And I'm back. To the comforts of home. To the three barking dogs, the fully-stocked pantry and (three) fridges. The move was, as all moves are, completely draining, compounded by the fact that I got not one minute of sleep the night before. Thus I looked like the walking dead when the guys showed up at 8 a.m. Tuesday morning. They undid in three hours what it had taken me three weeks to do. Arrived in JAX last night, totally the worse for wear, and crashed for about 11 hours last night. Set up the Florida bank account and got the new cell phone today; totally loving the pink Razr. Pretty soon I predict that the big design houses will be making cell phones, why not? I will be the first on the Chanel waiting list. Anyway, more errands the rest of this week, then we head down to palm beach saturday to pick up the new car, which, no, we haven't test-driven.
When I mentioned this to mom, the test driving thing, she said, "Eh, but we got a good deal." A good deal trumps all, my friends. I'm sure it will drive fine. It didn't come with GPS, however, and I happen to be someone who can easily get lost in her own apartment. So we got a freestanding GPS thingy at BJ's tonight. BJ's, similar to Costco, is somewhere I can easily envision wasting hours and hours of time in the near future. It's really so scary how content I am shopping, even if it only entails home-goods or groceries. What the hell is wrong with me? Is consumerism an actual disease? Cause if it is, I'm damned sure infected. So Saturday we are off to Palm Beach for the weekend and then I'll be in Miami next week, relying on the generosity of friends until the furniture arrives later in the week. I have never so looked forward to just being in my own place; I've been living out of suitcases now for more than one month.
Unpacking and decorating however, dear readers, is about the most exciting my life is going to get in the next couple of weeks though I'm afraid. I certainly don't have the energy to date, and if there's one thing the past month has reinforced it's that all men are fucking nuts and just not worth wasting time on. Even the ones who come highly recommended are wackos, and if I want to spend time with a whackjob, I'll hang solo or go out with my delightfully eccentric friends. Enough is enough. Maybe I'll start my own reality show, Single in the Sunshine State. Though, trust me, it would be really, really dull and most likely would be set mostly at Neiman's and the beach.