The New Crib

At 9 a.m., we started the move to the new apartment. By 6 p.m., I was done. By 11 p.m., I'd had dinner with Hotass and the Dynamic Duo, had kidnapped Pistol Pete, and was swigging gin and tonics at La Estacion de Bombeo.

Needless to say, the move was successful and nothing was broken. And I feel all settled in. So here's your exclusive tour of the place I now call "home."

Enter the front door and immediately look left. And there's the gourmet kitchen. And possibly one of the things I miss most about my other kitchen. No, it's not that I cook, but there's barely enough room for one person there. You can't open the oven or the dishwasher without stepping to one side. And there's no room for the barstool, unless you climb over it.

However, at least I have a dishwasher, an oven and a barstool. There are poor children in China and starving artists in NYC who don't have anything.



Here's a look at the knick-knacks and trinkets that adorn the refrigerator door. Happy Bunny says, "I'm not mean. You're just a sissy."









Pass through the louvered doors into the dining room/living room/office. Yes, I know the wall behind the television needs something.









Here's a look back toward the dining room and the office.









Pass through a set of louvered bifold doors into a hallway, and lo and behold, there's the boudoir. This is shot from the doorway, and as you can see, the foot of the bed faces the doorway, but the head is also to the east. Therefore, it led to quite a fung shui dilemma, and much discussion among the Artist, Hotass and I. After consulting the Oracle at Delphi and rattling some bleached chicken bones, we decided that this position would result in positive energy.
This wasn't the only piece of furniture to warrant spiritual controversy. The original placement of the sofa placed the back against a large window. The Artist strongly disagreed, arguing that I didn't want to leave my head "exposed." As if I were JFK, and people would be taking sniper shots from the Cat's Music parking lot. However, when a large mirror went in place across the room from the sofa, it was okay because then I could see the assassins coming for me.

And last but not the least, the room that the booty wipes call "home." And isn't that view downright quaint? I'm sure the little Tudor bungalow across the park has a quaint view of me plucking my nosehair in the bathroom mirror.

Thanks to the boys who helped me move: The Artist; Hotass; Dancing Bear; and Buffy, the Goose formerly known as JonJon. Thanks to Shenandoah and Pink Lady who catered from Sonic.

And one last thing. The BabelFish translator translates "pumping" to "bombeo."