Oh no! We have a cat whose favourite passtime is to sleep...

.... like this :S

Movers are always late

I'm sitting at home on the couch, waiting for the movers to arrive. Predictably, they're running late. Which is a pretty torturous thing, when everything you own is in boxes, except your laptop. So I'm reduced to watching re-runs of Saturday Night Live skits on the internet. Which, come to think of it, is actually pretty fun. I might keep doing it even after we've moved.

Queen Jaffa, having shown tremendous fortitude throughout the chaos of this move, has chosen this morning out of all, to insist on sleeping on the keyboard. Which makes blogging an interesting adventure in its own right.

For the fifth time in 7 years, I'm packed up to move again (but this time to stay put for longer). Once again, all my worldly possessions have been summed up in two suitcases and a handful of disposable boxes. And a scratching post (doesn't fit in the boxes), and a sleeping cat.

Boxes, suitcases, scratching post, sleeping cat and me, still waiting for the movers to arrive. In eager anticipation, that in a couple hours, we can start the rest of our lives in the new home.

Spelling games

I called Amex Customer Services to inform them of my marital name change.

"Hi there, I just got married and I need to update my name with you please. My new name is McDelta."
"Excuse me? McDelta?"
"As in M for Malta, C for Cap, D for Doodles, E for Egypt, L for Lichtenstein, T for Turkey, A for Apple."
I hate spelling things out like that, I can never think of common words starting with the letters I need. Hence the desperately chosen 'Doodles' and 'Lichtenstein'.

"Thank you, ma'am. Let me repeat it to you. That's M for Mike, C for Canada, D for Donkey, E for Elephant, L for Lemon, T for Tom, and A for Alpha?"

I was suddenly intrigued by this new word game I had found.

I responded, "Yes, that's M for Money, C for Caterpillar, D for Doodles, E for Empathy, L for Lily, T for Temple and A for Annabel. Or Alphabet."

There was a long pause. Then an exasperated sigh. I was hoping she'd start the spelling bee again, but she didn't bite the bait.
"Okay I have it now, thank you ma'am," she said, and ended our conversation.

An Autumn Gourd

I suddenly looked at my blog this morning, and realised - OMG I haven't posted anything since the 8th of September! The last two weeks have been a whirlwind of activity and simply disappeared before me in a whizzing continuum of chaos. Guess it goes to show, if there was ever any doubt, that time truly is an elastic concept. Experiential putty, figuratively speaking.

The last two weeks have been a time for a sudden spurt of growing up, in my life. Before last Friday, I never owned anything more valuable than my cellphone. And now, all of a sudden, we own a home. A home!! Delta and I whooped in excitement as soon as the 'closing' was over.

And then we went back to the apartment, and were immediately sobered. Oh the apartment was as lovely as it always had been, but there was so much work to be done!
"Come on Ficali, let's head over to Home Depot," Delta grabbed my hand and we headed out.

We bought little cans of wall paint, and painted large patches on our walls, trying to choose the colours for our new home. And over the next few days, I learnt about sanding and spackling (??!!) the trim, and about primer and choosing paint sheens. And about ridiculous paint colour names like "Autumn Gourd" and "Summer Overture".

And then finally, last night we got home and collapsed in an entangle exhausted pile onto the couch.
"I'm TIRED!!" I exclaimed. I hadn't thought that painting was this much work.

But at the same time, I was also exhilarated. Here it was, after days of hard labour (and many, MANY trips to Home Depot), our home was slowly coming together.

A Hoarder's Purge

Have you ever tried to whittle down your belongings and throw away the ones of no use to you anymore? I guess elsewhere in the world one might call it a yard sale. But in New York, with no yard and no sale, I guess I'd just call it a trip to the Salvation Army.

Anyways, I browsed through about 120 items of clothing in my wardrobe, before I could finally persuade myself to give one away. It was a top I'd owned since highschool, and hadn't worn in at least the last five years, and frankly hadn't even remembered it was there for the last couple of years. And still, still, persuading myself to give it away was like agreeing to donate an internal organ. Seriously. Pathetic.

I have to say, I have undertaken this purging activity with some perplexity as to the nature of the human mind. I mean, who would have thought to invent the concept that couples should live together and share the same wardrobe? Dont get me wrong, living together is a beautiful thing. But sharing a wardrobe but it's very nature means that each person gets only half a wardrobe. Preposterous.

But back to the task at hand. So I've identified one top. Back to the pile of clothes, in search of more such casualties of this ruthless purge. Something tells me getting rid of just one top isn't going to cut it in the "whittling down your wardrobe" book.

At long last!

At long last, after waiting for many a day with bated breath, we have a confirmed closing day for our new apartment. Finally, finally, this wait is at an end. Finally, we can start getting serious about the furniture, and the wall painting, and together start creating this home which will be our own.

For two weeks now, I have been pestering our lawyer with pestilential tenacity on an almost daily basis.
"Have they given us a date yet?"
"What about now, do you have a date yet?"
"What about today, have you heard from them yet?"

So you can imagine, the lawyer quite expected me to whoop in jubilation when he called me this afternoon: "We have a date! September 19th!"
Instead, I dissolved into a puddle of panic. The 19th! That's less than two weeks away! But I still hadn't weeded through my stuff at home! And we still hadn't decided on the wall colours! And the furniture, and the movers and ... there was no way we had enough time.

In typical Ficali fashion, I had been so fixated on getting the closing date finalised, I hadn't really thought to plan for the day after. Or the day after. Or after.

I rushed home in a huff of panic and excitement, but no one was home yet, except Queen Jaffa, squawkingly demanding her food. So I proceeded to tell Queen Jaffa all about the closing date, and what that would mean for all of us. About what her new home would be like. About how she really shouldnt' scratch Delta's couch if she cared for us at all. About how we planned to take her for walks in the new neighbourhood. She was a rather silent participant in our conversation, but that's okay, I had enough to say for the both of us. And then in the end, after having silently endured the entire monologue, she squawked. She was just wondering why I was blithering on instead of giving her her food.

So I gave her her dinner, and headed to the room. Where the closet still needs to be weeded through. But closet control can be kept for tomorrow. Today, it's just about telling Queen Jaffa all about her new home.