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If you’ve visited this blog before, I’m a little surprised you’ve returned, as I devote many of my posts to complaining about living in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn. Before you write me off, just know that I’m officially leaving this place next month for an apartment in uptown Manhattan, where I’ll have absolutely nothing to rant about. Really. If you were to see my new home, you’d agree, especially if you know anything about my current area.

Brooklyn brownstone. No, this isn't my neighborhood. I wish.

Last week, I responded to about about fifty Craigslist postings and heard back from three people, two of which are from Arizona. The girl I’m going to move in with grew up in a Phoenix suburb and went to high school with one of my close college buddies, so I felt pretty comfortable knowing that we have a similar background and aren’t complete strangers. Talk about six degrees of separation, too. I’m really looking forward to only taking one train to work and not having to worry about taxi drivers throwing hissy fits about hauling me to Brooklyn. I also don’t feel in danger of getting prison shanked in this new neighborhood, so that’s another plus. This is going to be a really good move, and I’m glad I’ll be all settled in before summer.

View from my bedroom window with the junkyard cropped out

Though I’ll miss the low rent of Bed Stuy, I won’t be sad to say farewell to garbage strewn sidewalks, the junkyard view from my bedroom window, struggling with the building entrance lock every time I want to access my own home, losing hours of my life waiting for the G train, or the obnoxious poltergeist who pulls pranks on me and my roommates. What an inconsiderate prick that ghost is. As you can tell, I’ve had my fair share of unfavorable experiences in Bed Stuy for a myriad of reasons, so departing now was a smart call on my part.

I will, however, miss some of the funnier aspects of residing in a rundown building managed by a landlord who doesn’t give a fuck about meeting basic needs for his residents. Last night, my next door neighbor knocked on the front door and asked to climb through my fire escape to enter her own apartment. She said she’d done it the day before because her apartment lock is broken, so I let her march up the stairs once again. Kind of ridiculous when a building manager can’t be bothered to replace a faulty lock, though.

Starting next month, I’ll be an Upper East Side resident, which is basically the same as a “Gossip Girl” star, right? Hopefully this means I’ll bump into the cast members on one of my morning strolls to the subway. On second thought, I’m happy enough with a Starbucks, Brooklyn Brewery, swanky hotel, and gym on my block. I don’t need anything more than that.

XOXO, Gossip Girl

Earlier today, I emailed a fellow Arizona alumnus who wanted advice on relocating to New York City. Though I assured this person that it’s possible to find low-rent apartments in Manhattan, I also mentioned that it’s somewhat beneficial to start off in Brooklyn and work one’s way over to the city. I’m going to appreciate my new place so much more because of my current living situation, so I guess I wouldn’t have done anything differently in that department. From here on out though, I’m sticking to NYC. You’re terrific, Cobble Hill and Williamsburg, but I have no use for the borough anymore, unless it involves Penn Badgley.

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