Moving

Moving. I've decided I really hate it for a number of reasons. First of all, the prospect of having to collect everything you own and pack it into a bunch of boxes completely overwhelms me and makes me want to sit in a corner and cry. Besides, not everything fits so neatly in a little box. Packing Robert, for example, proved to be a tremendous challenge. Sure...he may be quite thin, but his height was tough for any standard box to accommodate. Secondly, I've learned I'm a total hoarder. Somebody please send my info to A&E because I think I'm perfect for that show. They could send a camera crew and film me crying as someone attempts to pry my hands away from the newspapers and birthday cards I've been saving since the 80s. (By the way, this is totally true. I have been known to save - and display - old birthday cards.) The conversation I have in my head goes something like this: "Geoff. Seriously, throw away the card. Your ninth birthday was a long time ago." "No. No. No. You might need it one day. Just keep them...all of them. The whole stack. And the other stack. And the other stack. And the other stack" Jesus! I save birthday cards?! Who am I? Susan Boyle? Nightmare! Okay, the other thing I realized I cizz-ant stand about myself/moving is that I found out I'm a total slob. I found dustballs that had substantial weight. Like I could have wrecked my biceps in the gym lifting these disgusting pieces of yesterday's memories. Gross right?

The only redeeming factor in this whole moving nightmare is that the apartment is A-to-the-MAZING!!!!! I'm obsessed with it. It's taken me like three hours two write this entry because I keep getting distracted by the place. Literally, all I want to do is sit in the living room and stare at it. I'm obsessed. Like if this apartment were the movie Single White Female, I would 100% be Jennifer Jason Leigh to it's Bridget Fonda. Does that clear things up? And the kitchen people! The kitchen is truly wonderful. Okay, don't get it twisted. It's not going to be featured in the pages of Martha Stewart Living, BUT it's mine and it's bigger than the old one and has so much cabinet space. I can't even fill it! I'm sure I'll probably have to resist blowing all my money (all tens of it) on appliances I think I need, but really don't - namely, that huge-ass pasta maker that Ina Garten has convinced me is totally normal to own and easy to use and that I can't live without. I think I'll probably sleep in the kitchen tonight, just cuz I feel like it gets lonely when I'm not there.

I've included a bunch of pictures of the new place. It really is a great apartment and I feel lucky to have found it. It's funny: a couple months ago when Robert and I were really getting ready to start looking we used to mention to each other how amazing it was to think that somewhere in New York, there was some apartment - probably occupied - which would one day be ours. And now we have it and we love it.

Don't worry. The baking will continue as soon as I'm done unpacking my belongings - including Robert. Ew. Gross.