Let me make this clear: as far as apartments go in Brooklyn, my apartment is awesome. Small, but awesome.
It is in a relatively safe neighborhood within a great school district and just minutes to Prospect Park and the Brooklyn Museum... what I affectionately call "The Slums of Park Slope."
My girls love it here; it's quiet (except for the occasional murderous yell from my landlord to/from his wife) and clean (except right now the apartment next door is under construction and there's crap everywhere) and pest-free, which in and of itself makes the place completely enviable.
True, there are some issues: I don't have adequate closet space or a living room area, and the windows are poorly insulated. My floors creak and two of the burners on my stove don't work. The bathroom door doesn't close all the way and the knob on my closet is broken. My sofa is so big that the front door doesn't open all the way and I'm pretty sure that's a fire hazard. We also have no fire escape, but I totally plan on buying one of those escape ladders I've seen at the hardware store because I'm only one story up... if need be I could totally jump and not get hurt. I have escape plans. Trust. You don't talk this much shit about the government and NOT have an exit strategy.
And yes, the babies stay bumping into the walls and the furniture because they have quickly become all legs and arms without the coordination to control them all. Puberty has made them clumsy as all hell. Every time one of them turns the corner, all I hear is "OUCH!" They need more space.
But my apartment is awesome. Really. I can manage the rent just fine (now... this wasn't always the case as you very well know LOL) and the utilities are super low. I like the cozy feel of it and my bedroom is a great size- I can fit a queen-sized bed AND a papasan chair. Heaven.
However... the babies are just getting bigger. Not only are they outgrowing the apartment, they are outgrowing their tiny bedroom and, more importantly, they are outgrowing each other. THEY. NEED. MORE. SPACE.
I say all this as a long-winded way to complain about the 3BR apartment that is available just two houses down from me that I cannot afford because the rent is $1,000 more than I pay now.
I want that apartment almost as much as I want a DPhil from Oxford in English Literature. Almost as much as I want to turn Oprah down when she selects my book for her book club (just to be difficult!). Almost as much as I want to bitch-slap Omar Minaya in a dark alley in Queens.
I want that apartment and am just sick to my stomach that I cannot have it.
*smooches...resolved to spend the weekend throwing tantrums and pouting*
I will also spend the weekend in Queens with my mami whining to her about my apartment woes.
Then on Sunday I'm going to a poetry open mic at the Queens Central Library; if you're in the area, stop on by and listen to me nervously recite some really bad poems!