With 2009 securely in the past and our 2010 Astorian future looking bright, we've taken some time to get acclimated with our new digs. Our first order of business was to remove a large Armoire lent to our apartment's previous inhabitant by the landlord to make up for the lack of a closet in the master bedroom. You read correctly, "master" as in "superior to..." implying "more than one" signifying "we have a two bedroom apartment!". While gloating is hardly my style, nor is it very gentlemanly, one cannot amass the excitement that Julie and I share for this place without the proper embellishment.
Now before you start packing your luggage for a visit we should warn you that we don't really have anything to put in that room yet. Instinctively, I consider it as some sort of "office" implying that I have a work ethic large enough to encompass a room's worth of stuff. Julie, on the other hand has used the space for her own secret agenda by referring to it as "the baby room" whenever possible. Why she considers my football and automated coin machine as babies is beyond me. Women... you can live with them, you can even enjoy it part of the time, but they'll be talking about babies a lot.
When figuring out what to do with this large clumsy piece of furniture we thought it was only right to lend a hand to our landlord by offering to bring it downstairs for him. How "downstairs" became "anyone's apartment who wanted it" I have no idea but far be it from me to deny help to our new prospective pals. We were informed by the landlord that our neighbors next door may like the piece of furniture for their apartment. As Manhattan chefs working on opposite schedules we had a bit of difficulty finding them home, so with a note attached we left it in on their front step like some unwanted child. While they ultimately turned down our offer, it provided a good, albeit inconvenient ice breaker (given that it took up 80% of the hallway). My only hope is that they do not look down their noses at us for our Bertolli dinner parties.
On our friendly paper towel note was a proposition by a neighbor one floor up that if the gentlemen did not want the piece that she would gladly take it. Being the friendly neighborhood movers as we are, we knocked on her door and asked if we could bring the hulking semi-mobile closet to her.
What followed would be a half-hour of "how the hell did he get it up the stairs in the first place". When all seemed for naught the idea arose to remove the doors to lighten the load. Once that was accomplished it was smooth sailing. Well as smooth as carrying a 100+ pound piece of furniture up a narrow stairway.
The experience may have been taxing on our arms, still weary from the New Year's Eve move but it was all worth it in the end. We met the locals and netted an invitation to a post-holiday party (although we probably will not be able to attend being that it's on the same day as plans to party it up with Big Bad "Old Uncle" Blaine, but still).
However, the best experience since the move came last night at the sports bar down the street. Without TV I was fearful that I would not be able to watch my beloved Jets fight for a playoff birth against the Cincinnati Bengals. As I watched the Jets play in top form surrounded by half-interested bar goers and a chill winter breeze sneaking through the front door I knew that Queens, New York is the only place to be.
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