Kelly Kreth

About a week before Hurricane Sandy, I had what I can now only think of as a foreshadowing event.

I arrived home exhausted from a surgical procedure in the hospital. It left my arm bandaged, and I was sent home with a warning: Whatever you do, don’t get it wet. 

I meticulously wrapped my arm in a substandard cling-wrap product and duct tape (it was raining and I couldn’t risk getting it wet so I had to make do with what was available at the downstairs bodega) which took about 20 minutes.

The last two apartments I’ve lived in have had washing machine access. The first in the basement and the latter in the apartment because I smuggled one in.

When I  moved here I could have easily brought the contraband machine with me—there is enough space---but wanted a clean (pun intended) start. You see my beloved ventless Malber wd1000 was much like the men I seem to date, dreamy but complicated and really more trouble than it was worth.

I am no stranger to living by a loud annoying bar/club. So when I noticed a bar next to my new apartment building I didn’t balk. However, it would seem that dealing loud, trashy bars is my karma.

When I first decided to move, I knew it would be nearly impossible to find what I needed.

I was living in a big junior four for $1,600, with a wall of closets, three armoires, five dressers and lots of storage space. I even stored shoes in my kitchen cabinets.

Every quarter I would go through my clothes and re-organize them by color, sleeve length and material, giving anything I no longer wear to either a consignment shop, to friends or to a friend’s twice-a-year clothing swap. 

Everyone's got something they'd like to change in their NYC apartment (and in some cases people have myriad things they'd like to see go/added). Here's what five Gothamites told us they'd like in their apartments: