Home Free
Monday, February 27, 2006, 6:05 PM

I'm here.
It's a studio, only 440-square feet, but I've got enough room to do my workout tapes and I didn't at the other apartment because the living room was longer, not wider. I love my little space. The Zen feels right. It's cozy and homey. The neighbors are louder than I'd like, but then they always are.

I'm Comcasted.
Not congested. Comcasted. I have cable, man. High speed internet. I'm on the grid. But, uh, why does Comcast keep bringing me digital cable boxes? What don't they understand about a girl who just wants basic service? I have a damn novel to write and I can't be spending all of my time watching their 700-plus channels. Geesh.

Sparkletted.
I've got water out the wazoo and a crock to pour it out of. My rep's name is Sandro. He thinks the plant stand I allocated for the water crock is just perfect; there was a wide grin on his face when I asked if the stand would do. Afterwards, he shook my hand and said he'd be back in two weeks. Meanwhile, I have nine gallons of water to drink. (So you know if I'm not here, I'm in the bathroom.)

Vons-ed.
I love my online grocery experience. No parking place hunting, no check-out line waiting, no laundry detergent lugging from car to apartment for me; my stuff comes directly to my door. It's the best thing since Hersheys Nuggets (Kisses are too small and take too long to unwrap).

And ... I'm enjoying the thrill, the utter and complete thrill, of unpacking. Actually, it's not too bad. I'm over half done. Now if I could just locate my hammer.
8 Did the Unhingey Jiggy Engage in Unhingenosity
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