In The Beginning

First, some background on the apartment building I will be living in in less than 48 hours:

From brownstoner.com:
House of the Day
Rental of the Day


Contrary to popular myth, old Bernie Henry did not paint the brownstone pink because of his dead wife. It was an accidental paint job, done while he was out of town by painters who didn't think to question the pepto-bismol color. What caused him to KEEP the color was Park Slope's various boards' attempts to get him to change it. Ain't no man going to tell Bernie Henry what to do. So really, Nick and I are living in a pink house that's really just a 'fuck you' to the Park Slope establishment.

Excellent.

Let me describe my first experience viewing The Pink House. Nick and I walked up to look at the apartment (his second, my first time) to the sound of Michael Jackson blasting from the basement apartment, where Mr. Henry lives. Nick informed me that the parlor level is kept empty for Mr. Henry's odds and ends, and we have the second floor. The third floor is rented by a couple of women who we have labelled "the lesbians," even though that might not be factually accurate. We have yet to meet them.

The realtor appeared, and with the aid of Mr. Henry who is as stereotypically "old black man" as one could be, we were allowed into the infamous building. The first thing I remember noticing was how dark it was. The entire woodwork of the building is the original Victorian woodwork, aka dark, dark, dark wood. The stairs and the floors were layered in a thick, B-motel in Vegas green carpet that Nick thought looked like astro-turf. The only light emitted on the ground floor was a large circular globe light that barely cast a shadow on the wilting silk plants stuffed in a vase on the mail table.

In other words, it won't surprise Nick or myself if this house ends up being haunted.

We walked up the creeky steps, pushed open one of the three dark wood doors, and found ourselves in an actually very light and airy apartment.

Photos of "Den":

The original fireplace and chandelier. That fridge is now back into the room it's facing out of, otherwise known as our kitchen.

Nick looks out one of the den windows, which faces onto our brownstone-lined street.

More windows in our den. Behind me is the mini-den extension, which will house Nick's office area.

The front door is to the right, a closet on the left. To the right is the area where Nick's records and desk will be. And some books, of course.

You have to walk through the kitchen to get to the bedroom, picture below:

Why yes, that IS another fireplace.

What these photos don't show is how the paint was peeling. And don't get me started on the state of the bathroom, complete with a ceiling that was missing tiles. Nonetheless, the bathroom had character. And was huge, complete with one of those old fashion tubs.

There's nothing us women like more than a project. I knew we could salvage this apartment and turn it into something beautiful.