Ah the Joys of Moving continue. (If you missed the riveting Part 1, it is here.) It has been a few weeks now, albeit with a weekend in Chicago (love Chicago and that beautiful Lake Forest) and last week at the ranch with my sweetheart since it was his birthday. By then I had hit a wall and was getting the kind of satisfaction that can only come from moving one pile of sand to another.

Or one pile of suitcases from one corner to another, in this case the shower. Charming.

Not to whine, but my old apartment had closets planned to the inch by moi, and there was a place for everything. Except of course another person. But I’m not giving him back, no sirree.

I am, however, shopping at The Container Store in his honor. Here are my latest closet designs. More charm.

I did actually throw one hatbox away. The rest remain in place, with the addition of plastic drawers. Beautiful.

Here is my lovely ribbon drawer.

I like my steak IN A CLOSET is how I like it.

Upon reflection, I will probably not buy another sarong for a while.

The Time Warner guy (don’t get me started), the cable guys (ditto), and the Verizon guy have come and gone. The Verizon man was my favorite. Every time I asked him a question, like “Is there a phone jack in the guest room?” he would answer in such a way as to be 100% un-intelligible. I mean I had no idea what he was saying. The closest I can come to describing it is this:

And he was there for-EVER. I finally said well no wonder it’s taking so long, you are lying down every time I see you.

Shouldn’t you wait ’til you get home to take a nap? Or are you dreaming of ways to confuse me?

As I’ve said, the new apartment is great and has a drop-dead view, but almost all living arrangements in New York involve some kind of compromise… unless you are the people who live in 15 Central Park West across the park from me. Sting lives at 15 CPW, as it is known, and I was wondering if I happened to look over at him through a telescope, and he happened to be looking back, if there would be these two giant eyeballs looking at each other. And he would write a song called “Don’t Stare So Close to Me.”

I do not actually own a telescope. Yet.

We are working on the closet situation. To be continued…