Or...a new apartment. For the weekend. What is it about a slight change of venue that makes me feel like I am going on vacation to Cancun rather than to Dupont Circle? I mean, I'm not even leaving the District, for crying out loud. But there is something about the thought of being away from home that makes me feel like a giddy little girl again. And there are cats involved. At the risk of making me sound like a cat lady at the tender age of 27--I am so excited.
R dropped off the keys 15 minutes ago. My first question was "So. when you gonna be out of the apartment? Can you text me on your way out so I can jump in the cab and head up there?" I think she might be second guessing letting me cat sit for her.
I think the thing that makes me feel like I won a hotel vacation in some exotic locale is the info sheet that R sent me today. It's really genius. I mean, not only do I not have to put up with the incessant whistling of my roommate, but I have a whole new batch of take out places to sample for three days! There's a lot of sampling to be done. Also, R has a shower with a tub. It's decadence. Pure and simple.
So the info sheet. She has categories such as: Shopping/Amenities and lists grocery and liquor stores (the woman knows me well) as well as explicit instructions as to how to use the TV and VCR, Internet, and track lighting. It's like arriving in a hotel and checking out all the cool stuff they have in their bedside folder. It is a truly a great moment at the beginning of any vacation.
So my bags are packed: sunscreen, flip flops, parasol, fuzzy slippers and 1000 pages of notes. And pajamas. I'm only bringing pajamas. because I don't plan on leaving. Unless it's for alcohol.
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