Sex and the tennement.

It's the fourth time I hear them having sex in five days. And I'm hardly ever home. I say them, it's really only her I hear. As far as I know it's a different him every time. I'm actually not complaining. You'd have to say that anybody who moves into a 300 sq ft apartment above New York's most famous sex shop relinquishes her right to become indignant at the nature of the noise transfer. Besides, there's part of me that gets a secret thrill at any reminder that here I am, pulsing along with the beating heart of Manhattan - the bars, the clubs, the cabs, the theatre - and the thin walls.

I can´t believe I'm already half way through my sixth month in the city (I just counted). All the way from the land down under ("I've always wanted to go to Australia... but it's SO FaRRrr"). Off the boat, chasing the bright lights of Broadway, but for now, safely protected within an acting institution, which means I can breathe, step outside and take a look around.

Last night my roomate (by all reports and as evidenced by the few indecipherable DVDs in our apartment, a Finnish movie star) and I threw a 'Housewarming'. Which meant jamming everything we own into cupboards, pushing all the furniture up agains the walls and requiring that our 15 guests hold their breath all night, so as not to take up too much space. Actually it was the perfect soiree, and as if by magic, the apartment does feel warmer, and more expansive.

Good timing, as the snow has been coming down since yesterday evening, and now the world is covered by a most beautiful blanket of the whitest white, best viewed from the inside. I haven't even made it downstairs to buy the Times, or a 'caawfee', but it's nice to hide inside for just a day. Manhattan is a city that demands life be lived full throttle on the streets, which is good for your figure, but sometimes taxing on your soul.

Still, out there on the streets there's quintessential New York fun to be had... like managing two dates in one night. But more on that next time!