Tag Archives: moving

Sap Sap Sappy Thanksgiving 2oThirteen.

This Thanksgiving Eve finds me sitting at an Ikea kitchen table that I shared with an ex, once upon a time. It’s now in my bedroom. In my parents’ house. There’s only one chair. (The other one was lost in a flood.) It’s also from Ikea. This visual gets more depressing with every passing detail. There’s even a candle. Unlit. And an opened box of Entenmann’s “donuts.” And a feline reposing in my lap. Just kidding… about those last two things, anyway.

The floor behind me is, literally, covered with books and laundry and 10 pairs of shoes and five pieces of luggage and 37 pieces of cameras and a statue of Ganesha.

So, at 28, this probably isn’t exactly where most people would want to be. But I am thankful to be here.

This has been one crazy year (so far). I didn’t realise until my mum brought it to my attention, but I set foot on five continents in eight months. That’s, like, the definition of a crazy year. But also the definition of a remarkable year.

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I Would Do This Job For Free All Over Again

Today is my last day as a SURFER intern. Last night, I sat on the floor of my sparsely decorated bedroom and packed some movies and t-shirts into a cardboard box. I think I got some dust in my eyes or something.

It's in the mail.

As most of you know, I am an incurable optimist, so I’m trying to look on the bright side. Sure, New Jersey is not as sunny as California, and the waves are quite a bit less consistent, but the water is warmer. So is the air… this time of year. New York is a lot more exciting than San Clement-y. Jersey gas is cheaper (and I don’t have to pump it). Some might call this a con, but I AM TRYING TO BE POSITIVE, HERE. Dan supplied: “Talk is cheaper in NJ. And if you have fists, you have to pump them.” Okay, that works–fist pumping is a hallmark of good cheer. We get epic thunderstorms on the East Coast, not just dreary drizzle. The tri-state area is where most of my friends and family are located. And maybe above all, I only have one semester left before earning my MA and then, theoretically, I can go wherever/do whatever I want. Probably, where I will want to go is here and what I will want to do is this. But we’ll see. The world is an aphrodisiac. Or whatever. Buck up.

P.S. If this is anything like when I left Paris, and I suspect that it will be, you can look forward to lots of cynical posts in upcoming weeks. Hey, at least they might be funny.

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Small Apartments, Lots of Stuff

One of the funny things about living in New York is the way the smallest apartments can accommodate tons and tons of shit personal belongings.

Other funny things include angry bums, happy drunks, vegan chicken nuggets on restaurant menus, wind tunnels, $14 six packs, $1 shots, incognito celebrities, cats in bars, 9% sales tax, taxi drivers who disregard red lights, PORK ROLL VOID (more like tragic), the facility of spying on your neighbors, the fact that your neighbors (and you) are shameless… I could keep going, but let’s go back to the apartment thing.

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