Moving On

This is the room where we painted over the mint green walls. We hadn’t moved in yet, but we drove over every couple days, each time with new supplies. First the primer, then the paint. It was the dead of winter, but thankfully the radiators in this building make it feel slightly cooler than a steam room. We brought lawn chairs to rest in when our backs got tired from stretching to reach the upper limits of the 10-foot high, pre-war ceilings.

This is the kitchen, where the former owner had installed a mini TV under the counter. We knew it was wrong to fall in love with a place because of owner-owned amenities. But a TV! In the kitchen! We could picture ourselves here, turning from the stove to see just how many supplies Rachel Ray was going to stack into her arms THIS time.

This is the bathroom, where we discovered a host of delights. Recently remodeled, floor to ceiling tile, a style we would have picked ourselves. Better, even. A tub AND a shower? Too good to be true. Towel rack situated over the radiator. Who knew stepping out of the shower in winter could be a delight?

This is the bedroom, what the HGTV and Extreme Makeover: Home Edition folks dreamily call ‘your sanctuary.’ We pored over paint swatches, decided on Glacier something or other. Paired with sand-colored carpet and honey-stained wood blinds, we could pretend each night that we slept in a beach-side oasis. We’ve cracked the windows in winter to combat the hot air hissing out of the radiators. We’ve cranked the ceiling fan in summer, falling asleep to the rhythmic click-clicking of the blades as they spun in dizzying circles.

This is our home. The first day we turned our keys in the locks (yes, locks plural - we live in Queens, New York) we jumped up and down and scratched our heads that we were HOMEOWNERS!!! We held dinner parties here (small dinner parties, it IS an apartment), hosted beery Super Bowl parties, counted down to our wedding, welcomed my parents for long weekends.

Soon this home will be our former home. The market is right to look for a house. Yards and driveways beckon. The scent of summer barbeques tease us. We own a home, but we’re ready to own a house. It’s time.

Just a Rat in a Cage

I haven't left the house in two days.

There, now that I've proclaimed to all that I am hopelessly pathetic, shall I try to explain my reasons? Rationalize my motivation for succumbing to sloth? Well, if we're being completely honest, I woke up yesterday morning with a wee bit of a hangover. Oh, right, we're being completely honest. I woke up yesterday morning with a full-on hangover. It was a hangover with all of the classic symptoms. Headache, lethargy, zero desire to bathe and an appetite that would rival Octomom in her third trimester.

But, the day progressed and as the hours slid by, so too did my hangover. By late afternoon I was ready to be up and about, but quickly realized I shouldn't bother as the March 1 Blizzard (also known as the "Gotcha!! Winter Isn't Over Yet, Bitches! Blizzard)was working it's way up the Eastern Seaboard. Sure enough, the first fat flakes started falling yesterday evening and I was damned if I was going to go out and partake. I'm on strike from winter weather.



Fast forward to this morning. I wake up, gently peek through the blinds in the hopes of discovering that this storm had gone the way of past storm predictions and ABC dramas--massively overhyped and anticlimactic. Twas not the case. Luckily my company was compassionate enough to let us work from home--realizing that those of us who do not live in Manhattan didn't stand a chance of getting to work today without arriving ridiculously late and looking like we'd been drug through a Ketchikan car wash. So I perched myself at my kitchen table, fired up my laptop, and hunkered down for Day 2 of self-imposed exile.

Fifteen minutes ago I went to get the mail in the lobby of my apartment building and in so doing, noticed snow shoes deposited outside my neighbor's door. My neighbors have a two-year-old and a newborn. THEY managed to leave the apartment building in the last 48 hours. I am shamed, but still not enough to do anything about it. Tomorrow's another day.