What is really amazing is all the crap that the Trump presidential campaign has been able to get away with simply because it is Donald Trump running for president. Every time something stupid has been said or done by this campaign, I always wonder: what would America have said if Mitt Romney said that Mexicans were rapists? How would people have responded if Obama had said he wanted to build a wall between the U.S. and Mexico? And if Michelle Obama had plagiarized Laura Bush’s speech from a major convention, the right would never have forgiven Michelle.

The plagiarism of the speech speaks to several things: Obviously, Melania Trump likes Michelle Obama; she admired this speech so much that she read it to her speech writers for her inspiration, leading to this plagiarism (gasp, looking to the other side for inspiration!). Melania can’t write, even though the Trump campaign insists she wrote the speech herself. And, this issue also raises the issue that I know will be raised by the further left in the media and by black people (and really, anyone of color who thinks deeply about this, including me): white people stealing the work of black people and claiming it as their own — an ongoing battle since forever.

Oh, dear. This is the world we are a part of.

No one wants to get fired. It’s not easy to get fired, and it’s also not easy to fire someone. Seven years ago, I was laid off due to the big recession. Sometimes, people don’t differentiate getting downsized due to recessions/overall company layoffs or actually getting let go because of performance, but I think that either way, it’s a pretty miserable experience. I’ll never forget how terrible I felt the morning it happened. It’s funny because I actually had anticipated it for weeks and had even cleaned up my desk and taken home all my belongings two weeks before. I had already started applying for new jobs. But on the day, I still cried and felt unloved, unneeded, and like no one cared about me. I felt like a complete failure. My friends and family called to comfort me. My roommate held me when I got home. But I still felt useless and unneeded.

So, I thought about this throughout today as I prepared to let someone on my team know her employment would be terminated, effective today. It had been a long time coming; she’d dictated to everyone else what days she’d choose to take the liberty to work remotely, was argumentative when I asked her to come into the office during normal office hours during work days, and consistently tried to tell her teammates that she knew better than they did because she’d been at the company longer. She refused feedback constantly and perceived everything as an attack. But despite all this, I felt terrible because I knew how she would feel. She would feel betrayed, like I had pretended to help her since her performance improvement plan but had never really intended to at all. She’d feel like we never appreciated her hours and devotion to the company. She’d feel worthless the way I felt seven years ago when I got laid off. Regardless of whether it’s true or not, she’d feel like she did not deserve this and that she’d done nothing wrong.

It’s cliche, but I’ve learned a lot since that day I got laid off. I learned that my loyalty to a company should never be that deep because frankly, loyalty is dead today. People don’t get pensions anymore; time devoted to a company is now meaningless. I learned that I can’t fully trust anyone I work with while we are still at the same company or in our current partnership, that there would always be things I wouldn’t know that would have the potential to harm me (two minutes before she came downstairs for our final meeting, she went into my manager’s manager’s office and asked him, “If you knew I was getting fired, you’d tell me, right?” He said, of course!). You can be friends with your colleagues; no one is arguing against that. But you should also be very careful what you say, especially when it has to do with the company or others who work there.

I also learned exactly how important perception is; just because you think you work hard doesn’t necessarily mean anyone else thinks you work hard; you need to make that shit obvious. Also, working hard doesn’t mean working longer hours; it means working smarter and more efficiently. Oftentimes in this brainwashed American society we live in, we confuse working hard with working long hours, which is so flawed and simply stupid.

I feel bad for her, and I know she cried on her way out. But I do hope she saw this as a learning experience as cliched as it is, and that she does try to improve herself in her next role. I don’t wish ill will on anyone. Although I still deal with my own trust issues, I really do wish the best for everyone I know, even if I absolutely cannot stand them. Some people I know will never improve (mostly my family, sadly), but it doesn’t mean I don’t still hope for positive change.

This weekend will be our first full weekend in New York City in a while. The last two weekends were spent in Korea, while the previous three weekends, Chris had to depart on Sundays for his hectic work trips across the country and to Europe. I’m not sure if he hasn’t adjusted yet to New York time given the chaos of adjusting from East Coast to London/Paris to Seoul time, but all he seems to want to do is rest and be on the couch. I spent the first day back from Korea and Dallas soaking laundry and unpacking, but he still hasn’t unpacked. I’m organizing gifts to give away from our Korea trip, reorganizing the cabinets, and cleaning the bathroom tonight, and he’s snoring on the couch.

This just proves that always being on the go isn’t that good for one’s body. He’s sleeping and it’s only 9pm on a Friday night.

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.