I love my apartment in New York.
As a Manhattan resident, I'm gutted by what certain landlords are doing, pushing folks who have lived in their apartments for decades out of their homes, as a greedy tactic to get more rent from newer tenants. It's one of the most disgusting, inhumane things I've ever witnessed in my beautiful city.
Every major life decision in my 20s and 30s - when to get married, where to buy an apartment, whether to freeze my eggs until after the election - had revolved around a single looming question: What about Hillary Clinton?
I love art and finding different bits and bobs for the apartment; so, I'm adding all my personal touches to the house.
I want witchcraft so bad that I can't stand it. I have wands in my apartment. And I use them sometimes. I walk into the kitchen with my wand, and I come out with something on a platter and I say, 'See, magic happens.' Works every time.
I have a lot of fake food in my apartment, but I'm picky about it. Old plaster food, like from the '50s is really nice, hollowed out paper-mache food from old plays - the new stuff just looks too good.
My brother Trev went to the Professional Performing Arts School in New York, and he used to do his monologues and stuff and rehearse in our apartment. So I used to hear him all the time doing these things over and over and over. And when I was a little girl, I used to soak up everything - like anything anyone did, I soaked it up.
As of late, I am more of a homebody. I like having people over. You can smoke in the apartment. I'm just not into going out so much. The crowd is getting younger and younger.
My mom and dad got divorced, so it was one of those things where Sundays I'd go to Dad's apartment, and this was, say, 1970-whatever, and it had a pool table on the top floor in a very traditional kind of divorced-dad apartment building.
I have a nice apartment now that's all taken care of. I make my bed every day.
