Farewell, 3T

It feels like just yesterday, I spent my first night alone in 3T. I slept on the couch with the tv on, as I was not used to being on my own, not used to the sighs and grunts of the Surview Tower (a.k.a Shitview) . Sheba and Gus stayed under the bed for three days I wept out of fear, anger, and an overall feeling of emptiness. I knew that I would be okay, that at 29, I was getting a chance to live on my own. My mess would be my mess. I didn’t have to cook for anyone or tiptoe around someone who was sleeping in. There would be no surprises when I opened the door. The rational me knew these were all positives, but the super emotional, in desperate need of a Marlboro Light, gin and tonic and most definitely an SSRI me, could never have imagined that I would be packing of the life I have made for myself here, first alone, then with a husband, and now as a family with a daughter
REWIND—HOW DID I END UP IN A 7 FLOOR BUILDING CALLED THE SHITVIEW?
My marriage was over. I had to make a move. I had to grow a set, so I did. It wasn’t easy. I feel like I basically reinvented myself in a summer—a single season. My ex and I clearly had no hope and we had to move out of the house we rented. Someone (shot not) had wanted a dog despite the landlord’s request of no dogs allowed. The lease was up. The marriage was up. What to do? After a few starts and stops that included my friends traipsing around Nassau County looking at rentals, I reluctantly contacted Diane Blum, a D list celeb realtor in Long Beach known for her short skirts and general monopoly on the few remaining old balls rental buildings in town. After lunch at Nagahama (READ: spicy crunchy hand roll and A LOT of cold SAKI) with my good friend Lynda, I signed about 58 pieces of paper and handed over money I had saved in case this exact situation were to arise. I will not admit to being psychic regarding this matter. Let’s just say if I didn’t see this coming, you might think I was blind and stupid. I convinced my ex to help me move and hang window treatments (he kind of owed me). He stayed with me while cable was installed. But, night fell, as it always does, and it was time to put on my big girl panties (I hate that word- panties) and act like an adult.
Marriage and divorce doesn’t make you an adult. In my opinion, getting through your first night alone in your new apartment after never being on your own, without begging your ex to come back or calling your parents crying, makes you an adult. The next day, the sun rose as it always does, and I gave myself a pat on my back. As the new girl on the third floor, I made friends with a guy named Ralph and another named Andrew. Small world…Andrew was my personal trainer years back and had lived with his ex in 3t, my new home. Gross fact…he informed me that he and his ex had sex in every room of 3t, my new home. Good thing I’m OCD when it comes to cleaning. Thanks to my sister, she introduced me to Wendy, also divorced and living on the fifth floor. The two of us clicked right away and I thank God for having had her in my life at that time. She was exactly what I needed. No one else I knew was going through what I was. I felt that no one could really understand how I felt..empty, a failure…With Wendy, I could talk it out or cry it out. Usually we did this with drinks and a lot of VERY loud laughing through the halls of the Shitview.
I believe that here, in apartment 3t, I grew up. I became a more confident woman. I was supporting myself. I was relying on myself. And you know what? Despite how bad I felt, I cannot deny that I was simultaneously feeling damn good. One day I walked out of the door of 3t married (on paper), a few days later I walked in divorced. One day I walked out of the door of 3t single, a few days later I walked in married. One night I walked out the door with a tiny heart beating under mine, a few days later, I walked back in as a mother.
WHY IS IT CALLED THE SHITVIEW?
Now the Shitview is called that for a reason. This building is old and rundown. Layers of paint on the walls tell the tales of tenants past. The parents of a friend of mine lived here when they were first married. My friend just turned 34. A colleague of mine used to live here. When I describe my building as the ugliest one on the boardwalk, people know it right away. Old is not necessarily bad, just bad when weatherproofing at the ocean hasn’t been done properly or possibly ever. Old is not necessarily bad, just bad when the woodwork that meets the floor isn’t meeting the floor and I could pass notes under it to the neighbor next door. Old is not necessarily bad, just bad when you have to vacuum your wall. And don’t let anyone ever tell you that their building hasn’t any water bugs (a fancy term for fucking roach). My building just has ones that are bigger than your fist. (Fortunately, not in 3t). This building will at some point be leveled and turned into a co-op or condemned by the department of health. Either way, it is old and failing. It needs help. Despite this, I feel a little sad that I am leaving. I have literally outgrown this place. Thankfully, I haven’t outgrown it in the manner in which I can only be covered in a sheet, have to be hosed off when it is time to bathe and then be fork-lifted out after a wall is removed because I am too big to exit through the door. Of course if that were true, the news would be here and people would be outside posting pics of me on Facebook.
I began my time in 3t with just two cats. I had ample closet space. I leave here with two cats, a husband and a baby. My closets now resembles a scene from a movie where someone stuffs things in and shuts the door in one instance, CUT TO NEXT SCENE, and then the door is opened by an unsuspecting character and everything topples out. This is my life.. neat freak, OCD, pushed over the edge. Tonight, while comforting a crabby baby, I began to cry. I looked into her eyes and thought how I could never in a million years imagine that I would be packed up and ready to go, about to embark on a new phase of life with my family; a husband who loves me despite my quirks (bitchiness) and a beautiful daughter who I can only hope takes life by the horns and gets everything she wants out of it. Life is by no means perfect, and people who tell you that theirs is, in my opinion, have something to hide. But, an imperfect situation has led me to this place and to this time.
And tomorrow, I shall bid farewell to 3t—the place where my broken heart mended.