Lekker *itch slap mommentje

My friend Lulu DC S is in town. Which means that tonight we went out for dinner and drinking. As in wine followed by a whiskey followed by a dirty martini (multiplied by several). (Dinner was at Le Gigot on what might be one of the most beautiful streets in the history of the world and then drinks at Little Branch, which had an awesome speakeasy feel to it).

It's late. Tomorrow is a full day. But I just wanted to say that I relived some memories from my year in Den Haag (details can be found at my old blog, which no longer exists, so details no longer can be found). But the long and short of this is Lekker *itch Slap Mommenje. Which is hilarious to me at 345am after afore-said dinner and drinks, but which probably means absolutely nothing to you.

And that's fine by me. This blog is about mystery.

Furniture shopping

I need to buy a couple of key pieces of furniture. But I want it known that I am doing my due diligence before spending money (which I don't really have it -- it all being in mortgage). So this weekend, even though I knew I was mostly settled on a bed at Room & Board, I thought I would go and review furniture stores in Brooklyn, just so that I knew for myself that I wasn't selling out to a chain brand for no particular reason.

It was an adventure. I arrived in Williamsburg only to find out that my phone deceptively did not have three bars of energy, but only one, and so I couldn't really efficiently surf the internet to find out where I was. But fortunately I stumbled across a map, and that way was able to trace myself through the various streets to find sufficient stores that didn't carry what I wanted but convinced me that my narrowing down of two possible beds was good enough, and that the additional due diligence was unnecessary. Which was good b/c while due diligence is awesome, I have a bunch of friends arriving in June to stay w/ me, and I need to be prepared.

Quiet weekends

Last night, my brother, his girlfriend and I went to Convivio for dinner (I really want to use the cool hyperlinking function but somehow that is not working on my Safari internet browser and I don't know how to fix this so I will let you google the restaurant yourself, if you are so inclined). The restaurant is tucked away in Tudor City, which makes it untucked away for me, since I live in Tudor City now. The two-minute walk there is magical (perhaps only to me, because I'm new to the area), but you get to walk over a bridge, glide past a park, and gaze out at the United Nations building and the East River, all on your way to dinner.

Dinner itself is delicious. I had the spicy salami as a starter, and man was that delicious. I sometimes forget how tasty things like bacon, salami, ham etc. are -- and I hereby resolve to eat more of them. Yes, I know they're bad for my health and I haven't joined a gym yet this year (and it's almost June) but . . . resolutions are for the second half of the year, so I have about a week left to be a pig (or at least eat one). I had a duck sausage in pasta for dinner -- also delicious.

We sat outside because I love gazing out at Tudor City Park. It's small, leafy and . . . I like to think that it's mine, even though really it's a public park and anyone can access it. But, it's round the corner from me, and way way way round the corner from most everybody else, so I'll claim ownership, quietly.

I woke up early this morning: the plan was to put on rowdy music, get dressed quickly, scarf down cereal, and run off to look at beds. Because the guest bedroom needs a bed. Specifically, arriving guests need a bed in the guest bedroom. Instead, I realized that I had watched Part 2 of the two-part Grey's Anatomy finale, so I caught up on Part 1, then decided I had to see whether I would like Part 2 more now having seen Part 1, so I re-watched Part 2 (didn't love it more, might have loved it a bit less), then watched Modern Family, realized I had missed two episodes, so watched the penultimate one, too (I have this habit of going backwards on hulu.com, something I need to fix) and now I'm blogging.

It being 1130am now. BUT: I'm going to publish this post, and then I'm going to "put on rowdy music, get dressed quickly, scarf down cereal, and run off to look at beds."

The Apartment Has Windows

but it does not (yet) have curtains.

My apartment has beautiful windows. They're big, they're covered with window panes, and the light filters in through them beautifully in the three mornings I've been in the apartment. (The windows also need to be cleaned -- the speckled pattern of sunlight on my walls might be due to streaks of crap on them).

The windows don't yet have curtains. I overlook two buildings, to my north and west sides. Those buildings likewise have big, gorgeous windows.

When I decide to dance in my living room in my shorts or walk from my bathroom to my suitcase in the morning, the bathroom being in one corner of the bedroom and the suitcase being out in the living room, I should be aware that I live in a crowded city of people.

Well hello neighbors.

I'm in the apartment

And I'm living out of boxes. It's chaotic. I'm trying to enjoy the chaos (they say live in the moment, but they didn't tell me that the moment would be oh so pig-styish).

Last night, I went out and got two heaping slices of pepperoni pizza, a bottle of Perrier and I opened the bottle of champagne that my friend/ broker had gifted me when I closed on the apartment. I sat down on my couch, put my feet up on the Sierra Leone wooden chest that I dragged with me by plane, train and automobile (strike train) from Freetown to the airport in Belgium to New York temporary housing provided by my firm to my rented New York apartment to my OWN New York apartment, opened the Time Magazine that I had bought to while away the time, and set about . . . staring at all of the boxes.

It was hot, and I didn't want to turn on the air conditioning, primarily because it was covered by plastic sheets and papers (the painters need to finish up that area). I put on my old white-shirt, of an age such that the neckline sags down to the center of my chest. I stretched out on my couch, careful not to put my feet on it, my feet being disgusting from having traipsed back and forth about my still-being-painted apartment dragging boxes about. And as I itemized the list of things I needed to do over the next few days/ weeks/ months/ years, the rest of my life, I fell asleep.

I've moved

So yesterday I fully had good intentions of coming home and cleaning up the apartment where I have been staying for the last week or so (friends who are presently in Mexico, returning today). And then at 7pm, when I hoped to be skulking my way out of the office, I found out that I had to review edits made by the partner which took until 8pm, no 9pm, no 10pm, no 11pm, no 12am, no 1am, no 2am, yes 2am yes 2am yes 2am.

So I came home at 215am. And then packed my suitcase, and cleaned the kitchen and the living room. And prepared their thank you gift nicely. And went to bed at 3am thinking . . .

I didn't have to get to my apartment to meet the movers until 10am, so I would sleep until 8am, then wake up, shower, etc., and then clean the bathroom, and slowly but surely make my way to my apartment. Only to find . . .

That the movers were at my apartment at 830am. Which meant major hustle and bustle to get there to say hello, and find the apartment in a state of chaos with plastering of walls being done, painting being done, floors being done, things being moved (including my plasma TV, my baby, my precious, my one and only, etc.).

Then back to the apartment to clean the bathroom, except . . . I had packed everything, was wearing a suit, and had to get to work (it being 1030am). So, threw my tie over my shoulder (like that was the most important piece of clothing to preserve) and set about cleaning a bathroom while not actually getting myself wet (which means one of two things: I got wet or I didn't clean the bathroom effectively).

Tonight will be my first night in the new apartment. There are boxes. Everywhere.

Skinny Black Tie

I bought a skinny black tie today. The kind Don Draper wears in Mad Men, or the image you have of folks in Hitchcock movies (you know, gray suit, white shirt, skinny black tie). I know it's a cliche, I know it's a desire to have life imitate art, or be stylish in a stylized way (that removes the stylishness, comprende?).

But I don't care.

Sometimes it's nice to live up to the image in your head.