Tots, Art and Wombats

For someone who is unemployed (and would presumably have a LOT of free time) I am damned busy.

Last night (until the wee hours of this morning) I researched New York State landlord/tenant case law regarding “Estoppel Agreements” and Rent Stabilization Law. I had to do this because our landlord is refinancing his mortgage and gave us an “Estoppel Agreement” to sign (because he wants to prove that people actually pay rent here). I can’t say I didn’t see this coming: I had the pleasure of showing our apartment to a patronizing sleazeball (Read: real estate appraiser) a few months ago. (I have written about this experience, but have yet to post it here.)

After completing this task, I moderated several internal feline disputes that arose from the local tomcat (who I have named “Clarence”, as in Clarence Thomas) making his regular nocturnal round(s). Ironically, Clarence’s hours of choice (for these social calls) are more akin to Dr. Pepper than Coke (or the pubic hairs contained therein): 10:00 p.m., 2:00 a.m. and 4:00 a.m.

After that, I tried to go to bed— only to be awakened at 5:00 a.m. by female trouble. In true Miss Heather form, I had no feminine hygiene products whatsoever on hand. Thankfully, my best bud Rachael gave me a new pack of pantyliners recently and these tied me over until the local bodega opened.

For all the previous reasons (and a few more) I feel awful and probably look even worse. It’s easy to pull off that “I haven’t gotten any sleep” look when you are in your 20’s. This is because many will assume you look haggard because were out partying, etc. After you hit 30 however, these very same people will pigeon-hole you (for this very same lack of kemptness and thousand-mile whiskey stare) as being “rode hard and put away wet”. Thankfully, I live in a ‘hood where there is ALWAYS someone who looks much worse for wear than I do.

That said, even when I do not feel so low I tend to be a bit of a hermit. This is due to the fact that I am the “homebody’s homebody” (as opposed to being a hardened misanthropist); it takes a lot to induce me to leave the confines of Greenpoint, much less the demented sanctity of my own home. My apartment is my “comfort zone”. I ventured out today for the sole purpose of purchasing the menstrual essentials: maxi pads and wine.

This meager one block trek netted me treasure, nonetheless. Even though I am terrible at making money (but am very good at spending it), the powers that be see fit to throw me crumbs on occasion. Like today.

I scored this object de arte at the intersection of Eagle Street and Manhattan Avenue:

While I am not usually a fan of this type of art, I think it will go nicely in my bathroom (next to the velvet painting of Elvis).

After picking up my new piece of art, I proceeded to the liquor store. I took my bottle of cheap-ass champagne to the cash register and I struck up a conversation with a sales representative for Wombat Hill Winery:

Me (to Sales Rep): Oh yeah, the wine store down the street carries this stuff. I have not tried it yet, but I think those plush wombats are cute as hell.
Me (to Cashier): When this promotion is over, I want one of those guys. They are so cute.
Sales Rep: Of these three wines, which one would you buy?
Me: The Claret.
Cashier: Claret?!?
SR (to Cashier): Clarets are blended wines. The Cabernet/Shiraz bottle here is a Claret.
Cashier: Ohh…
SR (to me): What would be your second choice?
Me: The Shiraz.
SR: So you like red wines?
Me: Yes. To be perfectly honest, I like wine. Period. But I veer towards purchasing whites during warm weather and reds in cooler weather. This is the general rule as I understand it. My father used to be the Chief Financial Officer for a company that imported wine into Texas— and as a result, I have learned a few things about wine.
SR (pulling out brochures): So do you think selling our Chardonnay here is a good idea?
Me: Yes, I do.
SR: Check out this product. It is probably too expensive to market here (at $30.00 a bottle), but you might find it interesting. It’s a boutique wine from Idaho.
Me: Do you mind if I make a note of this winery, as I’d like to pass it along to my dad?
SR: Sure.
Me: Thanks. I agree that this wine is too expensive to sell here. For now anyway. Soon enough there will be plenty of people living here who will be more than willing (and able) to outlay $30.00 for a bottle of wine. This will be good for you, but not for us (pointing to the Cashier and myself).

*Laughter*

I pick up my wine and instinctively fumble around for my newfound painting, brushing my hand against the Sales Rep’s bag (which happens to contain eight bottles of wine) in the process. The Sales Rep notices this.

Me: Sorry, when I see a bag full of vino, my first instinct is to grab it.
SR: No problem. Here, have a plush wombat.

Me: THANKS!
SR: Now I know I sell at least one bottle of wine here.
Me: No worries, I probably would purchase one eventually. (pointing to the cashier) Just ask her.

After expending only ten minutes (and ten dollars) I now have a bottle of champagne (with which to self-medicate myself), a new piece of “art”, AND a stuffed wombat. Not a bad haul, if I say so myself.

In closing, my neighbors have seen fit to throw more crap out their window. My new find can be found here. Happy hunting!

Miss Heather

In Praise of Failure

Firstly, I want to thank all you out there for your interest in New York Shitty. In particular, I want to extend special thanks to Jake Dobkin for seeing fit to feature my blog on Gothamist last week, as I strongly suspect this was the reason for my recent windfall of editorial mentions on other web sites. I have failed at many things, so a crumb (or two) of recognition means a lot to me.

On that note, I present to you the following comment “Anonymous” saw fit to post on Curbed regarding a feature about yours truly from August 14.

First off: Who the hell has time to do follow sh**. This blogger must not be from New York.
In New York, DOG doesnt rhyme with LOG or BLOGGER. Its pronounced DAWG, just like LAWENG ISLAND, CAWE-FFE and WAWK.
There are a ‘crap load’ of neighborhoods with this same problem. Why is this of any significant importants over any other ‘crappy’ neighborhood?
SECONDLY: Curbed really needs to stop covering piss and crap stories. Seriously. Who wants to read about crap all over the city? Its a little
immature, dont you think?

And here is my reply:

To answer your questions Mister or Ms. “Anonymous”…

Q: Who the hell has time to do follow sh**.
A: I have time to follow dog shit because I am over-educated and unemployed. I am not ashamed to be in this position: many very wonderful people are on the “same boat” so to speak.

Q: This blogger must not be from New York.
A: No, I’m not. I’m from Texas— and for that reason hell will hold no surprises for me. I have lived in New York City for 9 years, tho.

Q: There are a ‘crap load’ of neighborhoods with this same problem. Why is this of any significant importants over any other ‘crappy’ neighborhood?
A: I emphatically agree. But for the time being, Greenpoint is keeping me pretty busy. Had you perused my site, you would have noticed that I do showcase dog shit from other locales on occasion.

H

I have no problem whatsoever making light of my (numerous) shortcomings: e.g., being unemployed and from the State of Texas.* I suspect the same cannot be said for “Anonymous”, whoever he (or more likely she) may be. How did I come to this conclusion you ask? Very simple.

1. “Anonymous” wrote a pretty long missive.
2. This missive was written during business hours, leading me to believe that this person (a woman in all likelihood) is pretty unhappy at her place of unemployment. I’d wager money she is a low-level Administrative Assistant— or worse: a Receptionist.
3. I deduced that a woman (probably under 30) wrote the previous because:

1. Men do not make such a fuss about “immaturity”.**
2. Women over 30 have accepted “immaturity” as part of the human condition.

It is not my purpose to vilify this person; rather I want to give her some personal advice. As a woman over 30 who has been a Receptionist and pretty miserable— both personally and professionally, on occasion— I offer the following thoughts:

1. If you are unhappy enough to post such a turd on a comment board (especially while you are on the job), you need to make some life changes.
2. If you are going to rip on one someone (in this case, Curbed.com and myself) do yourself a favor: do your research before you type.*** You clearly did not do this, and as a result you made a jackass out of yourself. I speak from experience when I say this.
3. Lighten up and get off your high-horse. You are no better (or worse) than anyone else. Nobody likes a busybody lecturing to them about propriety. As William S. Burroughs said:
   

   Most of the trouble in this world has been caused by folks who can’t mind their own business, because they have no business of their own to mind, any more than a smallpox virus has.

4. Revel in your failure. You are in good company: there are many more failures in this world than success stories.

Then again, what would I know? I follow dog sh**, after all.

Miss Heather

*If I do not put myself down, someone else (more likely than not, during the course of a job interview) will do it for me.

**For example, here is an excerpt from a recent email my dad (who just turned 65) sent me regarding his latest rectal assault against water-conservating toilets:

… This morning at 8:15 Mr Dick finally managed to stop up # two toilet.