Rambling: The Madness of March

Here I am, craving spring and wishing I had groceries in the fridge. But...I don't. Instead, I'm finally posting the recipe I MEANT to post a week ago. Sorry it's late. It would have been perfect for St. Patrick's Day. Well, it's perfect anyway, but it would have been "thematic." People like themes. People like consistency. I try. I do.

Blame it on Jamison. I randomly booked a totally last minute flight (as in, I booked it Friday, went home on Saturday) to go see Erika (sister, you've met her before) for her 30th birthday. As a result, I had to change planes in Cincinnati, even though the flight to Charlotte is only an hour and fifteen minutes. I almost had flight trouble (as I tend to do), but made it and ultimately made my sister break down in tears when I arrived at her house for the party. Who knew she missed me so much? Yikes. This is the trouble with going home. I miss it. Charlotte is just so darn CLEAN and beautiful. New York missed me though (I think, but you never can tell), and I came back. I have spent this week shuffling over my unpacked suitcase, blasting the TV at its DVR malfunction during LOST, and eating dinner with the Sunday Funday crew. Why does one glass of red wine always make me feel like death the next day? Unclear.

So. Brooklyn apartment hunting has commenced. Our lease at the commune (David, me, and the two roommates) in Hoboken is up in April, so we are hoping for an April 15th move-out date. So far, we have seen crappy, bizarr-o apartments. I stand in tiny apartments and ask myself if I am making good decisions. If I am being a grown-up. If I am being thrifty and green. I solve all of these questions with a burger and fries from the Dram Shop and try not to bump into the walls of the Holland Tunnel as I speed back to Hoboken from Park Slope. This is present tense, because well...it has been a fairly stable routine since March began.

March Madness. Apparently, this doesn't have anything to do with our apartment hunting.

Our life without roommates. I can't tell you how exciting this is (can I end a sentence with is? Don't think so). I think you just get to a point when you are over it. Maybe it coincides with one such David moving in. Or maybe it happens when one of your roommates tells you to get your dishes done within 24 hours. I'm sorry, but who mops the floors? Me. I sound like my mother. Except when I told my mother our roommate said this, she sided with the roommate. Blast.

Regardless. We are preparing ourselves for a commute. Yes. New York to New Jersey (David working in Newark, me in Hoboken). We will be crossing two rivers every day. Good Morning East River, Good Morning Hudson River. We will be leaving earlier, getting home later, and paying more rent (as one tends to do when they don't live with four people).

But.

We will be where we belong.

For the time being at least.