By Dixie Laite, on February 14th, 2011
(Update to this post: Here is the finished result; I call “Anything Gauche”.)
I avoided all sorts of grown-up stickywickets for so long, I guess it was inevitable that the whole renovation nightmare thing would strike blithely, superciliously carefree me like a cobra. I’ve seen dozens of times, I saw Tom Hanks and Shelley Long Long sink into The Money Pit back when, but I had no idea how close to documentaries these movies were.
The story thus far: Single 40-something-me buys a lovely little studio in the Manhattan glam-ish Parc Vendome, thinking I’ll live there til I die. Four years later I got caught up in the real estate fervor and upgraded to a one-bedroom – a HUGE one-bedroom, especially by New York City standards. This apartment (which I call and I have the matchbooks and cocktail napkins to prove it) is only a block away from the Parc Vendome, on a lovely tree-lined street near Central Park, shopping and tons of restaurants. It’s got 2 bathrooms, a washer/dryer in the apartment, again rare for New York City, and a big kitchen and private storage room. (Uh, it’s for sale by the way.) It’s fantastic, and I planned to live here in this fabulous den until I died.
Then 4 years ago I met this guy reading a philosophy book on the subway and fast-forward 2 years, we’re married. The guy (call him Raffles, I do) agrees Bluebird Manor is pretty swell, but big though it is at the end of the day it’s still a one-bedroom and where’s a man to hunker down and escape the Real Housewives’ chatter, his own housewife’s chatter, and the dogs and parrots that came with said housewife? Raffles needs a mancave. So, we set about looking for an apartment that would allow him his cave and me to continue to walk to work.
Continue reading Buying and Renovating an Apartment is Not for Pussies Part I
Self-Esteem is Tricky
By Dixie Laite, on February 7th, 2011
You hear a lot about self-esteem, and apparently you’re supposed to have it. A lot if possible. I have always found this tricky.
Of course, I’m old enough that when I was little, no one ever talked about self-esteem. On the other hand, not being too big for your britches, not acting conceited, those messages were heard loud and clear. (I think in elementary school, at least among us girls, “being conceited” was the worst thing of which you could be accused.) At home I got the distinct impression I needn’t think too highly of myself, and tamp down whatever exhilaration any little girl grade success might bring on. When I was put in a gifted program I knew not to discuss it much at home so my brother’s feelings wouldn’t get hurt. I could have easily risen above all this accept for the fact that the accomplishment that meant most to me was being loved, being liked – or at the very least not not-liked. And so began my diligent immersion into self-effacement.
Continue reading Self-Esteem is Tricky
Now THIS is a cover letter!
By Dixie Laite, on October 12th, 2010
Being a dame is synonymous wit confidence, actually possessing it or behaving as though you did. Of course, it helps to have the goods to back up that confidence, and maybe that’s what helped Hunter S. Thompson write this ballsy cover letter. Anyway, I’d love to have such balls (and talent).
Applying for a . . . → Read More: Now THIS is a Cover Letter!
I'm So Pathetically Not French
By Dixie Laite, on August 24th, 2010
When I was a girl I loved to get those little booklets they sold by the cash register at the supermarket. I’d read and re-read all the “1,000 Baby Names” books. Even now, decades later, I know dozens of useful facts like Ellen means light, Thurston (as in Howell) means Thor’s stone, and that Sally is a diminutive of Sarah which in turn means princess. I never tired of naming my dozens of unborn future children; Clementine, Eudora (well-born), Tristan (Old Welsh for sad) and Tallulah (Native American for fabulous throaty bisexual) were serious contenders. Now of course the joke’s on me since I don’t even have one child to tar with one of my many monikers.
But my all-time favorite 39 cent booklet was the wee “What Real-Life French Women Wear”. (That may not have been the actual name but that was the theme.) Being in third grade and all I couldn’t implement the advice right away, but one thing has stuck with me all these years. Stuck with me, but sadly eluded me.
It said the typical French woman had only about 5 things in her closet. The point was that French women are smart and sophisticated enough to just buy a few really good things and wear them every day in various permutations. I pictured a pristine closet with a few paltry hangers bearing only a black pencil skirt, a crisp white shirt, a good-quality black turtleneck, an LBD of course, one pair of always well-pressed pants, and one of those stripe-y sailor-y shirts Jean-Paul Gaultier is always wearing. The lesson was quality over quantity, and that sorting out some sort of uniform was the easiest, quickest and best way to dress. Continue reading I’m So Pathetically Not French
By Dixie Laite, on August 24th, 2010
I’m obsessed. I’ve long loved decorating and thinking about decorating, but now that my new husby and I are getting an apartment together, I have an opportunity to actually do some decoratin’ damage and I’ve thought of little else for almost a year.
Though I would dearly love to have the same kind of . . . → Read More: Domicidal Maniac
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apartment, city, contractors, decor, interior design, Manhattan, New York, real estate, renovation
