Uptown Girl

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Confession.  I dream about New York apartments the way some women dream about jewelry and Jimmy Choo shoes.  I read books about Manhattan real estate.  I scour Craigs List apartment listings.  I am absolutely addicted to Selling New York.  Recently, I was trapped in the Atlanta airport and didn't even care because of the latest all-New York issue of Dwell Magazine.  Don't even start with me about how it's a waste of time or totally unrealistic.  I love reading real estate listings for one-bedroom, 700-square-feet condos in prewar brownstones, listed at the awe-inspiring bargain of $625,000.  Don't judge me.

A couple of Christmases ago, I went to New York with The Chief (aka Mom), Baby Sister and Grandma.  While having breakfast at Cafe Lalo (Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan's first meeting place in "You've Got Mail"), I noticed a "for rent" sign in the apartment window across the street.  I have no idea what kind of condition the place was in or how much it was.  It was situated in a perfect Manhattan brownstone on this perfect, tree-lined Upper West Side street with a charming neighborhood cafe (which features an endless supply of cheesecake).  People, I dream about this place.  Think about it all the time.  Wonder if there is something available in that building and if I could afford/justify the rent. 

(P.S. If anyone has any leads on finding and affording an apartment on West 83rd Street between Amsterdam and Broadway, I'm totally listening).

My favorite New York friend wakes up to this view every day...


To him it is nothing special, but I can't get enough of it.  I love how every building looks so unique.  In a city that constantly changes, it somehow manages to be beautiful and unchanging (insert cheesy yearbook theme here).  In a city with nine million people, I always wonder who lives across the street, what their lives are like, how they came to New York.  I know plenty of people who want the land, the pool, the swing set, and the three-car garage of affluent, suburban America.  What these people don't understand is how fantastic Central Park is on a summer day, or how taking the subway means your car never gets stuck on the highway, or how you can eat at a different restaurant every day and never, ever try them all.  It's just the best.

Living in Oklahoma, I see plenty of farm houses.  Once you get beyond city limits, they are pretty much impossible to ignore.  What I wasn't expecting was to stumble upon this historic farm house on the corner of East 29th and Third Avenue in New York one perfect fall day...


Can I have it?  Pretty Please?????  I'm not really a farm house kind of girl.  (Please refer to previous post wherein The Chief thought comparing myself to The Pioneer Woman was the funniest thing she had ever heard).  I could, however, get on board with a farm house in the middle of Manhattan.  I mean, how cute is that?  Armed with my iPhone, I googled it from the neighborhood bagel cafe (Conveniently called "Bagel Cafe").  It is still a single family home from the 1800s and used to be a carriage house.  You know, when subways looked an awful lot like horses.  It's like the best of all possible Katie worlds.  Plus, I would easily have room for all my friends and family (that means you) to visit/move in.  Perfection.

In the mean time, I'll just keep decorating the fictional West 83rd Street apartment and living in my fantasy uptown world...

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