Jacques

If anyone has ever seen Along Came Polly, then you can imagine perfectly what this guy looks like:

Just a few days after I moved into my apartment, Tim, the guy I’m subletting from called me to tell me his boyfriend would be coming over to pick up a few things that he left in my room. I told him it was fine and was eagerly awaiting meeting this guy.

When he walked in (he has keys to the apartment), he introduced himself as Jacques. Unfortunately, he didn’t have an accent – but he did have long untamed hair and dirty hands. Immediately I was reminded back to one pathetic night that I accidentally watched Along Came Polly by myself last term. I was convinced that Jacques was Claude – the scuba guy that stole Ruben’s girl.

In hindsight, the only real reason for the connection was likely the shared foreign name/persona and the long hair. Whatever, they were the same person in my book.

So fast forward a couple weeks and I get another call from Tim. This time his EX boyfriend, Jacques, needs to come by and pick some things up from the room. Of course, I obliged as though I had a say. He had keys to the apartment still, after all.

So when Jacques arrived I shook his hand and greeted him again (this time his hands were clean) and helped him get his things from the room. Apparently what he was looking for was hidden way above the closet behind a bunch of other junk. So Jacques balanced on a stool and handed me things to uncover his items.

I stood there numbly taking items from Jacques and placed them on the ground, wondering what the hell he could be looking for. Finally, after several minutes, he exclaimed with gleeful excitement as he finally starts to hand me the subjects of his search. So what was it that he was looking for?

SNORKELING GEAR!

He is Claude from Along Came Polly after all!

But that begs the question: why the hell would anyone ever need snorkel gear in NYC? And why was it stored in Jacques’ boyfriend’s room?

I pondered these questions as Jacques took his gear and left the apartment. Although he is now referred to as the ex, something tells me I haven’t seen the last of my new friend, Jacques…

Oh, to sublet…

Subletting an apartment is like, well, living in someone else’s room. You’re surrounded by their stuff, you sit in their chair, you take care of their plants, and you sleep in their bed. Sure you have a place to stay – you aren’t homeless. But you certainly never have a home.

This certainly doesn’t help with cooking either. I already know nothing, so when I’m forced to impose myself on someone else’s cooking utensils it makes me just comfortable enough not to try. I made a frozen pizza for dinner tonight.

I share my apartment with three women – all of which seem to be here temporarily.

My roommate Anna has been here the longest.  She’s from Maine and has several siblings. When she lived in Brazil with her sister for a year the locals would call them both “blonde tornadoes” because apparently they were “pretty wild”.  Her brother rides his motorcycle from Maine to Mexico and back at least once a year.  She grew up in the forest and as a result has a decidedly ‘earthly’ manner to her. She likes to cook mushrooms and not wear any shoes. Oh, and she is a designer for Armani Exchange.

Gloria has been here the second-longest, but only for a little over a month. She works as a “real estate liquidator” – whatever that means. But she is studying up on some sort of digital art or technology something as she will be entering NYU’s graduate program in the fall. Her cooking seems to be the best and after a talk with her today, it sounds like there may be cookies soon…

Alex is the third roommate (a coincidence, I know). I know almost nothing about her except that she is only in the apartment after 2:00am and she may or may not work at a video store in Midtown. She seems young because she is very small and quiet – but I have nothing to verify my assumptions because she is never around. I think she has been here less than a month, and she is leaving before July. I’m pretty sure she is scared of the rest of us.

Last weekend I got the opportunity to visit one of Andrea’s friends who has a nice apartment on the Upper East Side. It was refreshing to see that people actually make homes in this city, rather than live out of suitcases, uncertain as to what the future may hold.

Luckily, I got to go on their roof (something I have fantacised about with romantic NYC images drawn from Dharma and Greg and Friends).  Looking over the skyline was encouraging. Real people live in NYC. I know its only been a week and a half, but I think I could live here.

I just need a home.

This is where I live

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