So.
I've been terrible at blogging as of late for two reasons.
The first reason is that I haven't really had time. I generally blog from work, and work has been at its most insane as of late.
The second reason is that I am boring right now. My brain and body have disconnected, I travel through life in a general haze, not sure of what I am doing or supposed to be doing or what would be best to be doing at any given time. My life right now is:
- posting ads
- calling people to respond to the ads
- trying to convince them that they absolutely must live in my former apartment
- feeling guilty for acting so smarmy
- hoping that people actually show up for their appointments to view the apartment
- telling people that the neighborhood is really really quiet followed by feeling guilty for acting so smarmy
- sitting on hardwood floors reading a book while waiting for people to show up and tell me that my apartment is "too small" or that "the area is terrible" or that the landlords are "asking too much"
- fantasize about yelling at the landlords and telling them that they're making it virtually impossible for me to find a replacement tenant and then hopefully suing them or throwing a fit in their office or something because I hate this more than anything I have ever done in my life
- getting up early to show the apartment
- getting into work early to leave early to show the apartment
- going to class and hating it
- getting home from class really late and doing things around the apartment while detesting the class
- transferring into another class and going to it and liking it but not being entirely sure that I like it since I am in a zombie state
- not sleeping enough
- not sleeping well
- not eating enough
- not eating well
- not enjoying anything because all I can think about is renting my stupid apartment
- experiencing great anxiety about money
- supporting D in ordering a CD cabinet
- spending too much money on awesome modular shelves from DWR
- wishing I had more money
- wishing I had more job security
- wishing I had more time time time and then also more time
- wishing I had a minute to myself
- daydreaming about not having to deal with this apartment situation
- daydreaming about pictures hung on the walls
- daydreaming about air conditioners already installed
- daydreaming about cabinets and shelves already delivered
- daydreaming about being settled
- daydreaming about a functional stove
Life is so very boring right now. I want desperately to enjoy living with D, but I have barely been in the apartment since we moved. And when I am, I'm irritable and short and not wanting to paint or unpack or organize or whatever. I do these things because they mean a lot to D, but man, I just want to watch a movie or read a book or something.
We are supposed to go to a comedy show with D's friends tonight but little does he know that I am not going. If I have to interact with people after showing my apartment to like 8 people (well, probably 3 of them will show up and I'll be sitting there on the floor for an hour and a half clinging to false hopes) I think I will kill someone. I need desperately to do laundry and file my nails (still distressed from moving tons of boxes) and stare at something and not be in transit.
I feel like I've walked three thousand miles this week.
Ugh. Last week there was lots of walking, lots of going back and forth between old and new apartment, up and down stairs, into and out of trucks, etc. Last weekend was walking to Home Depot and Bed, Bath and Beyond and the grocery store and back and forth between old and new apartments and carrying stuff all the time.
And this week:
Monday: Walked to train from apartment, walked to work from train, walked to Joe's Pub from work, walked from Joe's Pub to D's old apartment, from D's old apartment to train, from train to new apartment. Home by 10:30 and curtain rod project.
Tuesday: Walked to train from apartment, walked to work from train, walked to train, walked from train to class, walked from class to apartment. Home by 10:00 and sanding and painting and vacuuming and what else I can't even remember.
Wednesday: Walked to train from apartment, walked to work from train, walked to train, walked from train to old apartment, walked from old apartment to meet C for dinner, walked from dinner to apartment. Home, drunk, yes!, by 10:00 after eating the best gnocchi ever which happens to be on my new street! Woo. Then unpacking and cramming things into closets and rearranging closets and hampers and shoes and I don't know what else because I was drunk.
Thursday: Walked to train from apartment, walked to work from train, walked from work to and then through SoHo which involved walking for about an hour and a half staring at lovely furniture and bedding that we will never be able to have, walked back to work, walked to train, took train to class, walked to class, walked to apartment from class. Home by 10:00 and in good mood because class was better. Ate popcorn and made phone calls about old apartment and did nothing house related other than look online at potential shelving and cabinet schemes.
Friday: Walked to old apartment from new apartment, walked from old apartment to train, walked from train to work, walked around SoHo again for an hour, and will soon be taking train to old apartment where I will hang out for an hour and a half, then I will walk to CVS, then I will walk with bundles home, then I will walk to the laundromat and then and only then will I be sedentary.
And I'm not going anywhere because dammit I want to just be in the new apartment. I want to eat a meal there. I want to know what it's like to live there. I want D to come home to me instead of the other way around. Of course I will be asleep when he comes home but this is not the point! I feel a lot like I'm staying at his place because he's spent far more time there this week than I have.
Granted this is not how it will be always, but it will be like this until I unload that accursed apartment, and until then I will be there every night and morning.
Oh my god I am so boring.
I swear I will be less boring next week.
Have good weekends!
Friday, April 21, 2006
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Another Curb Incident Wherein I am Not Larry David
D and I went to Joe's Pub on Monday night to see this musical/cartoon Mark Mulcahey/Ben Katchor thing that was good despite possessing the uncanny ability to turn people into zombies despite their actual interest in the piece.
Joe's Pub is simultaneously an awesome but horrific place to see a show.
They have tables, which is good. You can sit and eat or drink.
They also have couches, which is even better.
They also try to seat as many people as possible at the tables and on the couches. They do this because there is a $12 minimum per person if you are seated at a table or on a couch. This leads to far too many people crowded into small spaces, brushing up against one another, making it impossible for anyone to get up during the show. This also leads to rather obnoxious people causing problems regarding a $12 minimum per person.
I started the evening off a bit edgy as I was exhausted from the move and move-related things on Monday. When we got there, the host claimed to have no record of D's table reservation. D was in a mild panic, as it was he who was very excited about this show. I knew nothing about it (other than Ben Katchor's being a contributor of New Yorker art, which made me predisposed to dislike his work even though I had no reason to dislike it) and was basically just tagging along to keep D company. That, and it was a musical, and I love me a musical.
The host said "Well, we have this table here..." and pointed us to an unreserved table in the corner. D, excited, said "Yes!"
I was like "NO! We are NOT SITTING THERE. It's BEHIND the screen!"
It was behind the screen, and the whole reason we were there was so D could see the cartoons.
"I mean, D, if you want to sit there, we can, but I don't think you're going to be able to see."
D was glad that I'd pointed this out, so we opted to sit on a couch farther back but with a better view of the screen.
I excused myself to go to the bathroom after we were situated, and returned to find this older lady sitting in my seat and D just sitting there oblivious. Her feet were on my bag. I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do.
"Hey lady, move it."
"Lady, you're in my seat. Move."
"Look, lady, just because you read The New Yorker doesn't mean you can take my seat."
"Hey, boyfriend, could you please tell this lady to get out of my seat?"
"Hey, boyfriend, why didn't you tell this lady that I was sitting next to you?"
This woman was so very New Yorker. I hated her from the moment I saw her.
Luckily D said "Um, excuse me, my girlfriend was sitting there."
I smiled at her, but not sincerely.
She rolled her eyes and moved over so that I could sit down, but not enough so that there was actually room for me on the couch. When I sat down our legs were touching.
I edged closer to D so as not to have any more contact with this woman. She and her husband were clearly peeved, not happy to be there, etc.
When the waitress came to our area, she asked the couple what they wanted.
"Nothing," they said.
"Oh, well, you have to buy something. There's either a two drink minimum per person or $12 minimum."
"Oh, well, we don't want anything," they said, combative.
"It's our policy, I mean, you could buy like two bottles of water or maybe sodas? Or would you like a juice?"
"We are not buying anything."
"Well, it's the policy. It says on the ticket. They tell you when you buy your tickets."
"Nobody told us," they yelled.
"Well, I'm sorry, but it's the policy. You have to buy something if you want to sit at a table or on the couches."
"We're not going to," they said. "We didn't know, so we're not going to."
"Well, I'm really sorry, but you have to."
"No, we won't."
"Well, I'll go on to the back and get the manager, then, and he'll come out and talk to you."
Poor waitress. Lame New Yorker reading upper crust having-too-much-money complaining about $20 in drinks assholes.
Now.
First of all, I agree that the two drink minimum or the dollar minimum is ridiculous. If you've already paid for a ticket, why do you have to pay another $12 just to be there? It would be better if the tickets were just slightly more costly.
Second of all, it is indeed possible for someone not to have known about the minimum. This has happened to us all, and we're always annoyed when we find out that we have to buy drinks even though we're not thirsty.
But.
Where do these people get off thinking they're exempt from the rules?
Why do they just get to break the rules?
The waitress came back and said "Well, the manager said you don't have to buy anything this time, but just know that in the future there will be a two drink minimum."
Ahhh!
They got away with it.
And it's not even annoying that they got away with it. If they had been nice people who were taken aback by the minimum and apologetic for not knowing, fine.
But these people were mean. They made the waitress uncomofortable. They intimidated her into backing down. And the rest of us, a bunch of people who weren't hungry or thirsty, had to pay an extra $12 or more to see the same show.
These people could have just gotten up and stood, like the other people who didn't feel compelled to pay the two drink minimum, but no. They just decided to be jerks and be mean and be the squeakiest wheels and roll their eyes and sigh loudly and just be generally unpleasant.
Ugh.
I liked the show, though, even though I was irritable and falling asleep.
I swear I'll be in a better mood soon.
Joe's Pub is simultaneously an awesome but horrific place to see a show.
They have tables, which is good. You can sit and eat or drink.
They also have couches, which is even better.
They also try to seat as many people as possible at the tables and on the couches. They do this because there is a $12 minimum per person if you are seated at a table or on a couch. This leads to far too many people crowded into small spaces, brushing up against one another, making it impossible for anyone to get up during the show. This also leads to rather obnoxious people causing problems regarding a $12 minimum per person.
I started the evening off a bit edgy as I was exhausted from the move and move-related things on Monday. When we got there, the host claimed to have no record of D's table reservation. D was in a mild panic, as it was he who was very excited about this show. I knew nothing about it (other than Ben Katchor's being a contributor of New Yorker art, which made me predisposed to dislike his work even though I had no reason to dislike it) and was basically just tagging along to keep D company. That, and it was a musical, and I love me a musical.
The host said "Well, we have this table here..." and pointed us to an unreserved table in the corner. D, excited, said "Yes!"
I was like "NO! We are NOT SITTING THERE. It's BEHIND the screen!"
It was behind the screen, and the whole reason we were there was so D could see the cartoons.
"I mean, D, if you want to sit there, we can, but I don't think you're going to be able to see."
D was glad that I'd pointed this out, so we opted to sit on a couch farther back but with a better view of the screen.
I excused myself to go to the bathroom after we were situated, and returned to find this older lady sitting in my seat and D just sitting there oblivious. Her feet were on my bag. I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do.
"Hey lady, move it."
"Lady, you're in my seat. Move."
"Look, lady, just because you read The New Yorker doesn't mean you can take my seat."
"Hey, boyfriend, could you please tell this lady to get out of my seat?"
"Hey, boyfriend, why didn't you tell this lady that I was sitting next to you?"
This woman was so very New Yorker. I hated her from the moment I saw her.
Luckily D said "Um, excuse me, my girlfriend was sitting there."
I smiled at her, but not sincerely.
She rolled her eyes and moved over so that I could sit down, but not enough so that there was actually room for me on the couch. When I sat down our legs were touching.
I edged closer to D so as not to have any more contact with this woman. She and her husband were clearly peeved, not happy to be there, etc.
When the waitress came to our area, she asked the couple what they wanted.
"Nothing," they said.
"Oh, well, you have to buy something. There's either a two drink minimum per person or $12 minimum."
"Oh, well, we don't want anything," they said, combative.
"It's our policy, I mean, you could buy like two bottles of water or maybe sodas? Or would you like a juice?"
"We are not buying anything."
"Well, it's the policy. It says on the ticket. They tell you when you buy your tickets."
"Nobody told us," they yelled.
"Well, I'm sorry, but it's the policy. You have to buy something if you want to sit at a table or on the couches."
"We're not going to," they said. "We didn't know, so we're not going to."
"Well, I'm really sorry, but you have to."
"No, we won't."
"Well, I'll go on to the back and get the manager, then, and he'll come out and talk to you."
Poor waitress. Lame New Yorker reading upper crust having-too-much-money complaining about $20 in drinks assholes.
Now.
First of all, I agree that the two drink minimum or the dollar minimum is ridiculous. If you've already paid for a ticket, why do you have to pay another $12 just to be there? It would be better if the tickets were just slightly more costly.
Second of all, it is indeed possible for someone not to have known about the minimum. This has happened to us all, and we're always annoyed when we find out that we have to buy drinks even though we're not thirsty.
But.
Where do these people get off thinking they're exempt from the rules?
Why do they just get to break the rules?
The waitress came back and said "Well, the manager said you don't have to buy anything this time, but just know that in the future there will be a two drink minimum."
Ahhh!
They got away with it.
And it's not even annoying that they got away with it. If they had been nice people who were taken aback by the minimum and apologetic for not knowing, fine.
But these people were mean. They made the waitress uncomofortable. They intimidated her into backing down. And the rest of us, a bunch of people who weren't hungry or thirsty, had to pay an extra $12 or more to see the same show.
These people could have just gotten up and stood, like the other people who didn't feel compelled to pay the two drink minimum, but no. They just decided to be jerks and be mean and be the squeakiest wheels and roll their eyes and sigh loudly and just be generally unpleasant.
Ugh.
I liked the show, though, even though I was irritable and falling asleep.
I swear I'll be in a better mood soon.
Too Good To Be True
OK.
Disposing of my former apartment has become, of course, a saga.
D said "Everything will work out. Don't worry."
I said "Look, D, there's something you may not realize about me. Things tend not to work out for me. Whenever there's a chance for something to go wrong, especially financially, things will not work out. Weird health insurance charges? Me. Weird rental situations? Me. Getting laid off almost twice? Me. Crappy stock options? Me. Piano movers not showing up to move the piano? Me. It won't work out."
Something divine happened with the former apartment last week. The Landlord's Right Hand Woman has been uncooperative and has been making things extremely difficult for me. The management entrusted the rental of the apartment to a realtor, who failed to show the apartment. Nobody has been communicating with me. When I attempt to communicate, I am met with shortness and judgment. Fine. I broke a lease. Be mean about it, but it is in everyone's best interest to get the apartment rented as soon as possible.
I decided to post an ad on Craigslist and hoped that a random, good potential tenant would present him/herself.
I got a zillion responses, narrowed the search down to three potential tenants, and showed the apartment to two of them.
Both were interested. The first girl was cool and said she'd like to apply, but only if there wasn't a fee involved. At that point in time, I'd been unable to get a straight answer from The Landlord's Right Hand Woman as to whether the potential tenant would have to go through the realtor even though the realtor would have done absolutely nothing to secure the tenant.
The second guy was even cooler, and it turned out that one of his best friends lived in the apartment upstairs from me! Small world. I love that stuff. We decided that he should apply for the apartment as a friend of my upstairs neighbor's instead of as a friend of Leah Lar, Lease-Breaker. He was giddy with enthusiasm about the apartment, and I was thrilled to find someone who was as excited about my apartment as I was.
I doubted it, of course. It seemed too good to be true.
D said "I think this is going to work out for both of us!"
D, of course, only showed his former apartment to one person, who happened to be a friend of a friend of mine. Did any of my friends find tenants for me? Of course not. Did they try? They did, but they all came up empty-handed. Of course. Because things don't work out neatly on my planet.
I said "I don't know. I'm not getting my hopes up until the papers are signed and he's living there."
I fretted all weekend. D said "There's no way something will go wrong. It's going to work out!"
"OK. I think you're right. I think this might actually have been... easy for me."
On Monday everything seemed fine. He called and said he was going to call The Landlord that afternoon. He called, which was more than I expected. I expected to hear nothing and to succomb to immense anxiety.
And then, of course, disaster. Bad credit.
He offered to have a guarantor.
They wouldn't have it.
He called again today and said "My guarantor, who is a Rockefeller, will put a year's rent aside, and will come to a meeting with me. Please give me the apartment. Please reconsider. I will do anything for this apartment." He basically begged.
They wouldn't have that either.
And of course the original girl who wanted it found another place over the weekend.
This morning I posted an ad nearly identical to the one I posted last week and I've gotten three responses, from students or subletters or other people who have no concept of what is required to get this apartment.
I called some people from last week and two of them are going to look at it tonight.
I will be sitting there in the empty apartment, reading my Village Voice, praying for good credit and stable jobs and people who appreciate the value of a sparkly renovation.
Of course they will both hate the apartment, and I will post an ad tomorrow but won't be able to show the apartment because I have class. So, best case scenario, if these people tonight don't like it, I show the place on Monday and someone falls madly in love with it and can get the paperwork squared away next week and can move in next weekend, thus sparing me May's rent.
But what will actually happen is that I'll end up renting it for the second weekend in May but will be legally obliged to pay for the entirety of May, because that's how NYC is, and that's how things are for me.
Ergh.
I am trying not to scream.
Disposing of my former apartment has become, of course, a saga.
D said "Everything will work out. Don't worry."
I said "Look, D, there's something you may not realize about me. Things tend not to work out for me. Whenever there's a chance for something to go wrong, especially financially, things will not work out. Weird health insurance charges? Me. Weird rental situations? Me. Getting laid off almost twice? Me. Crappy stock options? Me. Piano movers not showing up to move the piano? Me. It won't work out."
Something divine happened with the former apartment last week. The Landlord's Right Hand Woman has been uncooperative and has been making things extremely difficult for me. The management entrusted the rental of the apartment to a realtor, who failed to show the apartment. Nobody has been communicating with me. When I attempt to communicate, I am met with shortness and judgment. Fine. I broke a lease. Be mean about it, but it is in everyone's best interest to get the apartment rented as soon as possible.
I decided to post an ad on Craigslist and hoped that a random, good potential tenant would present him/herself.
I got a zillion responses, narrowed the search down to three potential tenants, and showed the apartment to two of them.
Both were interested. The first girl was cool and said she'd like to apply, but only if there wasn't a fee involved. At that point in time, I'd been unable to get a straight answer from The Landlord's Right Hand Woman as to whether the potential tenant would have to go through the realtor even though the realtor would have done absolutely nothing to secure the tenant.
The second guy was even cooler, and it turned out that one of his best friends lived in the apartment upstairs from me! Small world. I love that stuff. We decided that he should apply for the apartment as a friend of my upstairs neighbor's instead of as a friend of Leah Lar, Lease-Breaker. He was giddy with enthusiasm about the apartment, and I was thrilled to find someone who was as excited about my apartment as I was.
I doubted it, of course. It seemed too good to be true.
D said "I think this is going to work out for both of us!"
D, of course, only showed his former apartment to one person, who happened to be a friend of a friend of mine. Did any of my friends find tenants for me? Of course not. Did they try? They did, but they all came up empty-handed. Of course. Because things don't work out neatly on my planet.
I said "I don't know. I'm not getting my hopes up until the papers are signed and he's living there."
I fretted all weekend. D said "There's no way something will go wrong. It's going to work out!"
"OK. I think you're right. I think this might actually have been... easy for me."
On Monday everything seemed fine. He called and said he was going to call The Landlord that afternoon. He called, which was more than I expected. I expected to hear nothing and to succomb to immense anxiety.
And then, of course, disaster. Bad credit.
He offered to have a guarantor.
They wouldn't have it.
He called again today and said "My guarantor, who is a Rockefeller, will put a year's rent aside, and will come to a meeting with me. Please give me the apartment. Please reconsider. I will do anything for this apartment." He basically begged.
They wouldn't have that either.
And of course the original girl who wanted it found another place over the weekend.
This morning I posted an ad nearly identical to the one I posted last week and I've gotten three responses, from students or subletters or other people who have no concept of what is required to get this apartment.
I called some people from last week and two of them are going to look at it tonight.
I will be sitting there in the empty apartment, reading my Village Voice, praying for good credit and stable jobs and people who appreciate the value of a sparkly renovation.
Of course they will both hate the apartment, and I will post an ad tomorrow but won't be able to show the apartment because I have class. So, best case scenario, if these people tonight don't like it, I show the place on Monday and someone falls madly in love with it and can get the paperwork squared away next week and can move in next weekend, thus sparing me May's rent.
But what will actually happen is that I'll end up renting it for the second weekend in May but will be legally obliged to pay for the entirety of May, because that's how NYC is, and that's how things are for me.
Ergh.
I am trying not to scream.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
I Am Craving...
... Domino's Twisty Bread. Or Crazy Bread. Or whatever it's called.
Oh my god I must have some.
Oh my god I must have some.
Monday, April 17, 2006
It's Hard Out Here For A Pimp
Hey kids.
Back to normal... sort of.
I am now officially cohabitating. I don't think it has sunk in yet. Right now it feels like large-scale playing house. Instead of contemplating what it means to be living with D, I am searching endlessly for the perfect bookcase and slickly-designed alarm clock that also indicates the weather outside. These are things that only a true adult should own. Suddenly I feel like a grown up, and I don't seem to mind at all.
D is taking things to a whole separate level, the level on which one wants to purchase new knobs for the kitchen and bathroom sinks, re-tile bathrooms, and buy a surround sound system for the apartment. "Go nuts, honey," I keep saying, "but I'm not sure we really need to dismantle the non-functioning filter system under the sink just because there's a random thing sticking up from the sink that I hadn't even noticed until you mentioned it."
The move went smoothly.
We woke up early on Saturday morning. I finished the little last-minute packing that remained while D emptied his apartment with the help of his friend S and The Boss (yes, folks, my boss helped us move - I think I am the luckiest employee of all time). They arrived at my apartment at around 10:00, discombobulated, saying "We don't think it's all going to fit. We may have to do two trips..." But The Boss said "No! I will make it fit!" And make it fit he did! It was miraculous. My friends M and J showed up to help, and we all decided that if/when we get laid off, we should start a moving business. I will pack (I know, I hate to pack my own things, but I am actually quite good at packing boxes), The Boss will coordinate all goings-on within the truck, and the science-boys will provide the labor.
(Sidenote: I was having agita the entire time the truck packing was going on as I did not want The Boss to see my, ahem, unmentionables. D had said "We'll lift the dresser with all of the drawers in it since your clothes are so light..." so I hadn't emptied the drawers of their contents. The boys, of course, decided to remove the drawers and thus my, ahem, unmentionables were sitting there on the sidewalk for all to see, including The Boss, which is just, well, weird. Luckily M took charge [although still weird for your coworker to be in charge of your, ahem, unmentionables, but not as weird as having your boss see them!!!] and made sure The Boss never saw them.)
The move in took about 20 minutes, as our friends T and T had shown up by then. Everyone was gone by noon. D went to help M move a TV from his apartment, while I stayed behind and did fun things like putting up the shower curtain and arranging my shirts by color in my closet.
When D returned, we ordered burritos and then put the bed together. We did not take a nap. We arranged the bedroom and got giddy and excited and frustrated and tired and thrilled. We hooked up the TV. We went back to my old apartment and rendered it immaculate. We started to organize the kitchen but I got irritable at around 8:30 after having eaten only a burrito that day and begged that we take a break for food. We got wraps and watched a bit of Andromeda Strain before falling asleep.
D went for dim sum on Sunday morning while I unpacked. When he asked if I minded, I explained that I love unpacking just as much as I hate packing. I put more clothes in closets and consolidated and threw things away and did jumping jacks in the shower because its a reasonable size and has very hot water and very fierce pressure!
I went to the grocery store to fill the refrigerator with goodies like juices and cheeses. I watched the entirety of Hustle and Flow despite meaning to watch only the beginning.
D returned and I had my first awareness of actually living together.
Normally, when D would be coming over, I'd know he was coming over. I'd be prepared. I would know that we would be hanging out. I wouldn't be doing anything else.
When you live together, it's not like that! I didn't know if I should drop what I was doing in order to hang out with him, or if I should be unphased by his arrival, or do some combination of those two things.
Weird, folks.
It ended up being a combination.
We unpacked more. We went into super-productive mode and sanded the bathroom and relocated the medicine cabinet and put things into closets and marvelled at how our combined belongings seem to be greater than the sum of the individual parts. "Everything fit in our old apartments where we each had only one closet... how is it that the things won't fit here in three closets?"
We made piles of books because we have nothing to put them on. We oriented the couch. We established that we cannot steal cable (although we seem to be able to transmit better network reception when the cable is plugged in). We ate delicious Thai food right on our street. We looked online for CD storage options. While watching the rest of Andromeda Strain, we ate cookies in bed because we can.
I fell asleep before the movie ended because I was watching TV from my bed, something I've not been able to do in my adult life.
I am at work today feeling slightly normal (last week was a daze) and only slightly worried about the status of the old apartment. I keep wishing, though, that I was at the apartment. D feels the same way. We are both very happy.
The only thing that is making me slightly unhappy is the fact that D's mother is not happy. He hadn't told her we were living together because he hadn't had time. She was apparently not surprised, but was disappointed. D said "She needs some sort of approval from your parents."
"What do you mean?"
"About us living together. She asked me if they approve."
"Oh."
"I told her that your brother and sister are already living in sin, so they already had time to deal with it."
"True."
"I don't know. I don't think she'll approve of anything I do unless I go to medical school."
"I'm so lucky," I said.
"Me too, because I have you and the support of your parents."
Awwww.
I am lucky, though. I'm sure my parents are less than thrilled about my living with someone, but because they are thrilled that I have found someone that makes me so happy (and because they adore D), they can't be anything but happy. I appreciate that about them. I really do appreciate that they haven't said anything about it. And I appreciate their enduring the fallout that they will receive from The Grandparents when The Grandparents find out. And I appreciate Father asking to talk to D on Saturday to tell him that he's happy for us.
Yes. This is good. I have no doubts about this at all, which is a new feeling for me. Yes, this is good.
Back to normal... sort of.
I am now officially cohabitating. I don't think it has sunk in yet. Right now it feels like large-scale playing house. Instead of contemplating what it means to be living with D, I am searching endlessly for the perfect bookcase and slickly-designed alarm clock that also indicates the weather outside. These are things that only a true adult should own. Suddenly I feel like a grown up, and I don't seem to mind at all.
D is taking things to a whole separate level, the level on which one wants to purchase new knobs for the kitchen and bathroom sinks, re-tile bathrooms, and buy a surround sound system for the apartment. "Go nuts, honey," I keep saying, "but I'm not sure we really need to dismantle the non-functioning filter system under the sink just because there's a random thing sticking up from the sink that I hadn't even noticed until you mentioned it."
The move went smoothly.
We woke up early on Saturday morning. I finished the little last-minute packing that remained while D emptied his apartment with the help of his friend S and The Boss (yes, folks, my boss helped us move - I think I am the luckiest employee of all time). They arrived at my apartment at around 10:00, discombobulated, saying "We don't think it's all going to fit. We may have to do two trips..." But The Boss said "No! I will make it fit!" And make it fit he did! It was miraculous. My friends M and J showed up to help, and we all decided that if/when we get laid off, we should start a moving business. I will pack (I know, I hate to pack my own things, but I am actually quite good at packing boxes), The Boss will coordinate all goings-on within the truck, and the science-boys will provide the labor.
(Sidenote: I was having agita the entire time the truck packing was going on as I did not want The Boss to see my, ahem, unmentionables. D had said "We'll lift the dresser with all of the drawers in it since your clothes are so light..." so I hadn't emptied the drawers of their contents. The boys, of course, decided to remove the drawers and thus my, ahem, unmentionables were sitting there on the sidewalk for all to see, including The Boss, which is just, well, weird. Luckily M took charge [although still weird for your coworker to be in charge of your, ahem, unmentionables, but not as weird as having your boss see them!!!] and made sure The Boss never saw them.)
The move in took about 20 minutes, as our friends T and T had shown up by then. Everyone was gone by noon. D went to help M move a TV from his apartment, while I stayed behind and did fun things like putting up the shower curtain and arranging my shirts by color in my closet.
When D returned, we ordered burritos and then put the bed together. We did not take a nap. We arranged the bedroom and got giddy and excited and frustrated and tired and thrilled. We hooked up the TV. We went back to my old apartment and rendered it immaculate. We started to organize the kitchen but I got irritable at around 8:30 after having eaten only a burrito that day and begged that we take a break for food. We got wraps and watched a bit of Andromeda Strain before falling asleep.
D went for dim sum on Sunday morning while I unpacked. When he asked if I minded, I explained that I love unpacking just as much as I hate packing. I put more clothes in closets and consolidated and threw things away and did jumping jacks in the shower because its a reasonable size and has very hot water and very fierce pressure!
I went to the grocery store to fill the refrigerator with goodies like juices and cheeses. I watched the entirety of Hustle and Flow despite meaning to watch only the beginning.
D returned and I had my first awareness of actually living together.
Normally, when D would be coming over, I'd know he was coming over. I'd be prepared. I would know that we would be hanging out. I wouldn't be doing anything else.
When you live together, it's not like that! I didn't know if I should drop what I was doing in order to hang out with him, or if I should be unphased by his arrival, or do some combination of those two things.
Weird, folks.
It ended up being a combination.
We unpacked more. We went into super-productive mode and sanded the bathroom and relocated the medicine cabinet and put things into closets and marvelled at how our combined belongings seem to be greater than the sum of the individual parts. "Everything fit in our old apartments where we each had only one closet... how is it that the things won't fit here in three closets?"
We made piles of books because we have nothing to put them on. We oriented the couch. We established that we cannot steal cable (although we seem to be able to transmit better network reception when the cable is plugged in). We ate delicious Thai food right on our street. We looked online for CD storage options. While watching the rest of Andromeda Strain, we ate cookies in bed because we can.
I fell asleep before the movie ended because I was watching TV from my bed, something I've not been able to do in my adult life.
I am at work today feeling slightly normal (last week was a daze) and only slightly worried about the status of the old apartment. I keep wishing, though, that I was at the apartment. D feels the same way. We are both very happy.
The only thing that is making me slightly unhappy is the fact that D's mother is not happy. He hadn't told her we were living together because he hadn't had time. She was apparently not surprised, but was disappointed. D said "She needs some sort of approval from your parents."
"What do you mean?"
"About us living together. She asked me if they approve."
"Oh."
"I told her that your brother and sister are already living in sin, so they already had time to deal with it."
"True."
"I don't know. I don't think she'll approve of anything I do unless I go to medical school."
"I'm so lucky," I said.
"Me too, because I have you and the support of your parents."
Awwww.
I am lucky, though. I'm sure my parents are less than thrilled about my living with someone, but because they are thrilled that I have found someone that makes me so happy (and because they adore D), they can't be anything but happy. I appreciate that about them. I really do appreciate that they haven't said anything about it. And I appreciate their enduring the fallout that they will receive from The Grandparents when The Grandparents find out. And I appreciate Father asking to talk to D on Saturday to tell him that he's happy for us.
Yes. This is good. I have no doubts about this at all, which is a new feeling for me. Yes, this is good.
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