Am I Wearing a Sign?

There are certain things that you expect to see if you spend a lot of time in Manhattan, or any major city really. Excessively pierced and/or tattooed individuals. Homeless people. Street theater and/or musicians. Rats the size of a small tiger. Flamboyantly dressed women or men pretending to be women. Women working to be treated like men. Tourists. The sidewalk preacher who may also a candidate for the loony bin. The Naked Cowboy. Activists passing out flyers. A fake baked chickie, her skin a dark-orange mess, walking like she was all that and a bag of Sun In. A professionally dressed couple macking on each other outside the World Trade Center at high noon. (Oh the stories I spun on that one!)

Public Urination.

For a while there during my tenure in NYC, I felt like I was wearing a sign that said "Please make my day and pee in front of me," because I seemed to be running into that a lot . Perhaps not surprisingly, these events occurred in and around the W. 4th Street subway station on the Blue Line as I was shuffling from work to classes at NYU. The Disneyfied area of midtown would never suffer such high jinx.

The first time was on a stormy day when the steps were slick with torrential rains. A clearly homeless woman had come down the first flight of stairs into the subway station to the covered midway landing and promptly squatted down and released a likewise torrential stream of urine. Just as I was coming up to that same landing from the subway.

Lovely.

Months later, walking up 4th Street towards NYU, a man drunkenly offered profuse apologies as I crossed the street and walked eastwards. "Sorry Miss, so sorry, sorry" he slurred at me. I couldn't figure out why he was apologizing to me until I notice that he was peeing against the side and bumper of a car right there in the middle of the street. I remember disgustedly saying to him "If you're sorry, don't do it," and walking swiftly by.


I mean, you kind of shrug that off as the price of doing business in the big city. But I haven't worked in the city for several years now and despite living in the fairly urban Weehawken for seven years, never had anything like that happen on this side of the Hudson River.

Until yesterday.

My new apartment is in a two-story house made up of two buildings that are connected by a second story bridge. The second building (not mine) houses the garage on the first floor and another apartment above it. It's actually quite and intriguing set up. Underneath the bridge and between the two buildings is an open breezeway connecting the front driveway to the backyard.

My landlord' s husband J looks like a tall Buddy Hackett. He's good natured and pleasant, just a tad odd and a bit eccentric. He seems to be around all the time, wandering around presumably doing upkeep things eschewing the backyard to take his rest in camp chairs set just outside our shared door in the breezeway.

Yesterday evening, I was out back in my own camp chair, enjoying the nearly forgotten pleasure of a summer evening in a backyard. My mosquito lamp was burning while I worked on my laptop in the company of a bottle of Vitamin water. I could hear J from time to time in the breezeway and wasn't surprised when he came through to the back yard. At the last minute, I decided not to acknowledge him as I knew he'd come over and jaw for a while and I wanted to keep writing while I was on a roll.

A few seconds later, I heard a faint buzz-like sound and looked around for any bees that might be swarming around. What I saw was J peeing into the weeds against the back wall of the garage. I confess I gaped for a minute, stupefied at what I was seeing. And then my first thought was "I am not telling my mother about this."

Apparently my new suburban landlord' s husband hasn't quite grasped the idea that there are "other people" living on the property now.

I'm choosing to believe that he didn't know I was there. I certainly didn't announce myself figuring it would only make the situation worse. I know that he likes to enjoy a beer or two once he gets back from his office cleaning job on Sunday, and I figure that probably impaired his awareness.

But come on!!!

What is the deal with people publicly peeing in front of me? Do I need to hang an occupancy sign in the back yard? A his and hers delineation line? A picture of a urinal with a line through it?

Maybe a placard reading "To Pee or Not to Pee - There is NO QUESTION!"

The Highs and the Lows

I have survived moving hell - just. Thanks to unimaginable help from all corners of my life, we are now moved into our new first floor apartment. It's a huge improvement over the third floor walk up that I've called home for seven years. I had 72 hours of floating on the highs before I got zonked by some unforeseen lows.

High: first floor = NO STAIRS!!
Low: first floor = people thumping above me; landlord outside my windows and front door all. the. time. 7am? yep. 9pm? yep. This morning, the rain kept him inside, but only for a very short while. My landlord kind of looks like a tall Buddy Hackett so you can imagine the joys of my morning especially mornings like today's when he's outside shirtless. My eyes! My eyes!

High: driveway = NO ON-STREET PARKING!! Woo Hoo!!
Low: driveway = landlord backed into my car on my very first morning. There's not much damage and he's paying for it, no question. But I spent seven years in the city with no accidents. First night in the suburbs and Boom!

High: living in suburbs = backyard and trees!!
Low: living in suburbs = trees that block my satellite access. No directv access available. Have to shell out for new Verizon Fios in order to get BBCAmerica and other cool channels necessary for my continued sanity. Installation is scheduled for August 11th. Meanwhile I'm about wearing out the Harry Potter oeuvre.

High: shorter commute = less commuting stress.
Low: shorter commute = more time at work.

High: new cell phones = no land line needed in new apt. for a phone no one is ever home to use.
Low: new cell phones = no phone as the building's structure is so dense, it keeps the wireless signal from penetrating. Now have to have Verizon work some magic or else make my office in the driveway. Right now, I have to sit in the car to have a conversation with any hope of not having the call lost.

Well, I knew the apartment was too good. There had to be a catch somewhere.

I think I found it...