Time to get away

I’ve never left a city knowing I would come back and not hate it.

Two days before I left town, I saw a former employer at a crepe shop. Her sister was in the Magnetic Fields, she used to produce Elliott Smith records, and she’s married to a guy who plays sitar for Beck. While he writes music with his Cornershop buddies, she’s a caterer/personal chef in Cambridge. I once said “lonely vagina” in front of some white wine girls at one of her events and only got sent on one (solo, low paying) assignment after that. You would have thought this woman had seen it all. Never underestimate people’s discomfort with vaginas.

Things I will miss the most: vegan corner in Allston, Herrell’s 4-shot iced americanos, lentils and black beans and decaf green tea on supermarket shelves. But I’m still trading up.

Do you forget the things you left behind the second the door closes? I relish the happy memories but seem to block out the worst immediately: the hostile & patronizing former boss, the condescending & bitter former roommate, the obnoxious voicemails from aggressive, thoughtless realtors who insist that my place is still on the market, months after it was snapped up by someone who has no idea what a pain their landlord will become Sept 1. “You’re right. I have no fucking clue about anything, Bill from City’s Best. Please come wander through my home, again.” And while I can conjure those words, that reaction, it’s also over, and my life is plunging ahead.

Walking to buy a hair dryer, plug adapter, and a banana in Gentofte, we met the friends you see on the right. I’ve also seen several killer slugs already. I’m told they were small, but they were still the biggest slimy fellas I’d seen since I was a kid, cleaning out leftovers in my slumlord father’s houses after tenants had suddenly vacated in the middle of the night.

Happenings: 200 DJs, this photo, and myself writing two upcoming reviews/articles for Bitch and make/shift magazines, respectively. I don’t have a cell phone right now and if you wonder why, read this. I’ve met new neighbors, including an enormous St. Bernard who fears the stairs, seen Sweden from the beach near our sunny apartment, and I’ve been welcomed into the family. And the rest is not for the internets to know.