This week I discovered that my cool grey vintage kimono from the Brooklyn Heights stoop sale last month and all of my loveable thrift shoes go from weighing just a few ounces- to over 90 lbs in no time at all.
On Sunday mornings, it seems like all my babies (which yes, are my clothes) hang in the tiny closet so minimally and innocently agree to come in clutch when I have a wardrobe crisis. But I'm starting to think that while I'm outside of my bedroom, my neatly hung obedient clothes come alive and party. Idk...Maybe they have big ragers with drugs, sex, rock n' roll or something... (I know, I'm crazy) But usually by Thursday I open the white doors to my closet and just have clothes everywhere. Truly mirroring a college frat party- my sweaters are like puking from too many jello shots and my blouses are taking pregnancy tests.. Straight up, I can't handle the masses.
So.. this month I combed through all of these lovely belongings and decided to rid my room of the constant (irresponsible) party happening in my closet. The motivator? My move.
I moved from south Brooklyn to Williamsburg, a hip gentrified neighborhood. It’s where young professional meets tattooed, bearded beauties. It’s bland ethnically in comparison to my Caribbean neighborhood- but safe, cheap and everyone understands what having “kombucha on tap” means. It’s a slap happy hip place to be.
I recruited two dear friends to help me pile all my belongings into their car and as it started to rain we packed up, I waved goodbye to my Trinidadian neighbors and headed to my new place.
My new spot is a “walk up” apartment, meaning there is no elevator and your legs burn daily. It is located above a red lit gay bar and is shared with 7 people plus a dog named Zoozoo. My bedroom is the size of a closet and has 1 window awkwardly facing the indoor spiral staircase. So far, it has been great. I have one roomie from Spain that I get speak with in my butchered Spanish, a stylist from Wisconsin, an Iraqi kid in a rap group, a book publisher, someone that works in music management and a mystery roomie that I strangely haven't met yet. We all work different hours and because our neighborhood is so prime, you don't really stay in much. There are always a zillion things to do after work.
I have had to get creative with my bedroom as there is NO closet (I was serious about getting rid of stuff) and my twin bed takes up almost half of the free space. Like, there's not a closet- but my room could be a closet. Let me share a two-word secret if you are even in this kind of cramped living situation- LOFT BED. Yes, my twin loft bed was constructed with many curse words and stripped screws- but has given me a place to hang my clothes and store some goods..
I still feel like I’m playing a game of tetris whenever I go into my room- but I'm going to be a tetris champion in no time.
Out of time- but all is good in my new hood.