Show Me the Money!

My very limited information on living in New York City, sadly, is entirely based on all 6 seasons of 'Sex and the City'.  This means 1) my knowledge is at least 11 years out of date, and 2) my expectation hasn't been adequately set up regards how much space you get in a New York apartment, and 3) I have a biased resistance on potentially living in Brooklyn (remember how devastated when Miranda had to move to Brooklyn and they all got drunk together because one of the 4 girls was no longer cool?)

The visual I imagined in my head of my first week in NYC , was to stroll through Central Park with Nelson (yes, with hot dogs in hand) under the early autumn leaves, dinner at some famous local joints, and a couple of visits to late night jazz bars (all in different outfits of course).

Reason of the big move across half of the world from Sydney and giving up the job I hate love, will be revealed either in future posts, now I am unemployed and have time to blog again, or in a published memoir if I make it big time one day - will keep you boys and gals posted.

Reality check:  more Jerry Maguire than *insert your favourite NYC-based romantic comedy name*. 

First thing first:  You are not a proper human being until you have a social security number!  This was kicked off with minimum drama (although with a slight detour as we went to the wrong SSN office plus Nelson saw from a dysfunctional website that they open from 5am - when we told the doorman he literally LOL'ed).

Next:  Open a bank account.  I now have even bigger respect for my parents who decided to make the big move to NZ 20 years ago.  Especially mum who completed a one year recon until dad went and joined us.  Things you take for granted at home such as having a credit card, being able to press some buttons and get cash from a machine on the roadside, etc., have all become mini missions of their own.  We found out that a passport and an offer letter from an employer are not sufficient proof to open an account.  You need a proof of residence address too.  Nelson had to write to his never-met-yet colleagues and asked them to write the bank a letter.  (And because I don't have a job I won't have someone proving I live in a particular address until we find our new home.  Scenes from 'John Q' start popping up all over - should plan for a Danzel Washington style rage all over the foyer of Chase bank hahaha)

Next:  Apartment viewings.  New York rental brokers have already impressed me with their speed at replying emails (especially when I sent an email at midnight and got a reply within 15 minutes) but man, trying to get an apartment here is brutal.  It is first come first served so if you like what you see you put down an application (and one month deposit) quick.  We checked out 8 apartments in total within the first two days and was force fed technical terms such as walk up (stairs and stairs), doorman (they will open the door for you and receive delivery on your behalf?), elevator man (they are not doormen but will operate the elevator for you?), live-in Super (which sounds very much like the dragon lady in the girls dormitory), Tenant's broker (who supposedly represent us), Landlord's broker (who definitely do not work for us), steam heating (still not entirely sure how that works),  Pre-war building (which war?  the civil war?!), co-op (okay that is tougher than a job interview), and many more.

After checking out the neighbourhoods (I need to start writing 'neighborhood' - one day I will convert I promise) and subway stations, and numerous walk up apartments in West Village, both Nelson and I fell in love (that is a big call but it was rare we both had our hearts set on the same thing) with this one bedder in Chelsea.  We put in an application on Wednesday and started a very intense multi-day 'where is the money?' exercise.  First of all we have to prove we (okay in 'we' I mean Nelson, but WE are a team) make at least 40x the monthly rent annually.  And because Nelson and I don't have US credit history, we were required to pay 6 months rent up front (including one month security deposit) - this would be made up of funds we wired from Australia, Nelson's pay, and his sign-on bonus.  We had to provide proof (more letters for Nelson's employers to write - sorry guys) that they have processed the various payments, and were advised the application would not be approved before the balance shows up in his bank account.  Last but definitely not least, we also have to pay the brokers 15% of the annual rent as their broker fee.  (I definitely feel like we have both shit ends of the rental stick - we are landlords back in Sydney and we have to pay the property managers fee)

Anyway, after all the running around, writing polite but really pushy emails and making phone calls, our application was approved Friday of our first week in Gotham (with lease signing scheduled for the week after) and we pick up the keys and move in next week! Yeehaw to our New York efficiency!

The money shown, the money gone.

The 'joy' of full-time furniture shopping will be revealed in next post on week 2!

Honorable mentions of Week 1 highlights:

- We do have a lovely studio in mid-town for our first month.  Owned by a super nice but slightly dramatic guy who gave us an hour-long debrief of the unit.  It is very comfortable and acts as a safe haven when we were figuring our way around here.  I know this will remain a very special place as our first stop of a new adventure.

- Accidentally became a busker in Central Park: someone told me about this drum circle in Central Park so I decided to join (it had been my dream since I watched 'the Visitor').  I was having fun, grooving along, until tourists started throwing us money.  I went into a full on panic when one of them started taking close up video of my hands.  The other drummers were crazy good which didn't help!  Nevertheless I went back the week after - I think there is a part of me who wants to be a wild busker.  (if you feel the need to throw me some money over online banking I welcome them with my open busker arms)

- Ramen at a random Japanese cafe in West Village is so to-die-for.  I would move to 'the village' solely for that ramen if not all of the apartments are damn walk ups.

- One of our luggages didn't make it to New York with us.  I call it a highlight because I was quite pleased about having to carry one less bag (Positive thinking does not get better than this).  Having said that it was THE bag that has all our clothes in it so I had to wear my aeroplane clothes to my first drum circle.

- Excellent up-to-Aussie standard coffee at Lucid cafe, corner E 38th St and Lexington.

Blazing on!