Listen, My Children...

Every Little Helps

Saturday, May 31, 2003


I have an apartment! Not a huge classy one with oh-so-many rooms, like one I looked at; not a dreamy one with a room divider made out of open bookshelves, like one I also looked at; not one with an incredibly large kitchen, like one I looked at and drooled over; but a good one, nonetheless: I sent Bob to find me an apartment, and, as one might predict any boyfriend would do, he got me one in his apartment complex. In my mind I've been making nonstop trips to Ikea and antique stores for the past two days, as well as furtive glances in the window of Williams-Sonoma (Crate and Barrel is trendy, but they've got no class) (of course, nothing is ever better than the Carlton House, but, like the River Oaks Country Club, they're too upper-crusty to have a website). Move-in is July 1, and I'll probably drive up with a stool and a sleeping bag or some such. I'll be moving myself, for the most part, and I've got a rather old T-bird named Quetzlcoatl -- which I now see I shouldn't expect to get more than $2000 or so for! -- so I can only move what fits in the car. I'll borrow the Kid Sister's fancy and expensive SUV (funny how that happens) for the small amount of furniture I've got, and for trips to Ikea! Ikea! Ikea!

(I'm not excited. Not one whit.)


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