You may have noticed a change in scenery around here. Since I'm back in the United States on a semi-permanent basis, the color has reverted to pink. Also, 'swampler the dubliner' is not exactly appropriate anymore. I was trying to think of a name the other day whilst walking to lunch with Matt, Vidya, and Claudia; Vidya was a fan of 'Swampy Swampleface', which she likes to call me for inexplicable reasons. Then, Matt mentioned that he likes to call me 'Swamplor' because it makes me sound like an evil killer robot. Someone (I believe it was Claudia) pointed out that this was a good pun, since she originally heard 'Swamp Lore'. Et voila, 'Swampy's Swamp Lore' was born. The 'lore' part seems appropriate considering the stories I tell here, and 'swampy' is appropriate because no one calls me Sara anymore. If you have other suggestions, feel free to share.
Today was a great day. I woke up at 8:30ish, met the movers at my storage place at 9:30, and was fully moved to my apartment by around 11am. Yes, hiring movers is more expensive than doing it myself, but I can't really do it myself without renting a truck and coercing a bunch of friends into a rather unpleasant day; this method ensured that all of my stuff reached my apartment v. quickly and without causing any friendship rifts. Also, one of the movers hit on me, which was thoroughly amusing. I had already been eyeing him, because he was frankly the best-looking of the three and had some nice (but not too overdeveloped) musculature that showed to its advantage as he hauled all my stuff around. Since I had nothing better to do than watch the movers (having foolishly left my magazine in the car while hanging out at the storage place), I had watched them as discreetly as possible. Then, back at the apartment, the guy told me that I had beautiful eyes (thank you, Nars, for your fantastic plummy eyeshadows!). He also asked me on his next trip through the kitchen whether I'm living here with my boyfriend, and when I said that I had no boyfriend, he asked me why not. I didn't want to say that I'm an antisocial freak with an aversion to commitment, so I just said that I'd been away. This all made me feel warm and fuzzy inside, despite the obvious fact that the guy was probably a man-whore--I mean, he had stripped down to his wifebeater while the other two guys left on their regulation t-shirts, he was wearing a regular belt over his low-slung jeans rather than the regulation heavy-lifting back-support belt that the others were sporting, and he even had a short ponytail. Essentially, he was the ultimate suburban-housewife fantasy. This probably works well for him, but (as I told Claude later), I didn't even have sheets on my bed, so he was destined to strike out with me. Regardless, I was in quite the chipper mood, and all of my stuff was in my apartment before noon. Score!
I amazed myself with my work ethic this afternoon; while I may do tons at the office, I hate doing stuff around the house, and previous moves have been characterised by my tendency to leave things in boxes for months or years. However, I vow that this one will be different. I unpacked all of my kitchen stuff, and so my kitchen is mostly set up even though I need to run a bunch of dishes through the dishwasher and make a run to the grocery store for some provisions. I also did four loads of laundry at the laundromat down the street. It adjoins a lovely cafe with a huge outdoor seating area that feels rather garden-y, and so I predict that I'll spend some time there drinking iced mochas while waiting for my clothes to dry. So, I talked to my parents, drank my iced mocha, folded all my clothes on the spot (another leaf turned over--usually I just stuff them all in my clothes basket and never bother to fold the underwear, instead preferring to root around in the basket looking for panties amongst the socks until I reach the crisis day when I realise that there aren't any more pairs in the basket, prompting a trip to either the laundromat or Victoria's Secret) and came home.
Tonight was the first time I've made a bed in almost six months. Sure, I've occasionally tidied up the bedclothes on the days when it wasn't made for me by the housekeeper, but I haven't actually started from scratch and put the sheets on the bed myself. Judging by the massive, painful bruise I have on my left wrist, I'm going to be a danger to myself unless I quickly regain my bedmaking skillz. Actually, I'm exaggerating; the bruise is just as nasty as I proclaimed it to be, but I got it because I decided to reorient my bed before making it, which involved moving the mattress and box spring, and when I put the box spring back into position, I managed to scrape up my wrist. But, pretending that it came from making the bed makes for a better story. I'm so excited to sleep, though; my bed in Dublin was a complete jhoke. And, I've put one of my Indian bedspreads on it; this one is pink with gold embroidery, like brocade or something, and it's quite lovely.
Okay, bedtime for me; I want to be productive at work tomorrow so that I can leave in relatively good time and put up my bookshelves. Goodnight!
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