Cue the Theme Song to “The Jeffersons”

Monday, June 14, 2010

I’ve moved quite a bit in my adult life. And it seems like every time I have started up a new lease somewhere, there’s been some crazy that goes down in the first 30 days. Nothing too unhinged. Just some drama that couldn’t be accounted for before signing on that dotted line. Examples? Of course!

~San Francisco, 2-bedroom, 1-bath, sun-filled.
Drama: Downstairs neighbor, a retired smokejumper and permanent surfer named “Jim.” Nice and friendly, but soon starts coming to me for loans. Always some yarn about his car … the car that I never ever saw. One day I came home to find my peanut butter jar on the counter. I did not leave it there. When I casually worked it into a convo with Jim, he got shifty. Yeah, I moved before the year’s lease was up (surprise!). Later I received an e-mail from the new tenants asking if anything weird ever happened there, like, items gone missing or “things appearing in the kitchen out of nowhere.”

~Barbados, 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom, quiet street.
Drama: Came home from a concert late one night in the second week. Talking on the phone to a friend about having to write a review early the next morning (I worked at a newspaper there). I’m looking in the mirror, getting ready for lights-out, when I see a rat—I said, a RAT—scurrying across the headboard of my bed. I am completely petrified of those awful, awful critters. So, obviously I was outta there in a hurry. Literally moved the next day.

~New York City, 2 bedroom share, great location near the Park.
Drama: This was my first roommate situation. He was respectful of my space, and rarely home. But on my first day, there was a terrible ferry crash. My television was not yet hooked up—or out of the box, really—so I watched the news about the accident in his living room sitting near his 90-pound cat. That night, I discovered strange bite marks on my legs. Great. Fleas. And the next morning, while standing in the kitchen talking on my cell phone? Oh, lovely. There goes a mouse.

I’m pretty sure I’ve got a book in the making here. Going to call it First and Last.

Thankfully, from the flea/mouse house, I moved in with my now husband and all has been pretty smooth since. He likes to say that he broke the curse.

But now we’re getting ready to move as a family in about two weeks. I find myself nervous, anxious. It’s a big move. Not only are we moving with a toddler, but we’re also leaving New York. We’re moving to Montclair, New Jersey. Just typing it seems strange. New Jersey. Wow.

I know, in my logical mind, that things will work out. The new place is lovely. We’re ready for the change.

I know, too, that I will find my new spots: the cafe, the cozy cinema, the perfect-gift boutique, etc. And negotiating the new town with The Youngster will be fun topped with more fun. But there’s that little corner of the brain—the irrational, mini scaremonger—that makes me a little jittery about the unknown in all of this. It’s making me wonder if I’ll miss Brooklyn, or moreover, my Brooklyn life.

Then I think about all the unknown, the new, the change, and the different that I’ve faced up to in the last year. And I remember that I’m a better person for it.

So cue The Jeffersons theme, because we’ll be fine with our piece of the piiiiiiieeeeeaaaah.

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