32

One week from today I will be moving - permanently - into our place in Chicago. At that point in time I will be aged 32 years, 1 week.

Rock Star doesn't appreciate the Mona Lisa. You may remember her guest appearance from last fall, but here she is again in all her glory*:

Because Rock Star and I have agreed to decorate the place together and iterate on a style that works for us - instead of me and him - she needs to go (let's all sigh a collective 'boo!' - just kidding, Baby. ... Mostly).

Also, the retro Hawaiin theme isn't going to work in our new old place. That's why I'm sell ing my stuff.**

Besides, I don't want to carry any more down the stairs than I have to.


* Please excuse her tired-looking appearance. It was early in the morning and she hadn't had any caffeine yet.
** I'm only posting this here in case someone local really likes something. I know it's doubtful that anyone would want my old stuff! but if you're interested and you're near the Lehigh Valley I'm happy to give you a cut-rate deal.


PS - I know I talk all the time about my place being dirty and gross and a crackhouse. It is. But this stuff lived most of its life in the house I just sold or the apartment I had with Rock Star, both of which usually smelled nice. And I *did* clean my room before I moved into the apartment. I mopped and everything.