Mad Libs: New York Times Real Estate Edition
Inspired by the “The Hunt.”
After 18 months in a Hell’s Kitchen sublet where the doorman charmed but the dining options were largely “unsuitable now that I’ve committed to a ketogenic Jainist nut-free vegetarian lifestyle,” [name of special person A] and her spouse [name of special person B] were ready for a change.
[Special person A] took an [unbelievable number of weeks] paid leave from her job as a performance art archivist and digital [string of four arbitrary letters that suggest a marketing-related acronym] strategist to commit to the search. “It was scary,” she whispered, “My apartment was well below market rate at $8,000 a month—how was I going to find what I needed on such a limited budget? But I grabbed my [obscure brand of staggeringly expensive handbag] and started pounding the pavement—well, if riding shotgun in my realtor’s vintage Aston Martin counts,” she chortled musically.
Realtor Fabiana Chambray-Shantung led [special person A] through the sometimes harrowing search with gentle reassurance and liberal servings of [artisanal fermented beverage]. “I feel strongly that my clients need [therapeutic modality] as much as [practical skill],” she said. “I mean, these days [name of hilariously overpriced vacation community you’re dimly aware of] is the new [name of enclave of entrenched exurban wealth you’re totally bored by]—it’s a jungle out there!”
Fearing the worst, [special person A] winnowed down her list of non-negotiable amenities, leaving only the items necessary to alleviate her [name of fictitious auto-immune disorder]. Among them: locally sourced sisal wall coverings, white suede floors, sinks carved from fossilized ivory and a location convenient to an artesian aquifer, from which water is piped into the apartment via hand-blown glass tubes fashioned by the Inuit craftspeople of NunatuKavut.
The budget was around [largest amount of money you can possibly comprehend, plus $14,000].
The project was a challenge. With breath strongly redolent of amaranth, [special person A] lamented, “I overheard recently at [Swedish restaurant name with cheerful punctuation] in NoLESwAB–you know, North of the Lower East Side but West of Alphabet City… I think it used to be called the East Village? Anyway, I heard that some New York City landlords are renting apartments with synthetic fiber carpeting! Which I’m pretty sure is illegal.”
[Special person B] was reached for comment briefly via Skype from an office in Qatar, where [a gender pronoun] works three days a week brokering the sale of volatile highly leveraged sub-prime large-cap assets for risk-tolerant oligarchs. “It’s tough,” [a gender pronoun] barked, “but [nickname for Special person A ending in ‘eetsy’] knows how to get what she wants. I mean look at her ring finger, am I right? All I ask is that we’re within three blocks of a Quiznos.”
The search began in late March. A top-floor tree house made of ancient [type of wood now illegal to harvest] near a perfume factory in Williamsburg offered stunning views but prompted nosebleeds. A 1930s bungalow transported in pieces from the Hollywood hills, complete with a greenhouse stocked with [name of tropical flower endemic to Panama], was convenient to Zabar’s but lacked adequate storage space.
Finally, fortified by a vigorous aerial yoga class, [special person A] claimed her prize: an 18th-century garbage barge docked off of Governor’s Island, infested with nutria.
“It’s quirky,” she admitted on a recent tour of the vessel’s decaying hull. “But its appraised value has tripled in three months—and I haven’t even installed the sauna yet!”
Photo via kpaulus/flickr.
Kira Garcia enjoys puns, feminism, textiles, and history. She lives in beautiful Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn with her girlfriend and two handsome cats.