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| A tornado hit my room |
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| My donations to Buffalo Exchange |
I'm laying down on a deck in the backyard of a house in Cape Cod. I can get used to this. I haven't had a beach vacation in years. Don't be fooled. Being unemployed or underemployed is in no way, a "vacation." On Thursday, movers came to haul my furniture into storage. The Moishe's Movers were like well-oiled machines - wrapping and carrying out my furniture down flights of stairs in about an hour, and they were on time. The process was much smoother than my first move last year. I even had a few minutes to enjoy my apartment when everything was packed up and my desk was clear - no visual clutter. I've tried to get rid of tons of clothing and books over the last few weeks which have mostly resulted in epic fails - at least in terms of trying to make money from my junk. Buffalo Exchange flat out rejected a pile of clothing that I probably wouldn't have gotten rid of if I had known I'd get no money but I had plans right after stopping by their store.
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| Made me laugh but left him on the curb |
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| A small casualty of moving. I had just proclaimed in my head how much I liked my Benefit Cheek Stain when I knocked it over. |
On Friday, I spent the day running errands and attempting to enjoy the last few hours of my Upper East Side neighborhood. I hung out in Java Girl trying to write my novel, then prepared to drag the rest of my stuff into my father's car by consolidating and packing some more. I spent the final hour of East 66th street laying on my yoga mat in my former roommate's sun-filled room, with a candle lit and a Fast Company magazine, reading, stretching and closing my eyes before my dad arrived.
I had asked about five friends if they could help me move things into my dad's car but most were busy. One said he could, possibly but was uber busy that day. So as usual, I overestimated my strength and underestimated the amount of work moving would take. I was overly optimistic in thinking that my dad could find a parking space (he couldn't) so I didn't call the one available friend. I dragged my huge suitcase down the stairs, ran back up, carried a few boxes to the car and was sweating by my second run. The man who owns the pet store "Litter & Leashes" saw my struggle. He offered to help and wouldn't take no for an answer. So he made about four trips with me up my five flights of stairs - perfectly packed the car when my dad thought all hope of fitting another box was lost, and didn't complain for a second.
He helped me to the end even when I told him I could finish the rest myself. I joked around about how he didn't need to go to the gym for a week and he mentioned that he was fasting for Ramadan. With all the controversy surrounding the Muslim Community center, I thought this fact was particularly timely. How could people equate all Muslims with extremists? The only thing extreme about his behavior was his incredible kindness, exhibited countless times while I lived in that apartment. He treated my cats to free fake mice every time I bought pet supplies. He gave me a sympathetic and genuine hug when he heard that the kitten who fell was mine, and he reminded me how awesome New Yorkers are while I officially moved out of New York City (at least for 2010). It's a nice and (should be obvious) reminder that kindness transcends all faiths.
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| Romanticizing my apartment. Thanks new Hipstamatic iPhone App. |
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| Java Girl |
