Nine Years Ago

It was nine years ago May 2 when I moved to Brooklyn Heights. What a conundrum it was spending every weekend searching for an apartment. Below are some entries from my journal that I found today. The apartment was originally priced at $299,000 and—in the years just before bidding wars across NYC—I was able to purchase for $255,000, despite a bidding war. Of course, today, you're lucky to get a sniff of interest, much less multiple bids.The building, in the Queen Anne style, was typical of much of the architecture of the 1880s, when it was constructed.Looking up Montague Street in the days before the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. My building is right in the center.From my journal:
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1999
I have made the decision to move out of the Tribeca homestead come this spring. It's time to find a space to call my own. I am thinking seriously of buying something. For god's sake, Manhattan has made it clear by its eternally rising real estate prices that single people making less than $100,000 have no place in this culture. It's actually cheaper for me to pay of mortgage than rent a one-bedroom.

My fantasy is to find a fab, historic place in Union Square that will contain my greatly missed queen-size bed and another room in which to place an office and music room. A real living room/combo dining room would be swell and a modest kitchen that at least allows me to place my favorite glasses, dishes and that precious Calphalon.

This [Tribeca] apartment is great, but after crossing the 37 zone, I feel a need to pull things together for myself again. Buying property is the last thing you could have told me I'd be interested in a year ago, but now we're playing a different ball game. This is my city now.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1999
Apartment hunting venture No. 1 is now under my belt, and what an eye-opening experience it was. I set about circling every open house in Chelsea (because it's a neighborhood I know so intimately) to see what a dollar might buy. Little of nothing was the response I got. Decent studio apartments for just under $200,000 and nothing even remotely livable for under $250,000. The idea of two bedroom was pretty much out the door in a flash, along with a dishwasher, washer/dryer and any amenity beyond the occasional doorman and a nice window—facing another window six feet away.

Returning home and recounting my story to Alice and Francie, they both suggested Brooklyn Heights, a hop on the subway lines across the mighty Hudson into a neighborhood that they proclaimed as the an affordable version of the West Village. I pulled out the ads and saw amazing words like 2 bedrooms, fireplace, rooftop deck, even dishwasher. Eureka!

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 11, 2000
I need some space, I need my space, I want my furniture out of storage. I want to pick out colors and decorate and play music at midnight without headphones, to watch TV at 8:45 in the morning if I want, since there's no one sleeping 10 feet away. I'm 37, not a kid and I feel I live in a fucking sorority house.

I've been looking actively for several weeks now, spending Sundays in Brooklyn Heights, my destination of choice. I put a bid on an apartment last Sunday—and am still awaiting word nearly a week later. The situation has been particularly challenging because it is being sold not be an individual owners, but by a coop board (the apartment used to house the super, so the building itself is selling it). That has meant jumping through hoops like a damn trained dog.

The best trick was yesterday, when I essentially had 15 minutes to put together what might as well be called a career essay, where I brag about what I do, my accomplishments in the media and basically told them that I am a renowned journalist that would make a swell addition to their building. Whatever.

It's been five days now and I still know nothing. I put in a bid of $242,000 on the asking price of $260,000, found out I was the high bidder among god knows how many, and answered 500 questions for the management company ("Are you planning to make renovations before you move in?" No is the right answer?). I upped the bid to $250,000 on Wednesday amid rumors that someone else had put in a bid for $242,000 cash.

The location of this apartment is absolutely ideal, in fact paradisiacal. The unit is on the second floor, which I love; it's spacious, with two real bedrooms, a great living room and, um, a kitchen and bathroom that leave a lot to be desired. The place needs work, for sure, but for its price in a market where most squatty hole begin at $300,00, it has such great potential that it's worth updating bit by bit.

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 14, 2000
At last. The coop was board was deciding between me and the winch whose rich daddy had upped her bid to $2555 in fucking cash. I told my realtor I was sonde playing the game. She told me, "Okay, in one sentence, if you'll meet the other bid, the apartment is yours." Yes, of course. She made the call and phoned me right back: "You got it!!"

Birds could have shit on me at that moment and I'd have sung their praises. At last, I'm moving. Hallelujah, do you hear me, eureka, praise God! What a pleasant Valentine's Day. Who needs a boyfriend?

...And so it went. After a lengthy coop interview process, loan approval at 8.5%(!), at last, on May 2, 2000, I moved. Since, I've gutted and remodeled the kitchen, second bedroom and hallway, built closets and totally redid the bathroom. Nine years later, there's still much to do, but it's home. Who knew then that I was that smart? I certainly didn't.