Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Back to Reality
A Few Things I Will Miss:
Being Doug’s Pseudo-Room Mate
I have the Gramercy Bunker until June 2007, when my lease runs out. After that I will most likely flee to Nolita, as I feel I should have long ago. But leases are legal documents and breaking such a document will send you more bad real estate karma than you will know what to do with. As much as I love New York, I still liked kicking around Le Doug’s house, making sure the cats were fed and that there were ice cubes in their water dishes to keep them cool.
I’m terribly sloppy, so much so that Doug, upon staring at a pile of clothes in the middle of his bedroom said, “Pauline, I don’t understand. Women are supposed to be neat.” Yet every article of clothing I had worn over the course of the week was on the floor and my sweaty jogging clothes hung off the door knob to his room.
I made it up to him, though. I learned quick tricks to make a place look cleaner than it really is: Put all empty cans and bottles in the recycling bin, and keep that in the garage. Put dirty clothes in hamper, and fold them immediately after drying. Dishes should be put in the dishwasher, even if you don’t run it for a week. Messy counters make even a nice house look like a frat house, and no one wants that. Never underestimate the magic of a Swiffer.
Not Wearing Pants:
When you’re hanging out at the house writing or watching marathon re-runs of Law and Order, why on earth would you wear pants? It’s summer! I’ve gotten really used to wandering around in my underwear, so much so that I have to stop and make sure I’m fully dressed before I check the mail or go out onto the deck. Now, not only do I have to wear pants, but I have to blow out my hair everyday and look like a human being. Could be a tricky transition.
The Boys: Maestro and Mozart
Some people see cats as just that: Four legged furballs who sleep 18 hours a day and pee in a box full of sand. For me, Maestro and Mozart were constant company, and if I couldn’t find them sleeping on top of the dining room table or chasing their tail in the TV room, I worried like a young mother looking for her kid on a crowded playground. They roused me from sleep in the morning meowing for food. They sat next to me in the windowsill as I answered e-mailed. Now, they are practically melting under their enormous fur coats. If only they liked cold showers.
Sleep. Sweet, Sweet Sleep
I’m sometimes amazed at how I can sleep like a rock. While out in Connecticut I could wake up at 6:30 AM, make Doug some coffee, sit with him and chat while he read the newspaper until he left to catch the train. Then I would climb right back into bed and sleep until 10:30 AM, despite the construction going on next door and the sunlight pouring in through the windows. Getting up shortly before noon is rather undergraduate of me, and it sure felt good.
But now: Real world.
Don't forget to write! BFF!