Lunch this afternoon with the incomparable Brian was… incomparable. Duh.

And tonight, giggles in a lounge-y atmosphere with some pretty fine blogging folks.

The rest of the weekend forecast calls for loads of R&R.

Until the cable gods get my modem installed on Wednesday, it will be another weekend cut off from the on-line world. Never fear, we’ll be back with your regularly scheduled nuerotic escapades on Monday.

I sat in the bathtub crying, knowing he was sitting in a restaurant somewhere in the Village, waiting for me. I also knew he’d understand. Or at the very least, forgive me at some point down the road.

I cried until I was done — until my own mind said, This is fucking ridiculous. Then I got out of the tub, got dressed and painted the bedroom.

I got my first piece of real mail yesterday. It’s always nice to see your name in real handwriting, I think. And pulling the package from the mailbox where it was crammed to fill every inch of its tiny space, I knew what was inside. A few tears leaked out in the elevator on the way to my apartment, and when I opened it, that’s when the real crying began. My father’s package contained one small stuffed lamb and… Cadbury eggs. Not the miniatures ones, granted, but his note did say a man with four daughters may have a hard time remembering the details.

Full of loneliness and self-loathing and worn down by nights of half-sleep and disturbed dreams (I’ve dreamt about Richard Dreyfuss twice now), I filled the bathtub and hoped that Will wouldn’t be too upset with me. I turned off my cell phone, knowing that if loneliness was my issue, I was certainly doing nothing to fix it. And that’s just how I wanted it. I needed a bit of time to wallow.

And so I did.

Later that evening, painting done, I had dinner and a beer (the beer being a kind contribution from a previous visitor), and settled in on the sofa to watch Notting Hill. By the time Ari dropped round with a most excellent house-warming gift, I was restored to my cheery self. And with the sunrise, feeling much more constant and alive.

There’s a Psalm (Psalm 30, I think) that I remember from my religious days that goes something like this:

Weeping may last for the night
But joy cometh in the morning

Even someone with severe religious alergies can appreciate the solace in that. I mean, really, there isn’t anything that a good cry, a decent night’s sleep and a belly full of breakfast can’t make even a wee bit better.

I did forget to bring my lunch, though. So, I’m gonna have to go out. Anyone wanna join me? I’m done crying, I swear.

Standing at the corner of Lexington and 86th Street this morning, waiting for the light to change, a couple to my right caught my eye. They were in their late forties, maybe early fifties, and she, a good foot shorter than he, had her face tilted up toward his. He was tracing the outlines of her lips with his thick fingers, fixing her lipstick. Making sure she’d colored in the lines. Job done, he squeezed her chin and gave her a kiss on the forehead. The light changed, and we all moved on.

All the while, Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You, Babe” played on my headphones.

It was a moment of unbelievable serendipity, followed quickly by another. This time, a mother and son on the 4 Express train. He played with the cross around her neck; she licked a thumb to smooth his eyebrow. Sonny and Cher were wrapping up,

Then put your little hand in mine
There ain’t no hill or mountain we can’t climb

At Duane Reade this morning, I spied the Easter candy and made a quick pass down the aisles searching for Cadbury Mini Eggs. When I didn’t find them, I had a brief pity party and left the store. I’ve never even had to buy my own Mini Eggs. You see, they’re as much a part of me as the brown eyes and freckles. I do love the Cadbury Mini Eggs. And every Easter, they seem to find their way to me. My sister. A coworker. Boys. Even J has been insightful enough to hunt them down for me.

And because, perhaps, serendipitous moments come in threes, the first email I read this morning was from Harris.

h.
i better see you soon
or else i will be at you doorstep faster than you can say mini eggs
got it?
good.
h.

p.s.-i fucking miss you

That doesn’t put the delicious Cadbury Mini Eggs in my greedy little hands, but it does make a girl feel loved. I mean, I can find the candy on my own. It’s just nice to be thought of.

I got you to hold my hand
I got you to understand

Babe.

It started out innocently enough. One stop on the express train after work to get a few supplies for the new apartment — armed with my list:

Hangers
Mop
1 set King-size pillowcases
C batteries
Dish rack

Simple. But when I got there, it was like opening Pandora’s Box. You know, only with a little less evil. Diet Pandora’s Box, I suppose.

So there I am, my list of necessary household items functioning more as a jumping off point for spending negotiations, and my cart starts filling as though by itself. The folks at Bed Bath & Beyond are so helpful, that I’m finding everything I need and want. Better said, suddenly, the things I wanted were becoming the things I needed. Things I certainly could not live without.

A new Brita? Surely! Forget that I’ve been drinking Manhattan tap water for ages and never acquired any intestine-devouring illnesses. Who’s to say that MY tap won’t be the one mysteriously infected with Mad Cow Disease?

Two sets King-size pillowcases. On sale. You hear me? On sale means you’re not allowed to get just one.

Throw blanket for the club chair. Yeah, I know I have one somewhere. But it’s sage green. And um, sage green doesn’t go with the new red wall.

Shower curtain hooks. Olive oil bottle. Desk chair. Hand towels. A dozen hangers. Batteries. Mop. Over-the-door hangers. Bathroom soap dispenser. Bathmat. Vase.

There should have been some sort of intervention at that point. Maybe if I’d collapsed to the linoleum floor screaming, “Make it stop!” I’d have been escorted off the premises by a member of the ultra-friendly BB&B staff. Or perhaps it was too late and I was just too far gone to rescue.

A few hundred dollars later, and I was in a taxi going home, my receipt mocking me from my purse.

“Silly woman,” it said. “You forgot to buy a dish rack.”

Which, we know, means I have to go back. But I don’t think I should go alone. In fact, I am going to need assistance.

Someone’s going to have to loosen the restraints so I can pay.

I had always maintained that if I were going to pick up and move to New York, I wouldn’t do it with less than $10,000 in savings. I would live in Manhattan. I would have my own apartment. And I would not eek by.

I would be done eeking by that point.

And in all truthfulness, for all my talk about moving to New York, I never thought I’d actually do it.

But as a purveyor of self-fulfilling prophecies, here I am, watching the sun chase shadows across Fifth Avenue’s face, thinking I should be more careful about what I say. Not that this has been a mistake by any means. Aside from the heartbreak that has been losing the one thing I cared about without any measure of selfishness (Oh, don’t cry! Jesus. Get it together!), and a far sight less that ten grand in the bank, everything has unfolded exactly as it should.

I have a cozy apartment in a convenience-laden neighborhood (one convenience being the neighbors themselves), a demanding and satisfying job and some truly amazing and supportive friends.

I should be pleased with myself, I think.

I will admit that living alone is taking adjustment. Even when roommate was traveling, I had Kitten to yammer at in the mornings as I stumbled around getting ready for work. This morning, I had to fill the silence with Joss Stone and Aretha Franklin.

I will admit, too, though much more easily here than face-to-face, that I’m feeling a bit homesick for the smell of Roommate’s cheap ass coffee, for the chore of lint-brushing Kitten’s hair from my work clothes, for the buzz of the loudest refrigerator ever, and the glare of the sun on my bed in the morning.

I’ll admit that I’ve thought I was hungry and it turned out to be nothing more than a bit of sadness. And that swallowing doesn’t take away the lump in my throat. But I imagine it will shrink and go away on its own eventually.

Sooner than later, I imagine, this new life will be routine and steady as my previous one had been. And maybe Kitten will come back and I’ll be complaining of lint and dust bunnies again. And if she doesn’t, I’ll adjust as I always have, and find something else to grumble over, and secretly love.

Let’s get this out of the way first:

During the move, Kitten got spooked and took off through the open door. I had to move without her. She has not been found. It has been unbelievably hard and I don’t want to talk about it, because I will cry and that really fucks with my mascara**.

Moving on. Literally.

The move was one complication after another. And if you learn anything from this post, it must be NEVER USE U-HAUL. EVER. Promise me you will support my boycott. Go on. Promise. Good, now we can continue.

The Ways Uhaul Made My Life Hell

1. After promising a local pick-up location, they fucked up and J and I had to drive an hour on a rural route to Middle of Nowhere, MA to get my truck.

2. After promising that the office in Middle of Nowhere, MA opened at 7:00, J and I woke at 5:30 to be on the road before 6:00, arriving at 7:00 to find they did not open until 8:00.

3. After leaving my house (we had gotten THREE houses away) when the rear tire of the truck blew, it took U-Haul TWO and a HALF HOURS to come fix it. Meanwhile, I am paying movers in New York City $100 an hour to sit in front of my apartment doing nothing.

4. After telling me I could drop my truck off at 102nd and Lex, U-Haul further screws me over when the man at said location refuses to accept it. We ended up at 127th and Park, pissed as hell.

The Ways My Friends Made it all Better

1. The Search Team (five of my good pals) scoured my neighborhood for over an hour looking for Kitten. They put up posters. They let me sit on my porch and sob like a six year old and did not make fun of me.

2. J and his girlfriend accompanied me to NYC and stayed up ALL night unpacking my stuff. J put up curtains. Girlfriend made my bed. They disappeared for a half hour and returned with lightbulbs, Tilex, toilet paper and a bouquet of flowers. Everything a girl needs for a new apartment. They made me laugh, most importantly.

3. Ari and Krissa both made appearances yesterday. One for shoe shopping and one for beer, take-out and some girl time in the new apartment. All all before the Alone in New Apartment Melancholy could really take full effect.

And thus went the Great Move of 2004.

** I saw The Incredible Journey when I was a kid. Though you’ll never hear me say it, I’m still holding out for a Disney ending.

I did it.

My first week at the new job tucked safely under my Banana Republic belt, I’m taking the Express back to Boston tonight. The first thing I shall do when I get there is hug my kitten, whom I’ve missed oh-so-much. I’ve been going through withdrawals. My host, seeming a bit mistified by my attempts to entice him with a catnip mouse, has not been an adequate replacment.

The throngs of friends descend tomorrow morning to pack a gi-normous UHaul full of my worldly belongings, and then J, Kitten and I will drive it back here where the brawny movers will do their thing. J and I will reprise our bedroom painting experience and then, it will be just me. In my apartment. In New York City.

I know that many of you have expected more detailed, What-it’s-Like-Livin’-in-the-Big-Apple posts, but quite honestly, nothing has felt more natural to me than making this move. I don’t feel new or out of place (That is not to be confused with “in the wrong place” as I’m really quite good at getting turned around when leaving the Subway). On the contrary, I feel naturalized, somehow and very much in my element.

If you’re wandering around New York City, and you happen to see some nutty broad standing in the middle of hundreds of pigeons throwing her hat into the air with great flourish, that’d be me.

I’m gonna make it afterall.

Things I like about today:

The CEO of my new firm says everything I do for him is “Perfect.” Can you get better than perfect? I think not.
An email from The Second Hardest Man in the World to Please saying, “Nice job.”
Hearing, “You look so nice on such a dreary day!” from one of the admin staff. (We’re best good work friends now.)

Things not so likeable about today:
Forgetting my keys, cell phone and brain and having to walk two blocks back to get them.
The girl who puked in front of me at the Times Square subway station.
The boy who was supposed to be driving my U-Haul for me bailing via email. Nothing like the last minute, huh?
Having to hire movers at that last minute.

Okay, so shit happens. But just look at me rolling with the punches! I mean, It’s like that scene in the Matrix where Keanu totally dodges all those bullets or something. Only, you know, cuter.

I am amazing.

And I could toally use a nap.

Today at lunch, I sign the lease for my new apartment. And write a check for a few thousand dollars, but really, ’tis a small price to pay for the opportunity to eek it out in the epicenter of all things grand and garish, right?

Mmm hmm.

Naked ambition. The Naked Cowboy. New York City really does have it all.

Work is going well so far. Lots on my plate, though, as it seems I’ve been brought in to start a revolution. I don’t mind revolutions. But funny thing about them is they tend to piss off people with power. People who don’t yet know how super totally quacktastic I am. We shall tread lightly into this revolution. I mean, a badly timed, “Let them use Quark” and heads start to roll.

Now, see, it may have lost something in the bloggersphere translation, but in my industry, the above pun would have been pretty funny. I do so crack myself up. Marie Antoinette style.

By the way, my inability to write a cohesive post can all be explained by the sleeping pill that I took last night around ten. They can make me a bit loopy the next day. I’ll be better later, I swear.

When your wise host tells you to print out the subway map at work your first day, and you don’t (for whatever reason), you have no one to blame when the Columbus Circle station is closed, forcing you to find an alternate way to work.

The MTA moved my cheese. And I still managed to get to work early. But that’s really more because of the Benjamin Wagner Standard Time Zone where time runs just a wee bit fast. You know, if twenty-five minutes is ‘wee.’ Regardless of the fact that I made it with time to spare, I’m sure I burnt out a few brain cells making my little paradigm shift. Time to print out the subway map. I suppose it will be of tremendous value to know how to get to more places than work, and to work on mornings such as this.

On a nicer note, I so totally got flirted with on the way to work. God bless NYC and the bellhop at that random hotel on 43rd. All he did was say hello at first, and all I did was smile. Then…

“Now that’s worth getting out of bed for!”

I laughed out loud and kept walking, but I thought, “Damn straight!”

While we’re talking of abandoning… my predecessor left behind a shoe. One gnarled, black leather shoe in the bottom drawer of what is now my filing cabinet. Um gross. But not half as gross as the food in the keyboard. Mmm hmm. Why’d they fire you, honey? You were first rate.

There I go, being evil. I don’t mean it.

I can see the Empire State Building from my office window. Okay, so call me easily impressed but man, was that cool. I am less impressed with my totally uncomfortable tall-backed leather chair. Looks sweet, but so do stilettos, but spend a whole day in them, and you’re singin’ a different tune.

I’m all tuckered out, kids. And get this… turns out, I have to go back again tomorrow. What the…

These New York cats are crazy.

I did NOT abandon Kitten!

I haven’t even moved yet, for Pete’s sake. I’m working for a week, going back to Boston and THEN moving to New York.

Dude, we’ve totally been over this before.

I have arrived.

It was funny, in that sort of, why-am-I-acting-like-such-a-doofus way, how hard it was for me to leave my apartment this morning. Roommate and I didn’t say goodbye (we practice avoidance as a household religion), but I sure had a long parting with Kitten. My Girl E had to help things along and talk me into her car.

Just pretend you’re going on vacation, she said.

Then, to get on that train. To have the patience to sit still for three and a half hours (I snoozed through Connecticut). And then to arrive at Penn Station and think, This is it.

I have arrived.

And I have already learned some fundamental New York City lessons. Not the least of which being how many times the little red hand blinks before you’re pushing your luck in the crosswalk.

I start work in something like 10 hours. TEN HOURS. Ten. Sigh. So, in order to avoid a big bitch slap from Brian, I’ll just get to the part where I convince myself that I am invincible.

I have arrived and this is really going to be great.

Let’s touch briefly on this and never mention it again, alright? It’s just hair. I mean, that’s what I’ve been saying to myself for the last twenty-four hours. It’s just hair.

And on we go.

Spa Day was lovely. My one criticism is that it didn’t last long enough. Oh, and I have another, but you’re going to think I’m some sort of pervert. But here it is. I think if it says, Full Body Massage, the massage should be FULL BODY. Remember when Phoebe (yet another Friends reference) bit her client on the tushie? I don’t want mine bitten, of course. But let’s not ignore it completely!

Okay, on we go again.

My best girls are throwing me a party tonight. And remember the yellow ball gown that was getting donated? Well, it’s having one last night out. I laughed when she suggested it, but as soon as she said, “I dare you” there was no way I could just throw on jeans and a sweater. So, I’m going to my party princess style. There had so better be a tiara there.

And tomorrow, I’m off to New York. Nervous? Me? HA! Well, yeah, if you must know. But I can’t think about it or I’m going to undo all the hard work my nice massage therapist did this morning.

I’m
done
packing.

Well, mostly done. But we’re going to call it “done” because, well, I’m tired of it and my back is sore. And it is not merely a happy coincidence that tomorrow is Spa Day. Manicures and massages. Mmmm… massage.

And now I leave you. But not without the IM Exchange of the Day, courtesy of Mr. Paul Gutman.

Paul: will you be my friend when you come to new york?
H: Hell yes! Especially if you were handy and could hang my new coat hanger level on my wall.
Paul: ooh…I wouldn’t bet on it
H: Hrmmm. You’re replaceable then.
Paul: I was joking. I was joking! Please keep me.
H: Ok. But on a trial basis for now.

So this is what they call anxiety.

It was bound to happen sooner or later, I suppose. This sudden panic that’s gripped me. I can actually feel that my heart rate is accelerated and, oh my God, is this really shortness of breath?

You’ll think I’m being ridiculous. Or maybe you’ll understand.

I lay in bed this morning, totally unable to make myself get out of bed. Her Highness, Kitten of the Universe, was taking up half my pillow, purring calmly beside me. And I… was panic stricken.

What if I chose the wrong apartment? What if I hate living there? What if my clothes don’t fit in the closet? What if the couch won’t fit through the door? I know I measured it, but what if? Huh? What if? And, what if my friends all divorce me for making them carry boxes and furniture up four flights of stairs?

I made myself get up and take a shower. I noticed that anxiety attacks are really bad for your complexion. So I made myself take a vitamin and extra zinc.

What if I made a really bad decision?

Not about the zinc. It’s good for your immune system.

When he called this afternoon, it felt as though the Gods of Limbo were really getting their rocks off. I was standing in my kitchen, waist high boxes on all sides, talking to my New Boss in NYC.

And I felt neither here, nor there.

New Boss asked how packing was going. “Haven’t changed your mind or anything, have you?”

I laughed. “No, no. Though if I have to pack one more box…”

“Making the big move this weekend?”

“No, actually, not until the 3rd. I’m staying with a friend in the mean time. Oh, I did want to ask what time things got going on Monday morning…”

“We get started pretty early around here. Meeting starts at 8:30 and it’d be great if you could be there. “

I thought about my 7:30 Mondays at the Monkey Firm and smiled. “Perfect.”

“We’re looking forward to seeing you Monday morning then. And please, if you have any questions, don’t be bashful.”

I thanked him for calling, hung up and made my way through the cardboard maze. I hung up my garment bag on the closet door and threw in work clothes that looked as though they’d travel well. Then, went to my computer and bought a train ticket.

I’m starting to feel more there than here. And it’s really fucking bizarre.

I decided to walk in to Cambridge this morning to run a few errands and have lunch with my Adorable Intern. It’s funny how attached to her I got in just three months. But I knew when I met her (and I remember telling a friend this), that she was someone I would really like. Someone I would really get.

We sat at a rickety table in a dark pub between Harvard and Central Squares. She told me she quit the Monkey Firm that morning; I told her I wasn’t surprised. How fun could that place be without me?

By the end of our roasted potatoes, the subject had somehow turned to marriage. I shook my head thinking about the conversation I’d just had with my sister that morning about the current status of my own parental figures. (I’ll let my family keep a wee bit of their dignity and spare you all the Jerry Springer-like details.)

“I don’t know if I believe in all of that anymore.”

“Sure you do,” she said. “Just not their version of it.”

When did they start making 21 year olds so wise?

“See, I told you that it’s all out with the old.”

“It is not! I bought new sheets. I didn’t even throw out the old ones.”

“You will. You’ll get rid of everything and start over.”

“Everything but you.”

“Shut up. I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. It makes my stomach hurt.”

So we didn’t talk about it over shellfish antipasto or later over warm pudding cake and vanilla ice cream. Or in the car on the way back to Boston from the South Shore. Or at least, I tried not to.

“Look, there’s gonna be a Target there.”

“Awesome.”

“Shut up. You don’t even care because you’re not going to BE here!”

“Can we go back to the part where you’re sad that I’m leaving and not so… mean?”

“No. I’m going to be mean to you until you move.”

“Fair enough.”

I haven’t not worked since I was 17 years old, so I’m relishing this.

My first day not contributing to the Gross National Product began with a very long shower, a facial and fresh strawberries — my totally organic experience.

I’ve since turned into the Mad Packer and tackled the hall closet, living room and bathroom. Dear god, I have so much stuff. Useless stuff. For instance, I don’t use hair products, yet there under the bathroom sink is a plethora (yes, you may say I have a plethora) of mousse and gel-ish products. And velcro rollers. All reminders of my ultra high maintenance phase. We won’t even touch the big drawer o’ forgotten cosmetics.

I’m getting pretty giddy about the whole moving thing. New job, new apartment. I’m also pretty nervous about next Monday, if you must know. I haven’t been the new kid in years. I had the Monkey Firm all broken in and I imagine that half the shit I pulled there just won’t fly on Fifth Avenue. I suppose I’ll simply have to reinvent my shit. In fact, this whole move seems something of a reinvention.

Wonder who I’ll pretend to be this time.

It was Pretty People day at Stop n’ Shop today.

It seemed as though Ken and Barbie were everywhere. And me with my hangover. I barely managed to make it down the aisles, much less do it in style. When throwing ‘em back last night turned into throwing ‘em up this morning, I was proud of myself for even getting out of the house in the first place.

Sigh. What can ya do?

From what I understand, J dedicated his set to me last night. I dont’ know first hand, because I didn’t stick around long enough to actually hear the band play. Too many J ex-girlfriends in one bar for my liking.

Gah. You know what? I’m going to stop right here. My head still hurts and my tummy is burning and I’m having a terrible time putting together a decent post. Let’s regroup and meet back here tomorrow. Mmm kay?

In an hour or so, I’m going to have to trade in my overalls for something a little less Beverly Hillbillies so that I can join the party already in progress. I have some mixed feelings about seeing the Fireman again. It’s just really a shame to spoil hot memories of a summer fling with… reality. But so be it.

I’m not shaving my legs. Okay, maybe I will but I am not cleaning my room.

Yesterday’s going away party has had me feeling a bit low. The party itself was great. My Intern Extraordinairre put together a soundtrack that played along with images of New York City projected on the lobby walls. There was NY style Cheesecake and Billy Joel singing Uptown Girl. There were good stories and lots of laughs.

And then the good-byes started happening. I hadn’t been watching the clock. They just sort of snuck up on me.

David and I haven’t really had much to do with each other since we broke up in my office two years ago. But when he hugged me and kissed me good-bye with a sort of familiarity that made the room stop, he said, “You know, if they don’t treat ya right, you can always come back.”

I had my fifth glass of wine and the left the building with my two best work gals. We stood on the sidewalk, dressed alike (oh, yes, we’d gotten the memo) and reminisced until the wind sent us scurrying. And when I got home, mascara streaked face, drunk and sad, Roommate was graceful enough to let me slip into my room for the rest of the evening. You’d think I’d have been thrilled to leave the Monkey Firm. Instead, I felt like I should have been asking them all to sign my yearbook.

Stay cool. Don’t change.

But I’m awfully glad I have.

My first Friday at the Monkey Firm, I sucked helium from a balloon and sang Annie’s Song.

My last Friday will be very different. I’ve grown up in the last few years. At this social, I’ll be sucking on a martini and singing New York, New York. I don’t think there will be any balloons.

I’ve already cried twice this morning. As much as I hate the monkey firm, I do work with some really great monkeys.

I sing in the shower.

Okay, I sing fairly loudly in the shower, and yet it took me months to realize that Roommate was audience to my early morning routines. Once, after belting out a relatively decent rendition of LeAnn Rimes’ Blue (completely oblivious to the fact that I was being heard), I threw on a robe and headed toward the kitchen where my country-lovin’ roommate was making coffee.

“Damn, girl!”
“Ha! Okay, don’t go recording that and trying to exploit my raw, untapped talent, ya hear?”

Then somehow, we were singing a Roommate duet of What the World Needs Now. And doin’ it way better than those American Idol punks. Truly a magical moment.

But this morning, inspired by Kitten’s very early, pre-alarm jungle cat pounce, the song of choice was The Lion Sleeps Tonight. You know, “In the jungle, the mighty jungle…” and when I emerged all drippy haired from the bathroom still singing my wee-e-e-e we-ah mum-a-ways,

“Now, if there were such a thing as America’s Funniest Home Audio, I’d be a very rich man.”

“Whatever, Pumpkin.”

“Fuck you.”

The U-haul has been reserved. A boy to drive the U-haul has also been reserved.

It is T minus 2 days, 1 hour and 48 minutes until I leave the Monkey Firm forever. There’s a box in my office packed with shoes (who has six pair of black shoes under their desk at work?), photographs and sundry items. And my Intern Extraordinaire is making a New York soundtrack for my going away party on Friday.

I’m going away.

It hits me from time to time that it’s not just some silly scheme I’ve concocted, and that I’m actually, at the drop of a hat, changing everything and going away. Yeah, yeah, you’re tired of hearing about it, I know. But I still amaze myself and that’s really all that matters.