If It's Meant To Be...

Jay and I got the apartment we wanted. That's the big news. It's huge, everything is brand new and the price is right. Who can beat 1100$ a month with utilities included in an apartment where even light switch plates look brand new. As an added bonus, it's only about 8 blocks from his house and within walking distance to the express bus and the supermarket. So I guess now comes the monumental task of leaving the nest once and for all (college being the first time) and starting a new chapter in the good ol' book of life. I guess I'm happy and terrified at the same time. Happy that we got the place we wanted, terrified at the thought of the the financial implications of furnishing it and all that fun stuff. Happy that I get to see Jay every day, terrified that my laundry will no longer be done for me (although I may get free pass on that one if I take it to the Asians that wash and fold all your clothers for 1$ per pound. So worth it.).

I've been on Ikea's website all day trying to figure out things like "oh shit..we are totally going to need dishtowels" or "how much are sectional sofas?". You don't understand. The living room is BIG. We're going to need furniture to fill it up. I don't know how the fuck we're going to do this, but I guess in the end things will work out...After all, the only reason we got this apartment is because I drove to the landlords house on Thursday night and pleaded with her to give it to us and not the single hard on her luck mom with the neck tumor. I promised we would shovel her driveway in the winter. What the fuck was I thinking.

Whatever the case, the place is ours, and I'm very happy that the stress of finding an apartment has ended, and with spectacular results. Now comes the stress of moving, furnishing and learning what it feels like to cook your own dinner every night.

Life is fun.

PS- Made my Philly debut this weekend at Pure. Had an AWESOME time. Thank you Frank Manzo for Sweet Pussy Pauline and thank you Jay for staying up for 24 hours and all your text messages from the dance floor.