The Walnut

I think it's time I wrote about (dun dun duuuuun), The Walnut. My place of residence for the past year. It's small, its haphazardly wired and the only reason I have any faith in sound structure is because my super lives below me. I was in Kansas City this past weekend and the hotel bathroom was as big as...wait for it, wait for it...my bathroom, kitchen and living room combined.

Some fun facts/nuances of the space/things to know:

*My upstairs neighbor blasts techno OR Creedence every evening starting at 6pm. Like clockwork. He also has a penchant for moving and dropping heavy objects round the clock. It's a wonder the ceiling hasn't caved in yet.

*When you turn on the stove, stand back! This isn't a 'if-you-happen-to-remember' warning...this is an 'if-you-don't-the-flame-will-find-you-and-make-you-it's-bitch' warning. Thoughts: this cannot be safe.

*When you use the fun-sized oven, A) remember to empty it of the contents you're storing in there...B) pop a percocet and chug a bottle of wine, because being unconscious is pretty much the only thing that will even BEGIN to alleviate your (legit) fear the apartment is going to blow up during baking.

*The faucet in the shower is backwards (the initial 'on' yields water that yields a third degree burn). It also feels like it's going to fall off one day. That will be a sad day.

*Sometimes if you close your eyes and imagine really hard, the sound of pigeons cooing in the back alley can actually sound like owls...or some other less foul thing from nature.

*There is an opera/Broadway hopeful somewhere across the back alley. Rehearsal time is ALL the time. He's also been working on the same song in excess of 8 months. Quite possibly the same verse of the same song...

*The super is trying to kill us all. By cranking up the heat. Suffocation isn't a joke, it's a scarily real possibility. (Oh, and on a more 'New York' note...don't touch that heating pole. The warning your friends gave wasn't a joke, nor was it a dare, it was dead serious).

*Someone hid a few bricks of cocaine underneath the cabinet under the sink. Or at least, that's what it smells like. Know how you'll know when I've located them? I won't live here anymore.


And now for my personal fav:

*If you use the automatic lock 'function' on the front door, don't expect to have an easy time getting OUT of the apartment next time you try. You will be locked in. And the super won't pick up his phone to help you. You will have to use a pizza cutter to jimmy yourself out and it will take at least 30-45 minutes.

I love New York. Seriously.