We decided to stay another year at our current apartment. The benefits are that we a) don’t have to move and deal with all the stress and money around that, b) we’ll be saving a lot of money since wherever we ended up moving would have cost a lot more than what we’re paying now, and c) I don’t have to hear my mother whining at me for living a wasteful, extravagant life.

I was kind of happy about staying, mainly because of the savings part and my lazy attitude around moving, but then the laundry dryer downstairs still isn’t working. So I spent the evening two nights ago hanging all our half-wet clothes literally all over the apartment and feeling irritated. Our apartment, already small, was clutter central.

But at least we’re saving a lot, right?

It’s so hot out now that it’s nearly stifling. I tried to take a quick walk during a break today, and the air just feels very thick, like it’s harder to breathe because of the high level of humidity. I came back to the office feeling sticky and sweaty — not a good physical state to be working at a computer. I’ve never been more grateful for air conditioning.

It was one thing to be hot and humid in a place like Busan, where we were exposed to gorgeous coastal walks and seemingly clean air. Here, we’re just surrounded by lots of bodies walking around and too many cars and a lot of pollution. Back to summer city life, it is.

I’ve been texting Chris a lot while he’s been away to keep him updated on all the apartment searching I’ve been doing in his absence. While I have been running all over this city viewing apartments and dealing with brokers for a potential future home, he’s been in London attending Wimbledon and having English afternoon tea with his pinky sticking out. What a hard life he leads.

He texted today and asked if I was enjoying the search and that it seemed like I was at least sort of liking it. Well, compared to when I first moved to New York (which was hell), I like it a lot more for a number of reasons: 1) Then, I was naive and knew zero about New York real estate (how expensive space truly is here), rental anything (broker fees, what to expect legally, etc.), therefore making me vulnerable to getting ripped off, 2) I made a lot less money then, which meant I was more likely to see terrible apartments in the price range I’d set, 3) I had a roommate then who only had income from Trader Joe’s, which didn’t help point #2, 4) that roommate had really low expectations (today, she lives in a building that doesn’t even have a doorbell), so we just didn’t want the same things.. or know what we wanted period, and 5) when we searched while we lived in our maniac apartment in Elmhurst, we had a landlord who was constantly meddling in our lives, so we were never really that happy about our living situation.

Today, I generally have a good idea of what to expect in terms of space and prices for what general neighborhoods. I don’t have a roommate who has different standards than me (in fact, I don’t have a roommate now; I have a husband). I also am not trying to escape a miserable living situation; our situation is great now, but we just kind of want more space. So all in all, life is a lot different now. I’m also more direct and a bit more of an asshole now, so if I think someone (as in a realtor) is wasting my time, I just leave and say I’m not interested. Before, I would have kept entertaining the idiot’s stupid recommendations.

One thing I’ve noticed is that when I say, “my husband and I…” vs. the then “my roommate and I…”, the former gets far more positive and serious responses than the roommate situation. I already expected that. We’re older, we’re married, we’re established, meaning we’re stable. That’s what they are thinking. They also assume we have more money. We’re not just some dumb 20-something-year-old women flitting around the city aimlessly. The more money, the more money they think we will rent at, which means the bigger the fees they get to collect from these management companies.

I guess being married has its perks I wasn’t really thinking about when I signed the marriage license. 🙂

The search continues. Today during my lunch break, I popped out of my office to see an apartment right on Park Avenue South between 35th and 36th Street — centrally located, walking distance from my office and from Chris’s future office, and on Park Avenue — a yuppie’s dream. Yes, until I entered the building.

The gym, which would be an extra $25/person/month, looked like a cramped room where a bunch of treadmills, Stairmasters, and ellipticals were thrown in haphazardly; little space existed to get between machines, and no stretching area was to be seen. The one-bedroom apartment unit I’d seen in the photos was not what the realtor showed me today; this had about half the counter space. There also wasn’t central air conditioning or even AC units put into place.

“Where are the AC units?” I asked. “This building (which is pretty new) doesn’t have central AC or even units placed?”

The realtor smiles (See the pattern? They always smile when they know the question should have the opposite answer it does). “AC units are not included; they will need to be brought in and installed by the renter.”

Yeah, right. I’m not sticking an AC unit out of this window on the sixth floor. You people should be doing that for me at $3,995/month.

I pointed out to her that the counter space in the kitchen was not the same as the listing I’d responded to. This space was about half, which was not desirable for someone like me who loves to cook.

“But there are so many great restaurants nearby,” she laughed. “Who needs to cook when you have so many good options nearby?”

“I like to cook,” I responded simply. Then, I walked out.

This is why I can’t stand sales people in general. Know your audience, people. If I told you originally that I like to cook, why would you try to talk me out of that and insist all the good restaurants nearby would somehow take away my desire to cook? I may be a young urban professional, but I still like to cook. If you want to sell me something, sell me something I told you I wanted, not something you are trying to push on me quickly to get a commission from the management company.

This woman had no emotional intelligence and insisted she send me an application. Good luck to her.

The search for a new apartment may or may not go on, but this week, it’s definitely on. I have so many appointments lined up all the way until we leave for our trip this Friday. I’ve done three days of hunting and I already want to stop. Searching for an apartment in this city is the worst.

You know it’s really bad when you tell the real estate agent that you’d love an open kitchen, and what she ends up showing you, supposedly at a name-brand, reputable building in the low 60s on the Upper East Side, is a kitchen… that is situated RIGHT NEXT TO THE BEDROOM. I already have to close the living room door when I cook now. With the kitchen literally right next to the bedroom, it would be like roasting a chicken in bed. Who wants that?

People settle for the craziest crap in this city. Why do we settle for this?! Why?

Today, I visited an open house three blocks from our apartment of a penthouse for rent on the 11th floor of a luxury building. In this case, “luxury building” just means it’s a newer building with a doorman; there was no gym, pool, or lounge area to speak of. In fact, there wasn’t even a lobby with a sitting area like you usually see when you go into these ridiculously priced buildings. The apartment was going for $4800/month for a one bedroom, not-quite-one-bath (shower only; no bath tub) and boasted a huge wrap around terrace. When I stepped foot inside, I realized the terrace was the only bragg-able feature.

The living room was a living room/kitchen; the kitchen was a single wall with a deep sink… and only two burners on the half stove. The refrigerator, freezer, and dishwasher are hidden inside cabinetry for the all-white look the apartment was going for. “Where is the oven?” I asked the realtor. “Is that hidden, too?”

“No, there’s no oven,” he said smiling. “Just a stove and a small microwave oven right up here.”

That’s not a microwave oven. That was just a regular microwave. What is this guy, a total moron? Does he think a two-burner stove and no oven is real? This is worse than the crappy East Village apartments my former roommate and I looked at back in 2008 that had college-dorm-sized refrigerators. At least those places were cheaper and meant to be cheap; this is a penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side, and it has NO OVEN AND ONLY TWO BURNERS?

The terrace space was huge, though, and had views of downtown Manhattan. The terrace space was probably bigger than the interior of the apartment itself; perhaps even two to three times as large. What a stupid apartment. Whoever rents this place will be a rich idiot.

Chris had his first home-cooked meal for days at home today — my “chicken” garlic scape pesto quinoa rotelli. He already wasn’t that happy when he found out the rotelli was made out quinoa instead of wheat, but then he came across another surprise: the fact that the “chicken” in the pasta was actually not chicken, but Beyond Meat soy and plant-based protein cut into cubes.

“This pesto is very good…. The pasta is good,” he said as he chewed. “But why does this taste so healthy…? This is chicken…? Is this meat….?! Babe…..” He eyed me suspiciously as my face broke into a big smile.

So much for trying to incorporate more vegetarian meals into my husband’s life. I was going to tell him afterwards if he couldn’t tell himself…

Our lease is ending, and this year, Chris thinks that we should seriously look for a new place — at least, to see what is out there and if it’s worth moving. We still have some time to let our landlord know if we’d like to stay for another year, and knowing me and my laziness, the chances are high that we will stay. But this year, we’re actually going to really invest time in researching to see what we could get for different price points. We’re very lucky as New Yorkers, since while most everyone else we know complains about rent and says they pay way too much for what they have, we actually pay far, far less than what people assume we pay, and we’re saving at a very attractive rate. The cheap side of me wants to continue saving, but the side of me that is getting older is silently saying, I want more space. I want a bigger kitchen. It would be so great to have better natural light.

So this evening, we started looking at some places online and calling to make appointments. Then, I remembered what I hate the most about looking for an apartment: dealing with real estate agents, even if they are no-fee (on the renter’s side). I’m sure they are busy, but they always have this air of “you need to accommodate my schedule.” Um, no. You will accommodate our schedule because guess what? We don’t need to move, and therefore we don’t need you as much as you need us and your commission.

Well, the fun is about to begin.

After my dentist appointment today, I took the train downtown to Union Square to hit up the Greenmarket before dinner, and I picked up some garlic scapes and beets. I was so excited; I had been reading about garlic scapes in the last week in a food blog I follow, and I had no idea that the tops of garlic, garlic scapes, were edible and good for cooking. I purchased just shy of a pound of them and went on my way home.

On my ride uptown, I thought about all these vegetables and fruit that you never get exposed to shopping at regular grocery stores and super markets, things like garlic scapes, rhubarb, golden beets, jerusalem artichokes, kohlrabi, dandelion greens, the literally hundreds of varieties of apples, potatoes, squash, eggplant, and yams. If all we did was shop at grocery stores, we’d be ignorant to all the amazing variety of produce out there. It’s no wonder people get bored of grocery shopping and cooking. If you don’t have variety that keeps changing, then what’s fun about it, and what’s there to look forward to?

I went to dinner with my friend tonight, and we were discussing all the times he’s had to fire people on his team for being poor performers. I told him that the thought of firing someone in today’s gun climate made me feel somewhat paranoid… because you never have any idea how that person will react to you and if s/he will try to come after you. When devastating events happen in one’s life, like a job loss, people are kind of capable of anything.

He said he didn’t blame me, that it’s hard to not have the thought in my head, especially given the very recent Orlando mass shooting. “Just make sure you have ample security when it needs to get done,” he advised.