Moving has taken over my life. Well, moving and getting my driver's license. As a lifelong New Yorker I've never had a driver's license before. It turns out I'm a sucky driver. People of Las Vegas beware -- I'm coming and I plan to finance 2 tons of steel with which to mow you down off of those big scary boulevards. Thank God they have valet parking in Sin City or I'd really be screwed. Parallel parking is for saps... and geniuses apparently, because I can't do it.
I'm so melancholy about leaving New York. It's such a huge part of who I am that I can't even fathom living anywhere else. But at the same time I'm so excited by the prospect of living out West. It's so different there. People have a much different attitude about life, it seems. And they all drive, which means they are all smarter and more agile than me. (See how it all comes full-circle in my mind. We're back to driving.)
Because of all of the fuss with getting a license, I've become mildly obsessed with driving. Driving and finding just the right-sized cardboard boxes for my teapot collection and DVDs of The L Word. It's hilarious. I had a mover come by today to give me an on-site estimate and he looked at the stuff I was moving and then at me and then back at the stuff and then back at me. Just looking at him you could tell he was thinking, "Get a big box and a Fed Ex lable and leave me out of this." That's not really fair to say -- I am moving a bed and a dresser and a TV, as well. But the rest of the stuff I'm leaving behind for Jessica and Patti. You had to see the mover's face when I told him I would need at least two boxes for my shoes.
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