filled with cockroach carcases. Not to mention some brown, stringy "I don't know what's" to be found all over the inside.
Defeated, I dragged my rolly cart home.
I entered my building the same time as one of my neighbor's who happens to be a dog trainer.
"You going up?" he asks.
"Yes, thanks!" I hustle to the elevator.
His dog starts to nuzzle up to me and my hand makes its way to pet his snout.
"Hi, baby! How are you? Ahhh..."
"Don't touch him! He has ringworm."
I recoil in slight and utter horror while putting on my best neighbor face.
I make it up in time to my apt. to wash my hands in scalding water 5 times before exploding. Between the roaches and the ringworm, I've had enough of the streets, and elevator, tonight.
So, happy birthday to my husband who now sleeps on a NyQuil cloud. And I pour myself another drink.