From the DEPARTMENT OF AWESOME NEWS:
OH SHIT LOOK WHAT HAPPENED! I finished the first draft of Letters to You and All Your Friends! I turned it in two weeks ago and also MOVED OUT OF MY SHITBOX APARTMENT. Two extremely momentous occasions but unfortunately they happened on top of each other (there’s a mom joke in there somewhere). The past month has been an enormous stress bomb, which is much worse and less entertaining than an F bomb. Quick side note, I love the letter F because it’s like some asshole said, eh, we need another letter but I’m all out of ideas, let’s just use this E and erase the bottom. F is a very phoned in letter.
But looks like the book will be out next July. I’ll post more details as I get them. In the meantime, OH YEAH I MOVED. I’ve moved around the corner from my last place. The new apartment’s like, TRIPLE THE SIZE. If not more. Like you walk in the apartment and it…keeps going. Like there’s more apartment to be seen. It is a total mind fuck. Eating and sleeping now officially happen in two different designated areas. No longer will I go to sleep and smell dinner on my pillows and sheets. Yes, this was a thing that happened. It was disgusting. It was like sleeping in a veggie taco. That’s not code for anything. This new apartment hasn’t been updated since 1979 though, and it shows (hello, wood paneled walls painted white). BUT it’s bigger! Big enough for, say, a COUCH. A couch! The last time I had a couch was 9.5 years ago. Now finally I am a person who has and sits on and relaxes on a COUCH. In fact, I am writing this right now, in repose, on my couch from exotic, affordable Sweden. Adult luxury living, yo. I also have a KITCHEN TABLE (courtesy of Larry) which is different from my DESK which is in A SEPARATE ROOM. There are many doors in this place. Doors that separate rooms, including very petite ones known as closets, which from what I understand, are good and efficient places to store things. This is a very modern apartment from the future, specifically from 1979.
But fret not, dear friends. I can still complain about my apartment. Already I have a naked neighbor. This one is a dude who, from what I can tell, just watches sports on an enormous TV that I can see from here. I don’t want to judge, but I think that TV is too big for that room considering I am in an entirely different room and an entirely different apartment building and can see the Yankees beat the Knicks or whatever. Very high def. Also in high def: his nakedness. Though to be fair, my last naked neighbor was much, much more in high def. (read: not a natural blonde)
Also I have a mouse. Of course. It makes me less homesick for my last place. I saw this thing scurry past the other day and proceeded to lose my shit. I put out a trap, but this fucker cares not for my gourmet spread of natural peanut butter with raisins. WHAT MORE COULD YOU ASK FOR, FUCKING MOUSE? You want poached cod with foraged greens? Well I don’t have that shit in this apartment, so just eat this peanut butter and die already.
I learned an important lesson about moving, which is that I never want to move again. But thanks to Larry, Perri, and Roger for their help, and most of all, thanks to Joe who worked it out like a king shit gangsta. The man can put together an entire Ikea showroom like a boss. He is obviously part Swedish and full awesome.
