Interior design from TV shows and movies

I should be packing. I should be packing clothes for LA and Canada and I should be putting things in bottles and then ziploc bags and I should also be stuffing socks into shoes. By my own logic, I plan to go naked in Orange County.

Anyway though, I just found this site about how to get the set design looks from TV and movies and it's cool http://silverscreensurroundings.blogspot.com/

For someone who has so little style, it's weird that I'm spending so much time reading about style. I don't plan to apply it. I just like to look at the pictures. And yet my words have style. Sometimes I speak entirely in corduroy.

Also, Gossip Girl made me cry tonight.

Wear yourself out by listening to me go on and on about furniture

Earlier today I had a whole temper tantrum inside my own head and decided that when I got home I would write a blog post entitled "I don't know how I feel about my couch. P.S. I'm neurotic and going to die alone."

Then I found out that title had already been taken so I had to go with the one above.

See, I've been going back and forth on this couch. Not literally. On the upside, it's comfortable. On the downside, sometimes I look at it and think "it looks like barf."

But considering how goddamn long I took to decide and how annoying I was about it shouldn't I just love it? Love it to pieces?

Because I don't. But I think I like it. Maybe? I don't know. I like it better now that I bought throw pillows for it (I haven't decided which ones I like, hence the three different pillows.) Earlier tonight I decided I'd go with a silver, gold and white theme which is neato and, um, yeah. Neato's all I got on that one. Fancy? Neato and fancy? I could do neato and fancy. And secretly Christmasy.

But then sometimes I look at the couch and think "it looks like a giant gum eraser." I also think it looks like liver and I also think it looks like steak that's been chewed up and spit out. Also: gristle.

But then I see it in photos and I think maybe it's ok.

See, complicating matters is the fact that the delivery men nicked it in a couple spots so C&B offered to replace it. I explained that it was kind of difficult to get it into the space so they're sending someone out to look at it here to see if he can patch it up in situ. What does in situ mean? Hold please.

God I'm smart.

Um, yeah, so anyway, if I act fast I could get this big gray menace out of my apartment and my life forever and then I could invite something else into my living room that I will go nuts about. Seriously, I'm sick and tired of myself.

But it's not like I never like anything ever. When I look at my bed, my white duvet covered bed, I feel calm and good. I don't have this crazy ping ponging meat-comparison making reaction happening.

Yet I'm not at peace with the decision to just return the fucker either. That makes me anxious too.

Let's talk about my last apartment, shall we? I moved into it under duress. I wanted to stay in the apartment I was in before that, my first real apartment in New York, but it's a long story and that wasn't feasible so there my sister and I were, needing to find an apartment or break up and she had a friend who was vacating this great apartment in the village and we went and looked at it and because I couldn't find anything else I said yeah, that's fine. But then before we pulled the trigger I began doubting the decision and was freaking out and begged a friend from work who was later my boyfriend, unless he was already my boyfriend at the time, to go look at the place with me. We did and he reassured me that it was a great place and I would be happy there.

Sadly it was a terrible place and I was miserable there.

Or rather, it was a pretty decent place but I wasn't happy there anyway. I never liked that apartment or that neighborhood. Also, there were mice. Oh my God, my couch looks like a big sheet of mice.

So I was thinking about all this this morning and thinking that if I'm having doubts about the couch, instead of letting myself be talked into it, I should just honor those doubts and not keep the damn thing and just wait until I find one I really feel good about.

But then sometimes I look at it and I like it.

And it's comfortable. It's really comfortable.

So then why not just get it in a different color?

Because that will take 12 weeks. And plus I'm trying to avoid having people remove it and bring in another one but I'm not sure why I'm trying so hard to avoid that. I mean, just because my idea of hell is moving furniture doesn't mean that someone whose job it is to move furniture feels the same way.

But still, I just feel like I'm doing it. That thing I do. I don't know what that thing I do is which makes it hard to know whether I'm really doing it, but I suspect I am. I mean, this feels very me in the extreme. I hate extreme me.

I'm also trying to see if it's possible to get slipcovers for this couch. I mean, I know you can order them from C&B for about a thousand dollars but for that much, I may as well just get a different couch.

Still reading? I'm sorry to put you through this. On the upside... um.... well okay technically there is no upside. Oh wait, I know! Today I saw a woman pushing two black poodles in a stroller!

Also, I'm aware there's a world that exists outside me and this couch. I find that annoying, too.


And then I see this photo and I like it again.


I also like ducklings.


Here I am not thinking about couches.

My couch is eleven hours old

And already I've fallen asleep on it and nearly lost the remote control in its butt, or whatever the appropriate furniture term for seam between the cushions is.

Also, I know the couch is much older than eleven hours but I choose to ignore the life it led before we crossed paths.

Also, unrelated, I don't like video chatting. I just don't. No thank you, gmail.

A joke about furniture

Note: sometimes I come up with terrible jokes, the kind that make you groan. It's getting worse as I get older, though my allergy to cats is getting better as I get older. I don't know what to make of this. Eventually my sense of humor will deteriorate to the point where the only kinds of jokes I can make are truly embarrassing and at that point I'll know it's time to have kids.

Anyway, to the joke, and I use the word "joke" loosely:

Woman: It's an occasional table.

Man: Well, what else is it? (maybe this should be: What's it when it's not a table?)

Or maybe it should be "What's an occasional table when it's not a table?"
But then I don't know what the answer is.

Brooklyn can't keep its hands off me

Yesterday I went to this cute little antique or secondhand store near my apartment that had all this cool old furniture which smells cool and old and maybe a little like mothballs, but very hip vintage moth balls, not mass produced moth balls. I mean, the craftmanship that went into these balls. The elbow grease and the sweat. Someone labored over these balls. You don't find that in the city. So anyway I was talking with the woman who worked at the store because I can be garrulous and winning when I so choose, or when the moment chooses me, I mean, who's to say you know? So we're talking and she asks how long I've been in the neighborhood and I tell her three days and she comes out from behind the counter to give me a hug and say welcome to the neighborhood. It was so sweet I almost cried! And then I told my sister later that day and she almost cried! It's like we're just so relieved that anyone likes me! And then today I met my landlord's wife and daughter (they live above me) and they were super nice and gave me a sweet housewarming gift (a cute teapot and some tea) and told me I was home now and if there's anything I need not to hesitate to ask and she gave me a hug and it was so nice I almost cried. And then I told my parents and they almost cried! I'm telling you, it's like I've never known the touch of other human beings or something. Anyway, photo tour? I think so:




Here's me on moving day in the middle of the WORST allergy attack ever. I think my nose was swollen. I cannot emphasize enough how bad this allergy attack was. It was like a cat exploded on my face. And not in a good way. A less confident person would burn this photo, not upload it, but what the hell. I dare you to love me.

Here's one of the pieces of furniture I bought from the antique store near my apartment. Usually I like white furniture but new borough, new woodstain. Also, don't I look like a fussy little old man with this nightstand? You can't really tell but there is an umbrella and a bottle of aspirin on the shelf. It's the umbrella that makes me look geriatric for some reason. I should also stick a hot water bottle under there. And my reading glasses, even though I don't use reading glasses.
Oops, out of order. Here's me on moving day, transporting my precious plants. That's me with no makeup, by the way. None.


Here's the adorable teapot I received as a housewarming gift from my landlord. I also received a tin of tea but that isn't in this photo.



Here's another piece of furniture I bought from the antique store. Doesn't it kind of look like a smiley face or the face of a robot/computer in an 80s movie? I liked it until I wrote that.


Here's a lamp I bought at this little furniture store I discovered called Ikea. Who knew I like funky lamps? I didn't. But I do!


Here's a rounded edge bookshelf thing I bought from that store. Not Ikea, the other one.


I also bought a "secretary" although thus far this pink thing hasn't made me any coffee or filed anything.


Here it is, opened. It's blue inside! I totally didn't need this at all, however now that I have it I've made it my correspondence corner, in case I need to send anyone a postcard. Note: the last postcard I sent was in 1994.


Here's a bathroom storage thing I bought from someone off Craiglist. Now my whole bathroom smells like whatever hair products the person who used to own this used. It's a distinctive smell but I can't place it which is frustrating. I like to think I know my Garnier from my Aquanet from my Sebastian.


I love ducklings but I realized that the love I have for my dishwasher is a close second. I LOVE this dishwasher. A friend of mine told me he finds doing dishes relaxing. I find not doing dishes relaxing.

Inside my dishwasher.


Remember how I said my freezer smells like asparagus? Well asparagus, you've met your match. I'm tackling the problem head on. This baking soda was lovingly shot and backlit in my freezer.
And lest that smell think of laying down roots in my fridge? Think again.

I guess that's all for now.

I am stressed!

Again with the stress. If fear and anxiety were a pinball and my body were a pinball machine, someone would be racking up a lot of points playing me because that ball is zinging around, bouncing off my spleen and ricocheting off my ileum and then getting caught in my pancreas where you think it's lost and then it pops out again and stuff lights up and now there's two balls zipping around! No two ball jokes, please.

See, I was feeling fairly on top of stuff because yesterday went well and so I could stop stressing about that and then today I made a to-do list and it wasn't as scary as I thought but then I found out that I may have to do an on-air interview late next week which is when I'd planned on moving and somehow that's toppling my whole house-of-cards-of-calm feeling I'd built out of this deck of 52 Bicycles, which is a kind of card, not actual bikes because there's no way I could build a house out of actual bikes! I'd get covered in gearshift oil! I'd smell like tires!

I wish I had a desktop zen garden with a small waterfall and little bonsai tree. I need some kind of desktop de-stresser.

How am I feeling?

I'm feeling stressed about moving, that's how, and it's a totally free-floating kind of stress that's really the worst kind because if I get distracted I feel like I'm forgetting something and then I realize that what I'm forgetting is to sit still and fret about moving. I should tie a dining set around my finger so I remember to worry.

Anyone care to recommend any movers?

Also, did anyone watch the Comedy Central Roast of Bob Saget? It was funny.

I guess that's all for now, although I'm sure there's more.

Help me design my apartment

There's no medicine cabinet or storage in the bathroom of my new apartment and since the tile (which goes all the way up the wall) was just redone, the owners aren't so keen on drilling into it. This means I'm looking at one of those over the toilet freestanding shelf or cabinet things which I never like because I feel like they're unattractive and not very sturdy seeming. So I ask you, blog readers, have you seen any that you like? What would you do if it was your bathroom?

By the way, this is part one in a series of me asking you for advice on how to set up my new apartment. I was born without the shelf-hanging gene. Also, I have no idea what I like anymore. Midcentury modern? Shabby chic? Actually, I know I like shabby chic, I think I'm just slightly embarrassed to admit it. When I moved into my apartment in California I happened to walk by this second hand furniture store and they had all this distressed white wooden furniture and it was super cheap and at the suggestion of my roommate and friend who was quite handy and had a large car, I snapped it up. I miss that furniture which is currently sitting in my parents house in California since it didn't make sense to bring it to NYC. When I moved here I bought new furniture which is okay but I don't love it. It's neither white nor distressed. It's Mexican rustic, sort of. It's large and wooden and it just isn't me. But, I mean, I'm only talking about a desk, two nightstands or endtables and a dresser. The rest of the furniture for my new place I'm going to have to buy. Here's what I'm thinking I'll need:

a kitchen table
chairs
a couch or easy chair or both, plus ottoman since I enjoy flopping into a chair, putting my feet up and staying like that for about six to eight hours (I'm very active)
a coffee table
a media stand or thing to put my TV and cable box on
a microwave (that's not technically furniture but at this point I'm just making a list)
a puppy
an armoire or freestanding closet or something since this apartment doesn't have any built in closets which I know kind of sucks but it DOES have a dishwasher and boy do I love dishwashers
two rugs for two rooms which are about 12 by 12 each (one is more like 12 by 14 actually, I think)

Now that I've made this list I feel both more stressed and more relaxed.

Apparently I'm not the dinner partying kind

So I was talking to my mom earlier on the phone about apartments and I was saying that one was so small it was more like a dorm room than an apartment and you wouldn't want to have people over and she was asking if you wouldn't be able to have anyone over, not even one person, and I was saying that you could have one person over but you'd never want to have a dinner party.

At that point she kind of scoffed and chortled, she scfortled, as if I am not the dinner party type. I am SO the dinner party type and the fact that she can't see my inner casserole dish and the oil and vinegar cruets behind my eyes—well that kind of hurts. If you stab me with a dinner fork do I not bleed? If you shove little corn poker things onto the ends of ears of corn does it not make them cuter? (it does! and easier to eat! not that I've had corn in a million years, but that's beside the point)

Anyway, just because I haven't entertained in a zillion years and just because I wouldn't know human companionship if it came up and bit me on my agoraphobic tushy does not mean that I don't know how to throw a fun fest for a few fancy friends.

And to prove it, I thought I'd detail the itinerary:

First my guests would arrive and we'd chit chat while assembling my furniture. Then we'd eat pretzels. Then we'd play dress up. Then we'd skip rocks. Then we'd take a nap. Then we'd help me lift heavy things and change any bulbs that are out that I can't reach. Then we'd play sardines. Then I'd sing a song for everyone. Then we'd make a toast. Then we'd have quiet time where you could read or nap or color or play with stickers. Then we'd go miniature golfing or roller skating, I haven't decided. Then we'd probably go out to dinner. Then we'd watch a movie on my home movie theater. Then we'd take funny photos. Then the shuttle would come to take everyone home.

See? I know dinner parties!

A banana grows in Brooklyn

Banana seat?

Banana seat!

Sackett? I hardly knew it.

Today I looked at an apartment on Sackett Street and first I was thinking that Sackett sounds like something you do to someone or something, like Phuket, and then I was thinking that if I took it I could have ample opportunity for dumb puns like "Sackett to me!" and the more refined "It's Sackett, to me."

Thank God I didn't take it when you really think about it.

Something I learned about apartments/real estate

The term pied-a-terre has nothing to do with gardens, apples, potatoes or feet! (It has to do with rich people!)

More Easy Pickles

Yesterday I wrote about how I misread a shop sign and thought it said "Easy Pickles" which I then imagined making frequent reference to when discussing running errands however just now I realized a couple more uses for Easy Pickles.

1) As a response to "cool beans."

Person number one: I just bought these new Guatemalan pants
Person number two: right on
Person number one: cool beans
Person number two: easy pickles

Now, perhaps that's not quite fair because in the above example both person number two and number one are of near equal levels of irritating as evidenced by the immediate use of "right on." Here's another, perhaps more realistic scenario:

Person number one: I'm going to check my mail
Person number two: cool beans
Person number one: easy pickles

2) As a passive-aggressive way to make someone feel vaguely self-conscious, along the lines of "easy, tiger!" but less playful, more insidious

Person number one: I'm going to eat some Cheetos!
Person number two: Easy, pickles!

Person number one's inner monologue: "What? Did he just called me Pickles? I don't get it. Should I get it? That's weird. Do I eat too many Cheetos? What does that have to do with pickles? Do I smell like dill?"

For maximum mindfuckery I'd recommend tossing a THERE into it like this:

Person number one: I'm going to play xbox
Person number two: Easy there, pickles!

Today I was that a-hole with the camera

I wandered around Astoria today trying to see if would want to live there. Here are some photos from my journey.

In this first one I thought, "A pet store!!"



But then as I got closer I realized it's totally not a pet store


And then here's a cute street


And another


Here's where you eat before you die:


Another cute street!


Some adorable whatever-they-ares:



And then back in Manhattan I discovered that Duane Reade is readying itself for bikini season

Easy Pickles

Today in Queens I passed a store called "Easy Pickins" but at first I thought it said "Easy Pickles" and I was imagining living near this store and how before long it would just become part of conversation and not even sound weird or funny to me when I talked about picking up my groceries at Easy Pickles or dropping off my clothes at Easy Pickles or getting my imaginary dog groomed at Easy Pickles. As is perhaps clear, I wasn't sure what kind of establishment Easy Pickles would be, but I'm pretty sure I'd frequent it.

Then I had dinner with an ex in Brooklyn who casually let slip that to this day he remains a defender of my writing. Or maybe he said that he finds himself defending my writing. Whichever it is it just lodged in my brain like a grain of sand in an oyster, causing periodic discomfort and unleashing the full power of my ability to think the fuck out of something (defend my writing? what? who's attacking it? no really, what did they say? huh? and the casual way you just tossed that off, as if I should know that people are openly disparaging my writing, as if perhaps I'm too sensitive for making an issue of this? I mean I guess that's the price you pay for putting your words out there and as a writer I can't expect that everyone is going to agree with me but it's not like I've been courting controversy. Oh my God, do I really need approval this much? I don't mean to make this all about me but can we back up and talk about that some more. No really, what?) and by the end of dinner I had a full-on brain pearl. I'm thinking of having it made into a tasteful brooch.

A dog, shoes, and the promenade

I was moving photos off my camera and onto my computer and found a few I thought I'd post. The first is Brooklyn Heights taken from the promenade yesterday when I was wandering around apartment hunting:


The second is a view of some trash in a trash can with the promenade in the back:



And then here's Tobey from when my parents were here:


And here, too, is Tobey. Also? Some shoes.



I should get back to vlogging. I will do that soon, promise!

Dear Broker

Oh goody! Time for another "Dear Broker"!

Dear Broker,

I'm sorry that when I asked the square footage and you said, "I like to approach it a different way, what are you trying to accomplish?" I sort of ignored your question and just asked my question again using different words ("Do you know the dimensions?") It's just that I didn't quite understand what you were getting at—what cruel irony that I didn't know what YOU were trying to accomplish—but now that I do, I can say with confidence that I'm trying to "accomplish" finding out the square footage or dimensions of the apartment.

Nothing "cozy" please.

Alison

the way apartment hunting takes over your life and invades your thoughts

I was in the other room and the TV was on and I heard "A new study says New Yorkers are number one in the country when it comes to being evicted by email." I thought: "Evicted by email?? Is that even legal?"

But then I realized they said "addicted to" email.

Incidentally, even though I saw two shoeboxes yesterday I was feeling pretty excited about the prospect of creating a new home for me and my imaginary dog but today I'm feeling pretty pessimistic about it. You know, in case you were wondering.

open mouth, insert words

Greetings lovelies. This is where I eat my words because I've long held that people who live in the outer boroughs and who are smug about it, carrying on with their room to breathe and look at all the trees and it's great because you can go into the city and then leave the city behind and I know all the shop owners and look, I have a bike and a garden and a real eat-in kitchen and I pay a fraction of what you pay and it's not for everyone, I DARE you to do it, you couldn't HANDLE the gorgeous sidewalks, are annoying, and yet I think I'm going to become one.

So tell me: how do I feel about Woodside? Rego Park? Prospect Heights?

I'll probably actually end up Brooklyn Heights, Cobble Hill/Carroll Gardens or Astoria, but I'm seeing these listings in other places and just wondering how I feel about them.