Well, things are still going swimmingly for me here in Crushville. J and I are hanging out all the time and it is so lovely that I frequently have to hold back from bursting into song (specifically, “You light up my life") when I am around him.

I know, two sentences in and you want to barf already. Honeymoon-stage couples are SO annoying. I get that, seriously. I remember when I was studying abroad in England my junior year, and I hadn’t had a real boyfriend in forever. I was visiting a friend who was studying in Prague, and he caught me staring at this total PDA couple and said something like, “I know, don’t all these beautiful springtime European couples in love just make you want to punch somebody in the face?” And it’s true, they did make me want to punch someone in the face. Them.

However my friends will not listen to me cheese about J anymore so I must turn to you, the good people of the World Wide Web. Hear me now: J is friggin awesome! He makes me feel like a natural woman! I want to marry him and have his babies!

After my, um, two years of grad school four states away. Yeah…

God, it is so weird to be back at my mom’s house in the suburbs again. She is being really unusually nice so far, but still. Everything happened so quickly. My boss threw a party for me Thursday night. The few people from our office, our accountant, and my beloved former boss and coworker came. This coworker lives in San Diego, CALIFORNIA, people, and came out to DC for the party. That is some love, right there. Both ways, the love goes.

So we all went out to a bar and there were cards and photos and hugging, and a check from my boss from his personal bank which means that he spent actual cash money on me, not company money, which is a sign of the second coming. So take note and take cover, or whatever it is that is appropriate in this situation. (I am Jewish so I have no idea.)

I do not mind telling you that one, and only one, round of tequila shots was taken by everyone present. It was my departing wish.

Then my current officemates went home (pussies!) (Just kidding! That is a very dirty word!) (But I use it all the time! Am like a sailor in that way!) and I stayed and had dinner with my former boss and the San Diego lady. They were delightful as always and I just love them.

(Sometimes I wish I had never left that job, but then I remember that it was for a big scary defense contractor, and then the nightmares begin anew and I am forced to retire to my corner with my blanky so that I can experience the flashbacks in all their horrific, seizure-inducing glory.)

Soooo, then Friday was my last day of work evah! Or in DC at least. It was very quiet at the office. My boss raced in bright and early and asked breathlessly if I was hungover. To humor him I said yes, but truthfully the tequila he had bought was so super-frigging-primo that it went down like buttah, so I wasn’t really hungover at all. I am a sport.

After work I had to pack. J had offered to come help me pack and initially I balked, because I am an only child and am used to privacy and the thought of someone, especially a relative stranger, seeing all my stuff gives me the creeps. But a totally weird thing happened. While I was telling him no, I realized that I actually missed him and wanted to see him that night.

This is a big step for me – usually I go on a first date with someone, and if they call wanting to go out again within, like, a week, I’m all, “What? I just saw you. Please! We’ll get sick of each other!” So for me to have seen him Tuesday night and then be missing him Friday is surprising and nice. I am glad to discover that I do have a heart after all, and that it’s not dead and black.

So he came Friday and packed up everything in my kitchen, and if that’s not cool then I don’t know what is. Then we went for Indian food, my last time with my old pals at the takeout place.

It was also my first time actually eating there, since I usually grab my takeout and run home to watch the Golden Girls or something equally embarassing that people who live alone tend to do. It was delish. I said goodbye to my takeout pals, but I don’t think they understood a word I said. I hope they don’t go bankrupt now that I am not there to eat their chicken tikka masala every week.

My mom and stepdad came to help me move all my stuff out at 8:30 (in the morning! yes!) on Saturday. It went fine, considering I was asleep for most of it.

Saturday night, on the phone with my friend W:
W: Oh, what time did your mom show up to move you out today?
Me: 8:30 in the morning!
W: Ouch. So you kicked J out at…?
Me: 8:15.
W: Ah, I figured as much.
Me: Yep.

And so I no longer have my own fun downtown apartment and must write to you from Suburbland, Maryland. It is pretty funny to be 25 years old and have to ask to borrow the car. I feel like I have regressed, developmentally. Man, I hope the “Clean up your room!” conversations come next. I totally cannot wait.