Thanks for Sharing

L O EFFING L YOU GUYS. I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED.

I spent the day out and about town running errands and working (at my other non-mold related side gig). While waiting for an appointment, I casually perused a copy of Entertainment Weekly when I spotted a movie review for something with Mark Ruffalo and Gwyneth Paltrow. A light bulb went off in the back of my brain. A faint memory came back to me from when I had first started working at my company (I once referenced it here as well). One day my boss, a calculating, shyster kind of guy, announced to the office, "Uhh yeah, so today a few movie people will be in the office to take some pictures. They're doing background research for a film about an environmental consulting firm starring Mark Ruffalo and Gwyneth Paltrow."

Proof that environmental consultants are the sexiest sort of people

 After this announcement everyone in the office shared confused glances silently asking, is this guy for real?? You know what, apparently he was! So the movie isn't specifically about an environmental consulting firm, but Mark Ruffalo plays an environmental consultant! Close enough, right? The movie is actually about sex addicts... Hmmm, maybe the movie people were also doing research for that aspect of the film when they came to observe our office... Interesting, that would actually explain a lot...

Anyway, even though the movie was totally panned in reviews, I must watch Thanks for Sharing to see how much I personally inspired the direction of the film. ;) Seriously, not to brag or anything, but I can't tell you the number of times I've been told that I should have my own show. I'm sure it'd get better reviews than a 61% on Rotten Tomatoes. Until that day comes, please enjoy the trailer below!

Photo credits: Thanks for Sharing

A South Bronx Tale

Laws of Nature 101: Throwing a bunch of random strangers into a shared space will result in individuals selectively grouping themselves together, usually according to a social hierarchy.

Janis Ian knows what's up: "Where you sit in the cafeteria is crucial because you got everybody there. You got your Freshmen, ROTC Guys, Preps, JV Jocks, Asian Nerds, Cool Asians, Varsity Jocks, Unfriendly Black Hotties, Girls Who Eat Their Feelings, Girls Who Don't Eat Anything, Desperate Wannabes, Burnouts, Sexually Active Band Geeks, The Greatest People You Will Ever Meet, and The Worst. Beware of The Plastics."

In the office environment, every company has it's own A-list clique. I hope that it goes without saying that I am a member of my own office's most exclusive group. We're made up of four saucy ladies:

MG: Me. Dis bitch has got swag pumping out her ovaries. 

D: The "mother" of the group. She's lived her whole life bouncing around one NYC project to another. D knows EVERYTHING about everything so you better pay attention to her advice.

B: The Puerto Rican fashionista. She's super hot and always comes dressed to impress.

T: Hails from Africa. Her BFF is Nelson Mandela's step-daughter. Not joking. Lady is an amazing dancer and is my personal inspiration and definition of the word "diva".

I am very happy that my work rarely brings me to NYC's less savory neighborhoods such as the South Bronx or Brownsville. Whenever I do have to make an appearance in these sorts of neighborhoods, I like to schedule my appointments in the morning. According to D, "You won't run into any trouble in the morning because that's when all these wannabe thugs are sleeping". Nice thinking! I've found that Brownsville and the South Bronx can actually be quite charming and peaceful at 10:30 am. While I have been in plenty of inappropriate, creepy, potentially not-so-good situations, I am thankful that I've never personally been in one that was truly scary.

This isn't true for most inspectors, including T. T recently found herself waiting for a superintendent outside of a building in the South Bronx. I guess the super was taking his sweet time arriving at the site, because T was forced to listen to a rather uncomfortable conversation as she waited. 

A man and a woman on the stoop next door loudly, without trying to hide the content of their conversation, negotiated the sale of a firearm. The woman wanted to kill her deadbeat husband and the man asked her what she was looking for regarding the type of gun, price, model, etc. Midway through their conversation, the woman stopped the negotiation to compliment T on her purse. They then turned back to one another and continued discussing gun prices. After the pair had finished their business dealings the woman said, "Thanks man. Now Imma 'bout to go get me some breakfast at the liquor store". It was 9 am.

You. Cannot. Make. This. Stuff. Up

Photo credits: Mean Girls

Mold Girl Appreciation Day

Hello friends! Today marks a momentous occasion, for today is my two year anniversary as a mold inspector! I'm not sure if I should be celebrating or curled up underneath my desk crying hysterically with a bottle of gin. Regardless, I will be accepting any and all gifts in the form of baked goods, Barnes & Noble gift cards, live animals, and/or alcohol. It's the least I deserve after spending countless hours keeping this city safe from the toxic black mold of death! Thank you, I await your congratulatory presents :)

This is my party face

Photo credits: Someecards, Jake's Dog House

Party Animals

The past couple weeks I have gone out drinking expecting nothing out of the ordinary, just your average mix of hipsters, bros, hipster bros, basic boring-os, and a sprinkling of normal people, but have ended up finding myself boozing alongside the most bizarre company.

Last weekend I went to a bar called Lucky Dog in Williamsburg. I assumed "Lucky Dog" was just a name. You know, I don't go to The Slaughtered Lamb thinking that I will find myself surrounded by actual lamb carcasses or The Wolf and Deer expecting to see the circle of life unfold before my eyes. Lucky for all things cute in the world, Lucky Dog isn't all talk and really does live up to its name. I have no idea how this is legal, but apparently Lucky Dog is a pet friendly drinking establishment. If I'm not mistaken, I believe they also serve food there too... The place was packed full not only with people, but with man's best friend as well. I was so jealous of my companion, who just so happened to be sitting next to an obese pug.  The dog was swagged out in a stylish little sweater and sat on a bar stool with his paws on the counter like he owned the place. He was even served a free shot of beer! Having witnessed this scene, I can now die a happy person.

Did anybody card this animal? He doesn't look 21 to me. The things looks will get you, I guess!

 Continuing on this animal theme, yesterday I found myself at a small dive bar in the East Village called Manitoba's. I don't really understand why, but I guess somebody who was friends with the bar tenders was trying to raise funds for some charity, so the bar tenders were going around asking patrons if they'd like to purchase a button for two dollars. The guy next to me whips out A LIVE CRUSTACEAN OUT OF NOWHERE and tries to barter it for a button. Do not ask me where on his person the man kept the aquatic animal, because I still am not sure. Just my luck to get stuck next to the lobster instead of the pug!

This isn't quite what I saw crawling around the bar, but it's as close as it's going to get. I legitimately have no idea what to even google. 

I was a bit bitter that the bar didn't at least bust out Under the Sea. That would have made the slightly disturbing scene more tolerable.

Photo credits: http://www.bsos.umd.edu

Hey D, Just Another Day on the Job

I have a friend and former coworker who shall be known as D. D is a tattooed and burly Russian from outer Brooklyn. At first glance he can seem a tad scary. And second glance too. Third glance is when his big fluffy heart is finally revealed. D has a handful of years on me, and likes to act as my pseudo big brother - I'm told constantly that I'm not "professional" or that something isn't "safe" or "don't do that". He can be kind of a Debbie Downer. But boy certainly has a knack for witty banter. I love all of our heated discussions which somehow end up on the topic of feminism without fail. I particularly enjoy my ability to exasperate him, although to be honest, he probably exasperates me more. 

I always imagined D as a Paul Bunyan type - like Pauly B, D frequently sports a plaid shirt, and isn't lacking in the body hair department either. I'm sure he also wouldn't embarrass himself too badly in a duel against Dracula. 

D loves to give advice. As one of my many therapists, his trademark counsel is as follows:

"MG, I want you to stare at the mirror and give yourself a good, hard look in the eyes. Now repeat this mantra until it finally works, 'shut the fuck up'."

So thaaat's all I need to do. Thanks, Doctor D.

Are we ready for the ink blot tests yet?

As a Russian Jew from Brooklyn, D grew up surrounded by a lot of girls who could arguably be called JAPs. He has a hard time understanding the difference between a JAP, aka a Jewish American Princess, and a young, awesome, smart, hilarious female Jew with a great sense of style and some standards. I personally do not use the term "JAP", I prefer the more general phrase Basic Bitch. No, I do not call my father "daddy". No, I do not require at a minimum of two hours to get ready in the morning. No, my parents do not support me. No, I do not go gallivanting around the local mall decked out in Ugg boots, a Louis Vuitton handbag, a revealing Abercrombie & Fitch top, and a matching Tiffany's necklace, bracelet, earrings combo set. 

Imagine this scenario, just brown hair

There, that's better - it's Gretchen Wiener!

To put the whole JAP thing to rest once and for all, I will demonstrate a situation that I recently found myself in -  a situation where no Basic Bitch would EVER step foot. Last week a management company informed me before an inspection that I would be investigating a hoarder situation. I hate hoarders, they're gross and creepy, but it's usually not too big of a deal. Been there, done that, nothing I haven't seen before. Upon arrival at the site, a building maintenance worker says to me, "You know the deal with this apartment, right?". I said I was aware that it was a hoarding situation and he responded, "It's a bit more than that. You'll see". Coooooooooolllll.

Apparently the story is this: an old man had been living in the studio apartment for the past fifty years. In addition to the hoarding problem, he never cleaned the place. Not once. The building management had to forcibly remove the resident so that maintenance workers could remove the piles and piles of clothing and other items that had covered every free inch of space.

Horrifyingly, but not unexpectantly, the workers discovered an insect infestation in the bed. An exterminator was called in, and the exterminator provided a list of every type of insect he had found living in the apartment. The list could fill the pages of a novel. Underneath the bed had at one point been a throw rug. The throw rug today? It was 100 percent eaten and decomposed by insects. No joke. The carpet is now pure dust.This was probably the most disgusting apartment I've ever been in. And that truly is saying something. In your face, D?

The emptied studio apartment

How does a random part of your wall get THIS dirty??

I am not fucking kidding, this massive pile of a sawdust looking material was ONCE A CARPET. This is what a 50 year long insect infestation looks like.

Classy fabric wallpaper looking not so classy now.

The kitchen. Let's hope this wouldn't count as a "C" on NYC's controversial restaurant grading system.

The fridge. No words.

And the Grand Finale

Photo credits: http://wingedboar.net, Blitzcadet, Daria, Barbie, Mean Girls

With Desperation Comes Innovation

The price of real estate in New York is horrifyingly expensive. I have a minor meltdown every time I check my bank statements and realize the percentage of my income spent on rent. At least once a month I threaten to leave NYC, until I remember that the rest of America is way lamer (please feel free to be offended). Although still I sometimes claim with pride, Screw it! I want to be one of those 25 year olds still living with their parents.

Damn, beaten to the punch

So I don't want to start anything here (or do I? Vive la révolution?), but I can theoretically imagine that my following insight will remind readers of the realities of how the uber wealthy live, and has the potential to contribute to a social uprising or two. Ugh, sometimes being so influential is exhausting! 

I've mentioned in previous posts that I frequently visit the homes of the One Percent, or at least the Five Percent. In a city where a single square foot of space is a precious commodity, these apartments are always gloriously spacious and airy, and so big that it's easy to get lost (the architecture of these old Upper East Side and Upper West Side apartments is enchantingly bizarre - lots of long, twisting labyrinthine hallways). 

Okay, I get it, you're loaded. Good for you, you have an incredible apartment. Although here is the part that really gets me - many of these apartments are just one of many properties owned by the resident and are only used a couple of weeks of the year. I was in a place that recently sold for 18.5 MILLION dollars. The super said that the previous owners only spent about a week or two there a year. That statement is enough to send me on a murder-suicide rampage (hello ever watchful authorities, that was a joke). But anyway, a stroke of brilliance hit me, do any of these people need house sitters for the, you know, fifty weeks of the year they're off living somewhere else?? I was raised by a certified neat freak and have had the perfectionistic ways of home maintenance drilled into me. Plus, I know how to handle any sort of unexpected leak situation! If that doesn't qualify me to be the next House Sitter of the Year, I don't know what would. Mold Girl is now accepting any and all house sitting inquiries :)

Upper East Side - Playground of the rich and powerful. Will they accept me as the next Dan Humphrey??

To paraphrase the Cheshire Cat, it doesn't really matter which way I go, they're all mad here. Mad rich at least. 

Photo credits: Brooklynmadestore's Etsy shop, Gossip Girl, someecards, Alice in Wonderland, hagalfarm.blogspot.com

Spooky, Scary

Many of you may ask, what could possibly be scarier than a Werewolf Bar Mitzvah? Admittedly not much. Although recently I came across an article that could give such a thing a run for it's money. As I hope you all know, severe weather storms have become increasingly common with recent climate change. According to *science*, the incidence of injury due to FLESH EATING FUNGI is on the rise. A common, usually harmless soil fungus known as Apophysomyces (do NOT google images of this) turns flesh eating and deadly when given the chance to enter the body through an open wound. A wound obtained and contaminated thanks to blunt force trauma in a tornado for instance. Oy vey!

Remember kids, a flesh-eating fungi is not a fun guy to have at your bar mitzvah. Stay safe in those storms people!

Ugh, I'm terrible.

Photo Credits: 30 Rock

Give my Regards to Broadway

If you watched Glee, you'd get this reference

I cannot tell you how many aspiring actors/singers/musicians/dancers/artists/writers you meet in New York City (especially on OKCupid) all attempting to hit it big in the Big Apple. Countless talented (and "talented") people pour their hearts and souls into making their dreams become reality. Sadly only a very, very small dedicated and lucky few are able to make it. Except for me. Been there, done that, took some pictures, and I'm over it. Ladies and gentlemen, this mold girl has been on Broadway. No effort necessary. I guess you could say I've just got that pure, raw, je ne sais quoi talent about me. 

Kind of like Harvard Law, landing on Broadway is supposed to be hard or something?

Okay well to be a tad more realistic, I was on a Broadway stage, although the only person watching me was the building engineer Dino (what up, Dino!). Arriving at this assignment I was in a SUPER BAD MOOD. I was crazy busy at work, it was freezing, and I believe it was right before the Thanksgiving holiday. Additionally, I had imagined the theater to be some sort of off, off, off Broadway situation where you pay three bucks on a Sunday afternoon to see a depressingly horrible community improv show (I've unfortunately been there, done that too). Anywho, it turned out I was investigating the real deal. I hung out on stage, back stage, in the dressing rooms, in the lighting area, went inside the air handlers, and even was so lucky as to scale the scary as fuck roof (I'm sure you're all most envious of the last two). The theater's production posters hung in the dressing room corridor. Sarah Jessica Parker, Cynthia Nixon, the guy from Fraiser who isn't Kelsey Grammar, and other familiar faces stood out at me. Inspecting the roof was particularly fun. To access the air intake unit, Dino and I had to climb up on a thin metal beam about 6 feet off the ground, and literally hug one another in order to open the intake access panel. Let's just say things got pretttttttttyyyy intimate (Dino, why haven't you called?!). 

Don't tell my boss, but afterward the theater manager gave me two free tickets to the show! Once there, he showed my friend and I into the VIP area for free wine, and came over to chat us up not once, but three times. Yeah, mold inspecting is kind of a big deal. I'm basically a B+ list celebrity. :p

You never know, I may even do car commercials in Japan ;)

Photo Credits: Legally Blonde, Mean Girls, Glee

Fashion + Eco-Friendly = Fabulous!

Hello all! I need to make a departure from the world of mold to share an exciting announcement for all the fashion lovers, business lovers, earth lovers, and plain ol' lovers out there! I am involved with a super fun sustainable business club that puts on fascinating events throughout the year. On THURSDAY JANUARY 17TH at 6:30 PM my club will be hosting a panel discussion called:

Sustainable Fashion: Timeless or Trendy?

(One guess as to who came up with that brilliant name)

The event will be a panel discussion followed by a boozy reception where you can network with the speakers, each other, and most importantly, me! The speakers are serious fashion VIPs. Trust me, you won't want to miss this (see list below). Additionally, up-and-coming eco-friendly designers will showcase their newest looks at the reception. You will find my fine self stuffing my face at the hors d'oeuvres table. The cost of this amazing experience is $25 for students(/poor young people) (let's just say a student ID is not required... ;) of course being an upright citizen I would never suggest that any of you lie... because I obviously would never even dream of paying the student price myself...) and you must register online ahead of time. Do that NOW by clicking HERE. The event will take place on the 23rd floor of Rockefeller Plaza. 

Speakers include:  

MODERATOR

• Christa Dowling, Global Cultural Advisor and Journalist, Author, Former Editor-in -Chief, Conde Nast/Vogue, Germany (whaaattttt, yeah we got Vogue involved. NBD, we're just that good)

PANELISTS

• Yael Aflalo, Founder and CEO, Reformation (designs from repurposed fabrics) (umm, hello super sexi lingerie) www.thereformation.com

• Sass Brown, Acting Assistant Dean School of Art and Design, FIT, Author (a super smart professor from one of the country's best fashion schools? check!)  www.ecofashiontalk.com

• Raz Godelnik, Adjunct Professor at CUNY, the New School, and University of Delaware;  Founder, Hemper Jeans, an eco-fashion jeans company using hemp (another smarty pants designer!) www.hemperjeans.com

• Gretchen Jones, Eco-Fashion Designer; Project Runway Season 8 Winner  (Project Runway winner?? Enough said!) www.gretchenjonesnyc.com

• Catherine Tyc, Filmmaker  (working on sustainable fashion documentary)  (who wants to see this with me opening night??) http://swapthemovie.wordpress.com/

EXCLUSIVE RECEPTION EXTRA:

Fashion Alley: an exciting showcase of up and coming sustainable brands

Our illustratious panel of eco fashion innovators will discuss fashion’s negative environmental impact and new sustainable approaches to materials, production, recycling and toxic waste.

Gain insight into the challenges of designing eco- fashion and promoting it to mainstream fashionistas. How do you convince designers, manufacturers, retailers and consumers that eco-friendly fashion can also be chic and trendy?

CHECK IT OUT CHECK IT OUT CHECK IT OUT!!!!!!

It's Raining Mold. Among other things...

Question: How does a fabulous mold inspector such as yourself test for mold?

Answer: I use this bad boy right here:

BOOM IN YOUR FACE — A Zefon Bio-Pump Plus complete with Air-O-Cell Cassettes

Although I'm sure you all are highly interested in a blow by blow account of the mold sampling process, I'll keep my description of what I do short. The above sexy little gadget is a vacuum pump. It sucks air into a cassette sample for a period of five minutes, trapping microscopic airborne mold spores on a gel inside the cassette. During every inspection, I sample the indoor areas in question, and follow with a sample taken outdoors as a control (FYI, if you didn't know that airborne microscopic mold spores are flying around at all times, everywhere, now you do). A lab in Powhatan, Virginia (best city name ever) examines the samples under a microscope and counts the amount of spores trapped in each cassette's gel. Okay, we all still here? Explanation over!

Today I was asked to inspect a locksmith located on the Upper East Side. Apparently the business has a history of sewage flooding. Yeah, sewage flooding. And  yeah, I had to get all up in that. Yummy. As part of the inspection, the shop owner was very adamant that I test inside the ceiling access panel where the sewage had specifically leaked. 

Originally this was just a ceiling. They added the white access panel so that they could easily access the sewage damage since it flooded so often.

A GIF to properly express my reaction to this news

To open the access panel, I had to climb up a tall, rickety ladder. After almost falling off the ladder several times during my attempts to pry the stubborn panel off, the hatch interior revealed a layer of pink insulation. This insulation needed to be removed for me to see inside of the cavity. I reached directly above my head (while still on top of the rickety ladder) to pull the insulation down. Next thing I know, I've showered myself in...stuff. Not sure what kind of stuff, although it's probably best that I don't know. Below is a picture of the insulation after I had removed it. The photo does not do it justice. Trust me, it looked way grosser in real life. The dirt pictured below is only about half of what fell on me. I did count 3 dead cockroaches stuck to the pink fibers. *shudder*

Because the interior of the ceiling was so gross and scary and probably swimming in sewage particles, I was afraid to set my beloved air pump down inside the ceiling cavity. I therefore was forced to hold the machine near the ceiling opening. This meant holding it above my head, standing on my tiptoes on a rickety ladder, for five straight minutes. Talk about an arm workout. I will say, it felt like a serious John Cusack moment à la the 1989 classic Say Anything. Except minus any romance. Or complicated family drama. Or boomboxes.

Just like this, except not at all

Photo credits: Say Anything, Sesame Street, Zefon.com

Hurricane Sandy

Hello all! As pretty much everyone is aware, the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy has wreaked havoc in the Tri-State area over the past week. Power stations have exploded. Fires have started. People have been without electricity or heat for days. Homes have been lost. Subways aren't running. The list goes on and on. It has been an absolutely crazy few days. My thoughts and prayers go out to all those who have been affected. I am so, so grateful to have been only mildly inconvenienced during the past week. I have much to say on the aftermath of Sandy, but I'm too exhausted from walking eight, yes eight, miles today from a relative's apartment in Midtown Manhattan where I rode out the storm, to my own place in Brooklyn. It breaks my heart to hear the news stories of the devastation Sandy has caused, although I just saw this article and couldn't stop laughing. I thought it was a needed remedy to all I've been hearing and reading. Enjoy, and I hope everyone is okay!!

Let's Get Political

There's been quite a hubbub in NYC the past week in anticipation for the U.N. General Assembly  which kicked off its 67th session today. Last week I saw these three men walking around Hunter College dressed as the Iranian president,  Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. If you can't tell from the photo, there were two normal Ahmadinejad clones, and a scary third clone with a head-to-body size ratio gone awry. As somebody who gets most of her news from Jezebel, I'm not exactly the most up to date person on non-feminist and non-popculture political happenings. I guess this group, known as #UNwelcome was protesting the U.S.'s agreement to let President   Mahmoud Ahmadinejad through its borders and appear at the U.N. According to this article in the Guardian, Ahmadinejad arrived in New York with an entourage of over 100 people. You gotta admit, the man at least knows how to make an entrance!

Photo credits: http://mostunwelcome.com/

We're Not in Manhattan Anymore... Part Two

This entry is a two-parter, so if you haven't read Part One yet, please do so. 

Walking into the house, my eyes were immediately assaulted by an overwhelming amount of tchotchkes. I was surrounded by an extensive collection of frilly things that only a certain kind of old lady could love, as well as enough plants and pillows to fill a jungle-themed housewares store. I felt as if I had walked into Dolores Umbridge's office in Harry Potter.

No joke, this would have been an improvement

TDee showed me around the house, indicating which rooms he wanted tested. In many, it was actually impossible to move more than a few feet (or inches!!) without knocking into something. Afterward I was left alone to do my thing. Let me describe the house room by room...

Mother's Room: A decrepit, blind dalmatian was lying on the bed. Normally I am a huge dog person, I love dogs and dogs love me. Even the dogs that "normally don't like anybody!" like me. No, not this time. This dog was satanic. It barked nonstop while I was in the mother's room. It was the only time in my life I was scared of a dog, thinking it might actually bite me. I was shocked that nobody came into the room to see what was going on. 

Maybe the dog was bitter it had to hang out in this creepy house all day?

Sun Room: Not only was the sun room jam packed with plants and pillows, it was home to three parrots. One of the parrots was so, SO scary. It kept yelling "helllllooo!" and "umbrella!" at me, in the most robotic, steely, frightening voice. I'm pretty sure a robot giant squid from outer space with a tentacle wrapped around my body, dragging me down to the pits of Hell would have a similar, but slightly less horrifying voice. I am still haunted. 

TDee told me that the parrots had originally been his. Apparently his first ex-wife couldn't stand the birds either and gave TDee an ultimatum--either the birds had to go or she would. TDee laughed during the retelling, "I should have kept the birds!". Me: "...uhhh...heh, heh...wow". 

I would take ten Gilbert Godfrieds before I'd be willing to go near those parrots again

The garage, the basement, & the upstairs bedroom: words cannot do justice to the these rooms. These, as well as several others, were brimming with "art". Here's a general idea of what was going on:

Garage

Upstairs Bedroom

Basement with an alien hanging by a noose as a fun accent piece

I'm sure all legitimate "art dealers" treat their "art" in such a manner. *SMH*

These pictures only represent the tip of the iceberg. I have a lot more on my computer, and could easily have taken even more during the inspection. I'm guessing the house held at least ~5,000 pieces of "art". It was just everywhere. 

Oh, and one added bonus picture! The basement bathroom:

Not sure why the toilet was removed, but they left a lovely hole in its place!

The worst part about this inspection? Hopefully you agree that normal people do NOT live like this, but the people who were home (which included mom, TDee, TDum, TDum's wifey and spawn, and then one or two other random people)? NOBODY SEEMED TO ACT LIKE THERE WAS ANYTHING STRANGE ABOUT THE HOUSE!!!!!!! HOW COULD YOU THINK THAT THIS SITUATION WAS OKAY?!?!

Despite the strong strain of lunacy that runs through my family, sometimes I am super thankful that my family is insane, in a good way!

Photo credits: Aladdin, Harry Potter

We're Not in Manhattan Anymore... Part One

Hi Friends, this is a long one so I'm splitting it up into two parts! For part two, click here!

Make fun of me all you want but let's get one thing clear. I do not drive. Yes, I have a driver's license. But no, to my boss's dismay, I refuse to drive for work. Here's why:

1. I have not driven since I moved to New York City which is over five years ago.

2. I never was a super confident driver to begin with. I have what you'd call an "anxious" personality and I get nervous when I'm not familiar with my surroundings.

3. Give me a break, driving in the tri-state area is a whole other animal than driving almost anywhere else in the US. It'd be scary enough to drive here with a companion for moral/emotional/directional support, but attempting it alone? No. Just no. As my dad likes to say, "There's only one rule to driving in NYC: point and go".

4. As any of my friends from high school can attest to, driving with me is always an...adventure. I guess there's always the adrenaline thrill of not knowing if you'll ever reach your destination, or even if you'll be alive by the end of the night. Any and all attempts at highway driving result in me getting lost, pulling off at some random ramp and parking somewhere, crying hysterically to my dad on the phone, and him directing me how to get home while he remains on the phone the entire time.*

5. Trust me, you do not want me sharing the road with you.

*Give me SOME credit, this was in the days before everybody had GPS. OKAY?!?

Dionne and Cher understand my struggle:
"Hey! You try driving in platforms!"

Because of this, I HATE going on the odd job that takes me outside of Manhattan/Brooklyn/Queens/The Bronx because it usually involves twelve transfers between various subways, trains, and buses and then I still have to make the client pick me up at the bus station. Never a good day.

On one particular occasion I was forced to go inspect the home of a 85+ year old woman in Long Island. This was at the start of my career as a mold inspector and I was nervous about traveling to the job. I didn't have any spare thoughts for the job itself...Who would have known that the traveling would be the most fun part of my day?

Back story: the large six-bedroom home was built by the lady's late husband. The pair had  two sons, now in their 40s, that are no longer living there (thank God!). As these things go,  the house had fallen into disrepair over the years and had experienced several leaks. I was hired by the older son, we'll call him Tweedledee, to inspect the ENTIRE home for mold because his mother was sick. The second son, Tweedledum, refers to himself as an African art dealer. 

Imagine these two, but up the creep factor and minimize the happiness level

Allegedly TDum's storage space for his "art" was being repaired, and he was temporarily storing his wooden African statues in his mother's home. I'm not trying to offend anyone here, I love the African section of the Metropolitan Museum of Art as much as the next person, but if you treat any sort of art like shit, it ceases being art and turns into shit. Period.

Fast forward three years and the "art" was still at the mother's house. It was easy to realize that the point of this investigation was to settle a dispute between TDee and TDum on whether or not the art needed to go...

Photo Credits: Alice in Wonderland, Clueless

A Brush With Fame

I spend a significant amount of my time performing air tests for the ultra wealthy. Most of the time I have no idea who lives in the apartment or what they do, but it's clear that they're a hot shot in some sort of industry. Every once in a while the "hot shot" happens to be in the entertainment industry. I performed an air test for a (minor) celebrity that may or may not have been in the following films:  

The Spy Who Shagged Me? Try, The Spy Who Stole My Heart With Those Dance Moves

No comment necessary--this one came pre-captioned!

Needless to say, I was a bit surprised when I knocked on the door to the apartment and found myself face-to-face with this actress. Also home? Her almost completely naked, highly attractive boyfriend. Tenant: 1 Mold Girl: 0. 

At one point in the inspection I needed a ladder so that I could inspect an area of the ceiling. The actress helped me get a ladder from her storage closet. While awkwardly maneuvering the contraption around, my arm accidentally grazed her boob. OMGGGG! I've touched a low-level celebrity's boob!!! hehehehehehehehe. That portion of my arm hasn't been washed since.

Oh and PS, I was walking around after a mold job last week and spotted Hoda (from such morning television programs as the Today Show's Kathie Lee &) hopping on the Hamptons Jitney. Yay for D-list celebrity sightings!

Holla at me Hoda!

Photo Credits: Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me, The Hangover, The Today Show: Kathie Lee and Hoda

Street Spotting: Taste the Rainbow

Saw a man park this baby stroller, oh excuse me, dog stroller outside a shop in the Flatiron District. Let's pick apart this fashion do:

-First of all, it's a dog. In a stroller...still trying to wrap my brain around that one.

-Hair is dyed three different colors. Notice how this was artfully done to make the dog appear as though it has a Mohawk and is wearing eye makeup. 

-What is it sitting on? A 50 Shades of Pink frilly tutu?

-A sparkly gold throw pulls the whole look together nicely. 

If this was the dog, you can only imagine the owner. He was a real class act. His facial hair says it all, he sported a bushy, foot-long, grass-green beard. I'll leave it at that. The pair easily put to shame anything that even Lisa Frank could possibly imagine on an acid-fueled outing at the circus with the entire Care Bear family.

Apparently it is possible to out-rainbow Lisa Frank!

Photo credits: Lisa Frank

Road Trip to Nowhere

Often I'm given no more information than an address and apartment number when visiting a job site. I don't know the reason for the mold inspection, who will be present during the visit, or whether there's serious drah-mah between management and the residents. I recently inspected a large apartment in the Bronx. The apartment was originally two separate units that had been combined in a... co-op?.. condo??...something building (I still can't tell the difference between the two). 

I arrived at the address. No doorman, and no answer when I buzzed the apartment. Fortunately someone entered the building and I stealthily snuck in behind. I proceeded to  awkwardly creep around trying to find the super. Eventually I located him belting out Celine Dion while mopping the floor. He let me into the empty apartment which was occupied, although allegedly the tenants had temporarily moved out during the remediation process. The super informed me that only the kitchen required testing--a pipe connected to the dishwasher had burst. I was like, awesome! Easy-peasey! The super leaves me to get back to his work (aka "My Heart Will Go On") since I didn't need any help. I decided to call my mom on the phone, thinking I could waste a little extra time checking in with her as well as fooling around on Social Girl during the inspection (if you aren't familiar with this app, I highly suggest you familiarize yourself IMMEDIATELY!). Mid convo avec ma mère, I notice a man standing behind me.

Direct quote: "There could never be too much argyle in the world!"

This man was middle-aged, balding, chubby, and exuded an aura of general creepiness. He identified himself as, let's say... Clark Crabman. He prefaced his name with some long-winded BS sounding job title, that did not register in my brain. He claimed to represent the apartment's residents. Uhh, what? I have no idea what that means. To this day, I still have absolutely no idea of his purpose, or how he was involved with the apartment. In the aftermath of the investigation, my fellow colleagues and I came to the conclusion that we wouldn't exactly call him the most upright of "business" men. 

Bald? Check. Chubby? Check. Kinda creepy? Check-times-infinity-no-comebacks.

Anywho, Mr. Crabman followed me around the entire time at a distance that can only be described as inside-my-personal-bubble. He also kept calling me "Ma'am". Let me make one thing clear, it is ALWAYS offensive to call a woman, especially me, "ma'am" OR "miss". Both words send shivers down my back. The former = old lady, the latter = young girl. I am a WOMAN. If you must use one of those sort of phrases, I'll accept  "mademoiselle" (because everything said in French sounds fancy) or, even better, how about you ask me to repeat my name and use that?! 

Ooh la la!

Feminist aside over, continuing on... About every 3.76 seconds, he would call me to come over to an area in which he had found "mold". He made me take a picture of every, little spec of whatever. I'm like dude, I'm going to report that there was water damage on this wall. I'm not going to say there was water damage in the top left corner, bottom right corner, middle, above the granite counter top, etc. etc. etc. Despite this, he continued to insist that I take pictures of all the "damage". And instead of testing only one room as planned, he had me test EIGHT rooms. I can't even tell you how much bending up-and-down and crawling all over the place with a moisture meter that entails. Ugh. All work and no play makes me a dull mold girl. 

Heeerrreeeeee's Moldy!

To add insult to injury, the place was absolutely disgusting. It looked like the family had gotten out of there in a HURRY. Food was still lying around. Dirty towels remained in the bathrooms. Random belongings cluttered the entire apartment. The icing on the cake was the den. One could argue that the residents are creative? Resourceful? Call it whatever, but I think everyone can agree the den was a tad unusual...

Why yes, that is a van car seat used as a couch! I call it post-, post-modern trailer trash chic!

Butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Here I was thinking that only the cast of Aaahh! Real Monsters used discarded junk as furniture, but I can admit when I'm wrong!

Ickis is so on trend!

Photo Credits: Social Girl, Nickelodeon, Spongebob Sqaurepants, Aaahh! Real Monsters, The Shining, http://stylinggame.blogspot.com