My definition of The Perfect Man has changed frequently over the years. Today, however, I discovered yet another aspect of that elusive Perfect Man that I’d never quite considered before. You ready for it? Here goes. The Perfect Man is the one that, when realizing that he has a big regatta scheduled for the weekend he and his friends were supposed to help you move into your new place, decides to CALL AND HIRE MOVERS FOR YOU so that you don’t have to worry about finding enough help.

You’re in love too, aren’t you?

I’m now trying to think of the many varied and sordid ways that I can show my gratitude (feel free to post suggestions).

I’m less stressed and more excited about the move than ever. Last night on my way to my fabulous A’s house to dry my laundry (my dryer is miffed at being left behind and refuses to dry anything) I took a detour to my new ‘hood to see what the place looked like after dark. Sight sharpened by my bitchin’ new glasses (that A tells me make me look like a teacher in a porno…thanks, baby), I was thrilled with what I discovered. I was not expecting the volume of foot traffic that I saw considering that it was after ten on a Monday night, a pleasant surprise. I discovered a Laundromat at the end of the street, a few more vintage clothing stores that I’m drooling to check out, and a half a dozen restaurants with puppy-friendly outdoor dining. Elated even further by my, get this, five minute drive to A’s house, I spent the rest of the evening chattering non-stop until I inevitably passed out on his couch, a product of excitement, exhaustion, and A/C deprivation.

I haven’t posted much lately, and not for a lack of things to write about. I gave notice at the day job, which has resulted in a mild panic and frenzied training for much the last week. My last two shifts at the restaurant are this week. I’ve made mad phone calls about utilities, laptop ordering, financial aid, and the like. I’ve also, in no particular order, gone to a frat boy wedding in Michigan (oh yes, imagine my joy at such an occasion), went to a hippie jam band festival (hey man…jerk tofu wraps and pot brownies for sale in the parking lot almost made it worthwhile), touched Rob Zombie (he really is sort of a dick), and attended a birthday party where the decorations consisted of pornographic doodles strewn about the house.

Good times.