Last weekend Dave and I had the perfect late afternoon fall picnic. We rode our bikes to the park with baguette, prosciutto and cheeses in tow and perched up on a hill to watch passerby near Wollman Rink. My new chunky cardigan from the Gap has become my new favorite item of clothing, and it’s perfect for the weather we’ve been having lately. An intriguing book, full belly, sunshine and boyfriend-as-pillow is about as good as it gets.
I’ve been wanting a pet for a long time, but wanted to wait until I could really take care of it. Growing up with three cats and a dog, I loved both, but I know I can’t handle a dog for many years. About six months ago I decided to get a kitten and somehow picked out the name Liz Lemon. Dave and I would talk about imaginary Liz Lemon all the time, both of us anticipating the day I could go pick her out. I settled on Labor Day weekend so I’d have an extra day to get her used to the apartment.
After doing some research I had decided to adopt from Petco. Unfortunately it was like a petting zoo in there, with all sorts of people (including two girls who looked like Ke$ha) just filing through to pet the cats. I got frustrated by all the people crowding the space, and I was disheartened that their rule was kittens must be adopted in pairs, so I walked the six blocks north to Bideawee. It’s a great rescue shelter for cats and dogs that’s much more adept at the adoption process.
I went into a room with about six kittens and immediately knew which one was coming home with me. Shy, in the corner, was a sweet gray kitten. She peeked around the furniture and batted out at the other kittens. Some of the others came to investigate me, but she was wary. I leaned forward and picked her up – she was already purring. I knew she would be a lovable sweetheart; my heart melted.
I did some paperwork, went back to Petco to get supplies, and returned to Bideawee for my new pet. We rode the M15 the ten blocks home together.
Very shy, LL didn’t come out from under my bed for hours. She’s still afraid when I stand up, or move towards her too suddenly. But she loves to play, will chase a ball of newspaper around the apartment now, and licks my face with her sandpaper tongue like I’m her sister.
It’s only been 24 hours, but Lemon has already become one of the family.
Today Dave and I had a great adventure. We started by taking my lemon tree out to his brother’s house in Queens. The poor old tree wasn’t getting enough light in my new apartment and was dropping leaves like its 1999. Hopefully she’ll be happy there and I can have some lemonade in a few months.
Then we went on a trek up to the Cloisters, which I’ve wanted to visit for a long time. All the way up on 190th Street, the Cloisters are in Fort Tryon Park overlooking the Hudson. We strolled among fragrant flowers until we got to the museum. As you can imagine, it’s a big stone building built in the style of religious buildings.
The museum itself is relatively small, but my favorite part is the inner courtyard. It’s full of flowers, a fountain, and was quietly peaceful. It was a bit of a trek to get to, but I loved the views, architecture, peace and serenity. I can’t wait to take a small picnic there and spend a whole afternoon.
Today is my two-year anniversary with Dave. We had planned on going to dinner and a movie (going to Portland, ME in two weeks is our actual anniversary celebration), but when it started raining this afternoon I begged off of extracurriculars. Instead I hoped to use my new individual soup crocks for my favorite: french onion soup. I have yet to take a bite – I’m still fawning over how it looks. I’m glad that I’ve found someone who is ok with celebrating with soup and Restaurant: Impossible.
It’s been 24 hours in my new place. I’m obsessed with living alone.
- No need to wear pants. Ever.
- No need to shut doors. Ever.
- Leaving shoes in the living room is oddly satisfying.
- I can watch whatever I want, whenever I want.
- I can hog all the shower storage.
- No wondering if the beer in the fridge is mine. Or the avocados. Or the peanut butter cups. You get the picture.
- You can spend two hours scraping errant paint off the kitchen backsplash with a razor blade and no one will judge you.
More celebratory thoughts to come later.
As I’m about to embark on apartment number three in Manhattan, I’m reflecting on my other two moves and how they contrast with this one.
First moving here from Delaware was a struggle in every sense of the word. Amanda and I were taking trains up on the weekend to look at places with various brokers, pounding the pavement all over town. I remember meeting a friend for coffee one Saturday afternoon and bawling in the middle of Dunkin Donuts. Ten minutes later she came with me to see the apartment I ended up moving into. Tears were a common theme, though, as I bawled once signing the lease for the apartment with no job. One week later I was working at Qdoba to pay bills, and a week after that I quit because I’d been offered the job I’m still at today.
Amanda moved to LA with three months left in our lease, so I found a random girl on Craigslist that I’ve lived with for the past two years.
When I called to renew that lease, I was told it wasn’t getting renewed. That day I spent 15 minutes crying at work. In three weeks I packed, found a place, and (easily) convinced Elise to move with me. The weekend I moved was my first kiss with Dave – we just planned a trip to Portland for our two year anniversary.
This move has been the smoothest to date, but that doesn’t mean it’s been without its own issues. I’ve had to find a subletter, pay my first brokers fee, sell the majority of my furniture on Craigalist, call Time Warner Cable 8 times with no success, and so on. With just five days to go (with a trip to Atlantic City jammed in there somehow), I feel ready to go. My boxes are packed, I’ve picked out paint samples, and I’ve read enough design blogs to have an honorary degree in interior design.
Looking back, each move has marked a significant change in my life. What will happen this time? I’m ecstatic to have an apartment to myself and see how my life will be shaped by this transition.
Success! I can’t tell you how excited I am to move into my own place and walk around in my underwear – erm, I mean, redecorate. Well I guess the cats out of the bag re: my real reason for living alone.
More updates soon!