DID YOU KNOW: Squatters have more rights than you

In the words below, you will find the wildest of tales. Do not grow faint of heart, this story does have a happy ending.

It is 100% true.

Also, I would not recommend the below for children. I'M SERIOUS.

So I moved from Brooklyn to Manhattan (for that journey, see the previous blog post). The purpose of this story is to raise awareness about one thing and one thing only. Sh*tty people have more rights than nice people, and they know it.

We had such a person live with us for a bit, and it was the most horrifying experience I have ever had.

For legal reasons, I am going to refer to this person as... Bellatrix.
First sign that she was crazy: admitting to my friends and I that she was so scared of her last roommate that she would barricade herself in her bedroom and sleep with a knife under her pillow.

Second sign: I came home from work one night, excited to open my (family size) bottle of wine. Bellatrix heard me walk in and said, “Oh, so my friend came over and accidentally opened your bottle of wine."

I'm thinking - no worries, it's not like she drank the whole thing. But then I open the fridge: no wine. She proceeds to go on this whole long narrative about how she'll replace the liter and a half of wine that she and her friend "ACCIDENTALLY" drank. Yeah, and I sing like Adele. C'MON.

Then came the weirdly personal and long stories about how she is pregnant, and then not pregnant, then pregnant again... As you can imagine, my much perfected "smiling and nodding" came to be quite handy during these stories.

Next, a bottle of rum goes missing.

THEN, Bellatrix was a week late on rent.

Then Andrew Tulley finally came home from Australia! My knight in shining armor, ready to fix everything. But things were not to be as easily amended as we had hoped. In fact, they got immensely worse.

My dear Andrew came home to a bed that had no sheets... or comforter. (Bellatrix had been subletting from him, then moved into our third bedroom when Andrew came back). They were "at the dry cleaners." This caused immediate added tension. Then, he got her to pay the rent that she was (again) tremendously behind on. But THEN (I don't know what to use instead of the word "then," I'm so sorry!), the next day rent was due again, so it was but a small victory.

Three days after his return, tensions began to reach extreme heights. Andrew confronted Bellatrix about the rent, she got REALLY upset saying that it was such an "uncomfortable" thing for him to be asking. To which he replied (honestly favorite line from this whole ordeal, hands down), "I'm uncomfortable without my sheets!!!" Well. Said.

TURNS OUT, she had "lost" the dry cleaner slip, so Andrew had to go get his comforter and sheets himself, except there were no sheets andddd the comforter had blood all over it. YEAH. Just going to leave that there, take from it what you know you should understand as an adult (since no children are reading this due to my warning!) Oh yeah, and of course, Andrew had to pay for it.

This is where we come back to the very first clue, that I should have heeded, way back from the beginning. Bellatrix barricaded herself in her room. We would knock on her door, requesting rent, and also wondering where the (now THREE) liquor bottles were. NOTHING. I'm telling you, seven hours at a time, no sight of her (this means, no water, no food, no bathroom... Yeah, no BATHROOM), gross.

I cannot even begin to explain to you how insanely stressful this was. Anything that we had felt from our move was nothing compared to the anxiety of coming home to... Bellatrix, locked up in her room. The only reason we even knew she was in there was from the constant smoke from her cigars - inside her room, yeah, GROSS.

Andrew had reached his limit after manyyy days (weeks?) of this (wow I need to hurry this up, Ok, so this is the CLIMAX, so at least keep reading for a hot sec). He grabbed a butter knife and broke into her bedroom (with me supporting him by standing behind him with a hood covering my whole face - facing such situations is not my strong suit). She SCREAMED.

Andrew calmly told Bellatrix that it was time to go (and here I could go into our text messages begging her to leave our apartment, but that's just even moreee time consuming), and grabbed one of her bags. She slammed the door and barricaded it as soon as he walked out, threatening to call the cops. And then she called the cops.

So Andrew followed suit by calling 911 (while I hid in my room). He politely greeted the cops, and within seconds they knew what they were dealing with. A SQUATTER. Yeahhh. We asked how we could get her to leave. Their life changing response, "You can't." Illegal to go into her room, illegal to move her things, illegal to change the locks. Talk about getting a Real Estate 101 crash course from two NYPD officers.

When we asked for advice, their response, "Well, you're in a pickle." When we asked for further advice that would hopefully advance what we already knew, their new response: "Get her to harass you." Thus we begin the journey of Andrew and losing our souls.

I call the following section... How to get your squatter to leave:

Step 1. Always have music on. Like LOUD obnoxious music. So loud that you can't think, but can at least rest assured that she can't think either.

Step 2. Have people over. Every night. When you're annoyed with all people and just want to be alone? Have more people over. Encourage them to be loud. When they're not loud enough? Turn the music up.

Step 3. Change the wifi password. (This one was Andrew's idea and it was absolutely GENIUS!)

Step 4. Pretend you're home when you're not home. For example, going to Target? Leave Atomic Blonde on. FULL VOLUME. That one? My idea.

Orrrr watch Lord of the Rings when you ARE home.

Step 5. Confront, confront, confront. Like bang on the door, obnoxious confrontation. This was really hard for me until I woke up one morning reallyyyy hungry. I went to go eat one of my five bananas that had been there the night before. ALL GONE. So I went for my hard boiled eggs. ALSO GONE. This infuriated me. Not because the food was expensive (actually the two cheapest things out there), but because they're soooo cheap that WHY, oh why, would you steal them. I knocked and knocked on the door demanding that she stop stealing my food (because thieves always listen to demands). Andrew was much better at this; I could write a whole blog just on the things that he said to her - it was amazing.

Step 6. Confront the boyfriend. Yeah. She had a boyfriend. One that clearly didn't care for her.
One night, Andrew and I had a few friends over for a dinner party (all friends that were quiiiite aware of the situation that we were in). The boyfriend walked in, and Andrew immediately goes, "Hi, does your girlfriend have a plan of when she is moving out? Will you be covering the rent that your girlfriend owes us? This should be your problem, not ours."

Let me just say that the boyfriend was not a skinny white guy. He turned around after Andrew said this (my head was slowly disappearing behind a pillow in the meantime). "Come talk to me man to man outside. NOW." And stormed out with Andrew. I went running after them, insisting that he must leave the door open.

This infuriated him, and while Andrew and I struggled to keep the door open, the boyfriend grabbed Andrew and shoved him away from the door, slamming it in the process. I then turned back into the apartment only to receive a torrent of insults from Bellatrix. What did she say? I have nooo clue. Completely blacked out (not like fainted, but couldn't tell you a word of what she said).

What did the boyfriend have to say to Andrew you may be asking? Turns out he has a lot of money (which he felt the need to show to Andrew in cash). Also turns out that he wouldn't let her come live with him for one reason and one reason only: he didn't want roommates. Who wouldn't want to date this guy?!

Andrew and I spent the whole next day researching how to file restraining orders. Due to the shoving and pushing by the boyfriend the night before, we finally had the harassment that the police had encouraged us to instigate.

Our friends Glenn and Zach came over that night (remember step 2!), and we blasted our music (step 1!), while I changed our bedroom door locks (by this point, I had moved all of my alcohol from the bar to hidden spots around my room).

We recounted (quite loudly) everything that had occurred the night before, seeking advice on how to proceed. Obviously filing ANYTHING in the legal system was not the preferred plan of action. After a slight panic attack by me, we decided to break into Bellatrix's room again. We even very loudly shouted that if she was alive, she should say something.

Zach entered the room (which she had of cooourse locked). AND SHE WAS GONE. What did we do next? Call the locksmith because the b*tch had stolen the keys when she left. BUT WHATEVER. We were free. We could enjoy our new apartment and each other for the first time since Andrew had come home.

After losing well over $1,000 due to this predicament, I'd like to think that we can now at least be advisors for other people with squatters? Worth it........

ALSO. We now have a new roommate that we adore, so please don't be afraid to visit ;)

Also, my bar is again fully stocked.

Island hopping at its finest

Why do New Yorkers move so much?

I've often wondered this, and after spending an excess amount of time in the back of U-Hauls pondering this, I think I have arrived on the answer we've all been waiting for. New Yorkers are (more often than not) transplants. We are the people who fidgeted in class. We are the ones who took the random-ass trips that made no sense and had everyone rolling their eyes.

We moved to New York because we all have commitment issues and feel the need to always be on an adventure. And what city can you live in that has a "Little" bit of EVERYTHING?! Yes, we have Little Italy and Chinatown, but did you know that one of the neighborhoods in NYC is the "Ukranian Village"? Now ya do!

We move because the next adventure is only a mile away. The new coffee shops and bars. The new shops and rooftops. The new sexy people sitting across from you at your subway stop. Yes, we still travel when we can, but when we hop around the islands and boroughs of New York City, we have a new adventure every day.

So yes, I moved. I thought it would be as easy as my moves always are. I'm such a minimalistic person, how could it NOT be easy?! After taking a month to move, I have now arrived at the realization that I am not QUITE the minimalist that I once believed I was. Let me tell you though, if you ever feel like your wardrobe (or LIFE for that matter) needs a little cleansing, move into a tiny apartment in Manhattan.

I have had one of the wildest months of my life, so I will do my very best (as always) to not bore you with the details, and just recount all of the bullsh*t I've been going through.

It all started on a beautiful Friday night of prosecco drinking. Andrew got a job!!! Meaning that he would not be moving back to Australia (which he had been hinting at for the better part of six months at this point). The next day, Saturday, we looked at an apartment on the Lower East Side. The day after that, we put our deposit down on the apartment. 

How Andrew measures bedrooms

The following week was the definition of a whirlwind for the both of us. I left my ID at the realtor’s office. What did this mean for the rest of the week? Oh, it meant that not only could I NOT get the money from the bank that I needed to pay first month’s rent, but also: I could not buy drinks. So, no alcohol for stressed out Mary, which makes for an even MORE stressed out Mary. (Hate talking in third person, but in this instance it gets the point across better).

We came to the conclusion (due to lots of factors that will bore you) that we needed to rent the apartment out ASAP. So in Andrew's panic, he went on Craigslist and hired members of the Ukrainian mob (here we go with Ukraine again) to move some furniture for us. As I'm sure you could predict, this did not bode well for us. Upon the arrival of the scary truck with the mobsters, they claimed that they had "nooooo idea" that we lived on the fourth floor, and would need another $100 in payment. They proceeded to close AND LOCK the truck with everything Andrew had just bought inside.

Next, there was A LOT of yelling. From Andrew threatening to call the cops. To them yelling stuff in Ukrainian, to me just asking them "to be good people," which ALWAYS works when you're dealing with the mob.

The end result? They dumped everything on the sidewalk. I then guarded it while Patrick and Andrew carried everything upstairs. And by "everything," I am excluding the huge wardrobe that they attempted to carry up, but ended up bringing back to the sidewalk in pieces, as it did not fit up our tiny new stairwell.

We then had endless hours at IKEA (in case you somehow don't know this about me... I HATE IKEA), somehow convinced an Uber XL driver to drive a very large couch in his very nice car for us, and Andrew, in two days, somehow found someone to rent out his room while he was in Australia.

Shout out to all of our friends, who managed to calm us down and remain friends with us after we kept showing up to events with empty eyes and twitchy arms.

Andrew then left for Australia, and thus began the leg of a whole new journey. Andrew had bought this couch (the night of the Craigslist mobsters), but since we got another couch (uber XL driver night), we didn't need the first couch. So I posted to Craigslist... one would think that I had learned my lesson by now, but NO.

I got scammed. Like REALLY BAD Craigslist scammed. In my confusion and exhaustion of moving, I didn't pay attention to the sketchy person that I was selling my couch to. The person that was "sending movers" and "sending me a check". YES I SHOULD HAVE REALIZED. I was just in a bit of a hallucination for a month there (again - AMAZED I still have friends).

This whole "Craigslist IKEA Couch Scam" thing went on for well over a week. At one point, I called my friend Daniel to tell him I thought it was kind of weird that these people had sent me WAY too much money via check, and he immediately yelled "ABORT MISSION" into the phone which is what got me thinking that it may actually be quite a sticky situation.

After sauntering into Wells Fargo with a sheepish grin on my face, I finally put the whole business to rest, after Courtney told me how stupid I was several times, but hell, she was right.

immediately after Courtney told me how stupid I was

With the assistance of... a lot of people, I moved the last of my things to our new shoebox apartment and realized something PRETTYYYY quickly. I had moved in with a psycho. Like a crazy, don't feel safe here, run for your liiiife deranged B*tch.

But that story is for another day; be on the lookout 

Meanwhile, take a look at all of my beautiful friends who helped me move!!!

Side note: View from the new roof... WORTH IT.