The rodents of Perry Street have finally broken my will...
It's true. It's a long story. It involves mouse poop in my Anolon.
And for Pete's sake, it's not like I'm going very far.
But after a decade in Manhattan, most of it in the West Village (where men aren't men, the woman have Oscars and the whole place is up to your tits in pricey boutiques, cupcakes and rodentia), I am moving to the romance capitol of the world. I am talking of course about the untamed shores of WEEHAWKEN!
I'm very excited. The place is huge -- after living in a shoebox with exposed brick, I'm a size queen -- and it's beautiful. And I could tell you about the water and skyline views and the park right there and the Victorian home and the no alternate side parking nonsense and the fact that we'll be closer to Manhattan than many of you Brooklyners. But then you'd think I was trying to convince you. And either you'd think, "pish posh, she doth attest too much about this Weehawken!" Or you'd want to move there, and this Jersey jewel -- Weehawken! -- would suddenly be overrun with others just like me, which I would hate.
The best part? The blank stares I get from British people when I say Weehawken.
Yo -- I'm all about THE HAWK!
One more note: although I've never lived a day of my life in Jersey, if one more person responds to my upcoming move by saying, "but you don't seem like a Jersey girl" -- I'll punch their lights out. And then maybe I will seem like a Jersey girl...
Stay tuned for details about my "farewell Hilary Swank" party.
In conclusion, I'm totally convinced that this move only cements my place as the coolest person in the world and that the streets of Weehawken are paved with gold. Wheeeeee hawk it to me!
Update!: Reactions to the move are at the bottom of the entry here
