So, here I am, bored, not knowing quite what to do with myself. So far we’ve shown the apartment to five different people and have gotten one offer. The offer seems good enough for me, but the Husband says we ought to be able to do much better, by which he means, the Asking Price. He feels it’s too early to negotiate too much off the Asking Price. We’ve also had one couple come back for a second look, but they really couldn’t afford the apartment. It would have been too much of a stretch for them to get approved by the Co-op Board. Sucks, since they have enough income, just not enough assets. But that’s the way it works in NYC Co-ops – in this fickle business world, an income of half a million a year can become an income of zip on a moment’s notice. So the only thing that REALLY matters is what you have stashed away.
And in our Co-op, what you need stashed away are Liquid Assets exceeding 1/3 of the purchase price after the purchase of the apartment. IRA’s, 401K’s, investments in privately placed or otherwise illiquid funds don’t count. Basically, it’s bank accounts and readily liquidatable mutual funds. Thus, if an apartment costs a million dollars, after you purchase it, you have to be able to show three hundred and thirty thousand dollars in basically cash AFTER you put your downpayment down. Oh, and the downpayment cannot be less than 25%.
And these are relatively tepid co-op financial requirements. There are some co-ops that require more than the value of the apartment in liquid assets! This is exactly what puts people in the mindset of buying all those new condos that are going up all over the city. Of course, you get what you pay for: condos cost more per square foot.
And that is your lesson in NYC real estate for the day.
In the meantime, I am continuing to shun ALL real estate brokers, and showing the place myself. It is a bit of a time suck. I have to show it today at 2 p.m., which cuts right into the middle of my day. On the other hand, what else am I doing with my time?
I want to be practicing Bikram, but fear is holding me back. What if I end up swollen afterwards? What if my Alloderm slips? What if my nose swells to elephantine proportions? Damn nose is already really swollen again today. I bruised it yesterday, massaging it. If my doctor really really knew me, he would never have suggested that I do any self-massage. I go overboard. I just do. And I did. The bridge of my nose, which was supposed to have gotten slimmer through massaging the edema out towards my cheekbones has a nice rug-burn-like abrasion on it and a shadow of blue bruising which extends up to my eye sockets. NICE! Arnica is my best friend today. And NO f-ing massaging anymore!
My whole DIY (do-it-yourself) mentality is very helpful in many instances, but here, it just ended up making me look like I got punched in the face.
One area where DIY is working for me is my hair. Now it’s this topic – the DIY on the hair topic – that actually inspired me to start writing about my wigs a few days ago, before I got too bored to continue. So, without going into a description of every wig I wore for the year I was bald (there were MANY, in many colors and styles), I will cut to the chase and say this: after being bald, and then wearing my hair in a buzz cut, and then watching the tufts of hair grow into a not-quite Portman-pixie when I would have rather had long, flowing hair, after wearing my hair pinned back in ever-increasingly long ponytails and waiting approximately four years for an actual haircut that attempted any sort of non-ponytail style…..after all of this, I have become amazingly unsentimental about my hair. Now, don’t get me wrong, I LOVE my hair. I love having hair. Every day I wake up and look in the mirror and praise GOD that I have long, lovely locks. I make my kids touch my hair and ask them if it’s soft. I get thrills from combing it and coating it with conditioner. But I no longer “care” so much about it being anything close to perfect. Which leads me to the ultimate freedom: the freedom to cut my hair MYSELF.
That’s right. My hair was getting insanely long. I could no longer comb the back, it was losing it’s bounce. It looked like a giant wall of hair, which might be fine when you’re sixteen, or if you’re six inches taller than me. But I wasn’t rocking it at all. I was chatting with a fellow wavy-curly girl in front of the kids’ school, and she said that just cuts it herself to acheive the look she wants. Hmmm….I thought. I already color my hair myself, and quite successfully, to the point where friends have asked that I color and highlight theirs rather than paying several hundred dollars to have it done at Fekkai or wherever. So, why not snip a bit. Make the curls come back to life.
And that is what I did. Without any sentimentality, I lopped off several inches of excessively long ends and ended up with what still is quite long hair, only now it bounces and springs again. After working on the length, I realized that the cowlicks in the front were still not working out well at all. What was I to do with them, I thought. Well, again, without fear, without sentimentality, knowing that anything I did would grow back as it has in the past, I lopped off everything in the front, right up to my cheekbones. I held with that for about a day, until I realized that cheekbone length still meant that my hair was falling into my eyes and making me want to wear it pulled back, which was what I was trying to avoid.
So, day three of the DIY Haircut, I snipped a bit more off the front so that I have long layers along the sides of my temples, starting at eyebrow length and falling to my ear that blend perfectly with the rest of my hair, such that it just kind of looks like long hair that falls exactly the way I want them too. It’s the best my hair has ever looked, before or after chemo. I am thrilled. But I am also going to hide my scissors. NO MORE CUTTING! Can’t turn this into a compulsive thing, after all.
Oh yeah, and I finally stopped biting my nails….for a while. I have to say that last bit because history shows that I will bite them again eventually. But wearing them to fingertip length and coating them in BLACK polish is working, so far, to keep them out of my mouth. Who would have thought that black nail polish would be the antidote to nail biting.
As for physical activity, I feel a bit lost. What to do, what to do. I have to admit something that I don’t want to admit for fear of getting screamed at, and so I am burying it here….yesterday I did every seated posture up to Navasana and then did Kurmasana, Supta K (still not binding, but hey, it’s ONE try, no assistance, first time out of the box since surgery) and Garba Pindasana (which has become incredibly easy post surgery, wonder what that’s about). It was awesome. The only thing sore today is my abs. And get this – last night, I had to make many trips to the bathroom. It’s like, woa, this Ashtanga stuff really DOES cleanse the digestive system.
But the many trips to the bathroom are one excuse I have for not wanting to sweat my ass off in Bikram today. I feel as if I am already quite depleted. I mean, I am talking MAJOR trips to the bathroom.
So, then, what can I do to get the endorphins going? I was considering going up to Equinox Fitness and seeing about a one-week trial membership and then taking in as much as I can in the way of stairmaster, elliptical trainer, recumbant biking. I hate that stuff. HATE. But I need to move. And walking four miles takes 80 minutes and fills me with loathing. You non-NYers understand that, right?
I suppose I could spend the day looking at house listings on the internet. Westport is CHOCK full of listings in my price range. Fabulous fabulous places that will get my heart rate right up there. But that’s just dumb. I need to sell this place before I can really fantasize about Westport. Right? Well, maybe just a little….