Home is where I want to be.

The parents got in to NYC at midnite Monday night/Tuesday morning with the Pathfinder full of the winter coats (too late), shoes, records, most of my DVD library, and a couple hundred comics. We went to sleep and woke up early Tuesday morning to go to the management place to sign the lease and have my Dad turn in his guarantor thing. The Pathfinder is so crammed full of stuff, I have to sit up front on the gear shift/in my mom's lap for an hour while we wade through horrible BQE traffic. We get to the management place and are firmly told, for the first time mind you, that it's a no go. My dad lives in TN and can't be a guarantor due to crazy NY law. I make enough money to qualify for a $500 a month place, which does not exist. I haven't been at my job long enough. Blah blah blah, nevermind the fact that the landlord is fine with it as is the broker. But still, harsh no and no guarantor means no apartment. Something they could have informed me of when they asked for one or when I said I had one. I guess they just assume that all guarantors live in New York. I guess that's what Staten Island is for, guarantor colonies.

The frantic call goes to the broker after this meeting since, hello, I am homeless on Thursday and only have a two day window to move. Plus Pathfinder full of junk. Broker shows us to a crack den, a two bedroom crack den no-less! Broker shows us to an okay/small two-bedroom with all sorts of tools and half-finished projects in it! Not ready yet! Broker shows us a crazy inconvenient two bedroom that's a bit bigger but insanely ugly and, also, not finished (a door was off the hinges). In the midst of this insanity, it becomes apparent that we have to look at one bedroom apartments, so broker takes us to a nice little neighborhood to a privately owned house/building that rents out the floors. Bottom floor, huge bedroom, a foyer and living room of equal size, adorable green colored living room, new appliances, retro-ish cabinets, pink tile bathroom...lovely. The guy living there was moving out that day, so it was a tight fit but it would work. Broker got the rent down a hundred dollars and, oh, UTILITIES INCLUDED.

After lots of soul-searching, we took it. I started moving in around 9:00 PM, 12 hours later than planned. We got two Pathfinder loads in before heading back to Brooklyn for the last night and to finish the cleaning. We woke up early Wednesday morning, finished packing and cleaning, and had our final run in with the landlord. My mom called him and left him a harsh voicemail (deserved) and told him that we need our security deposit back. He showed up and saw that, wow, no holes in the apartment. The damage we inflicted by not keeping the door or window open when showering was apparently not as bad as he knew it would be.

Then he starts in on giving me a life lesson about Saturday. In front of my parents. I'm not having this.

"You have to understand that I have 60 days to show apartment!"
"You have the common courtesy to call me, like you said you would, before you do. And I don't appreciate you insulting me like that, especially in front of people you're trying to rent to."
"Hey! I sixty eight years old!"
"Then act like it! We just want our money and to go, drop it."
"You need to learn respect, blah blah blah--"
"I have two parents to tell me this stuff, I don't need to hear it from you."

My parents are holding me back, which is odd since it's usually me and my dad holding Mom back. He starts in with my mother,

"I show apartment to black lady, I no rent to black lady--"
"Which is a great policy, by the way. Real nice" I was done with his racism. He started in on me again and I realized that this was retarded. I slammed the keys on the counter.
"I don't have to listen to you anymore. I'm done."

I left the apartment and took the toaster and rug down to the Pathfinder. My parents were in there for another half hour. They finally come out, we load up, and apparently he's not sure about the security deposit since there are scratches on the stove. That were there when we moved in. That we have pictures of. That also come from using the stove. This is a landlord that expects you to, seriously, hover at all times in the apartment and eat take-out in a Mind Bubble so as to not get anything anywhere. I hope he is chopped up and left in a garbage can by black people, which is the reasoning he gave to my parents justifying his renting habits.

We got the final load to Astoria and unloaded it and began the unpacking process. Things are good. It's not convenient train-wise...at all really, but it's a place that feels like home.

And after the last two days, that's all I want.