You had to move to the city with the real nitty gritty

So I'm in. 215 West 83rd, Apt 3B. Still reachable at the same cell number, no landline. Palpable and rather overwhelming sense of relief. Five years at home after college is too long. I don't reccomend it. And the buildup to this move has been interminable.

I should have treated it like a pregnancy and not told anyone until the last possible moment. As the wait to move in kept stretching out, it became harder and harder to talk to people. Half of it was impatience on my part. My sister told me I could move in by June. But then there were delays. No ones fault it just happened. And she was being generous on a fairly unprecedented level. So I couldn't really even bitch about it.

But the questions. Maron. Everyone asked if I was out yet. Every day. I got tired of hearing them and tired of hearing myself answer them. My explanations for the delays started sounding scripted and fake. I got so sick of telling people the latest reason for the delays.

But it's over. And I'm in. Big ups to Tim, T-Bone (Tim Pemberton), and Dan for helping with the move and to Steve for stepping up in a big way and lending me his van. My brother was going to help out too, but the move ended up falling during his Montauk vacation which had been planned for months. Plus he was probably stoked for Hurricane Frances waves as it was.

As it turns out the move went like clockwork anyay. We did the whole thing in one trip yesterday. I had been worried about lifting my TV up the basement steps of my parents house (it's over 240 pounds) and fitting it through the hallway here(it's smallest dimesion is 25 inches), but both operations went relatively smoothly, due in large part to T-Bone being an absolute animal. It pays to be friends with a guy that coaches offensive line. Afterwards I bought everybody a couple pitchers and some wings at Blondies on 79th Street. Highly reccomended.

Even on a holiday weekend when most of the Upper West Side decamps for the Hamptons the neighborhood is alive with hot chicks. They're everywhere. Coming out of Zabars in micro-minnies, on line at H&H Bagels in tight T-Shirts tented with pointy nipples, perpetually walking five feet ahead in form fitting jeans. Tim put the over-under of my getting laid at my place one-month, but if you're a hot NYC local chick feel free to take the under and rig the game by hitting me up at the link below.

Chrispy in the City.