Back in New York and decking out my apartment
“City whiplash” is the only term I can think of for the jarring sensation of returning to New York after being intoxicated by the small town magic of my New England vacation.
We got back at midnight on a Friday, which is scientifically the worst time to be in the Port Authority. It’s a zoo of sadness. A fake plant lay on its side and I thought to myself, “Yeah, that’s about right.”
Back to work on Monday morning where I got stuck in the elevator for 15 minutes. Now, I’m a worst-case scenario thinker, so when the elevator stopped moving and began hovering between floors, I was already picking out the weakest person in the group. I’ve seen “Alive.” If we were going to be stuck for a while, I’d rather be the one eating than the one being eaten.
But the elevator situation was remedied and I successfully reached my office…on the 13th floor. Cue the menacing horn swell: DUN DUN!
And the new apartment! After giving Ikea several imaginary units of value (read: money) in exchange for furniture with Swedish names, it’s coming along nicely. For a heterosexual male, I’m unnervingly excited at the prospect of jars and the things they can contain (spices! spare change! a plant!). I’m quickly becoming a houseware nerd, reading blogs to learn about the newest kitchen gadgets and closet organizers. I predict I’ll be sending more imaginary units of value around the world next week in exchange for electric kettles and fancy bathmats.
You don’t know anything about manliness until you’ve bought candles. (They were unscented.)