Hey, so here’s a thing: I live in California now. San Francisco, to be exact. However, please note that New Jersey remains the King of States at this time, and at all future times. My presence or lack thereof does not diminish its fundamental majesty.
I’m working at my new afternoon coffee shop working spot, which makes a mean iced latte. But I think I’m gonna take a break in a while and go to the beach for a bit, then maybe have an ice cream cone while I take the dog for a walk along the lake. Because I can do that, because the ocean beach is four blocks away and the lake is in my backyard. I LIVE ON VACATION.
I literally have no idea how things ended up like this; truly, there is hope for anyone.
Maybe we don’t want to live in Amsterdam right now, but we’re still hankering for a change. I am therefore pleased to announce that we are opting to go FULL JERSEY, and as of July 1, you are all invited to our huge, awesome loft four blocks from the beach in Asbury Park whenever you would like to visit. Please note that “Born to Run” will be playing on a 24-hour loop, so be prepared for that.
So, remember that time we wanted to move to Italy but it’s a bureaucratic nightmare, so we thought why not move to Amsterdam in the meantime because hey that seems fun, and then we got rid of our apartment and car and stuff and actually did it, and now we’re in Amsterdam?
Part of moving to another continent requires violently attacking your nostalgia, because you (read: I) don’t want to pay cash money to ship a dirty Cabbage Patch Kid with no shoes to another country so it can continue to sit at the bottom of a box in the back of your closet.
Last week, my lucky spouse got to take a trip to the local city clerk’s office — jackpot! — to obtain a certified copy of our marriage license because I could not, for the life of me, remember that I’d married him.
Kidding! Of course I remember. We actually needed it for a bet.