countdown to new york: four days

it may be strange, and it may just be me overanalyzing everything (as always), but i decided last night while packing (and talking to terry about his hysterical trip to brazil) that wednesday night would be the night that i pack up my kitchen. that'll be the last night i have to cook before the move because phong has generously offered to take me to pazo for a "birthday dinner" even though my birthday isn't until saturday. i just imagined him driving us straight into highlandtown and parking his car, and then me saying "i thought we were going to pazo." and then phong would say, "oh, pazo? i thought you said pazal, this cheap, greasy greek restaurant!" not that there's anywhere named that. c'mon, cut me some slack here; i took a muscle relaxer last night to help me sleep. and damn, did i sleep.

anyway, i'll be packing up my kitchen wednesday night, and there's something that seems very final about it. like i can pack up all the useless shit i keep strewn around the apartment (sadly, my apartment hasn't looked this clean in months and it's got boxes everywhere), but once i pack up the kitchen, since i love to cook and feed people, it's like, that's it. you're actually going. maybe i'm being ridiculous; maybe george is the only person that's going to relate to this. or, maybe not even him. maybe i'm the only big enough dork to care.

so terry regaled me last night with stories of his trip to brazil. apparently they went to some bar called "le boy" every night they were there. every time he'd say "le boy" i'd find myself repeating the words "le boy" back to him in a ridiculous french accent. it was like i couldn't help myself. something about "le boy" is so ridiculous to me that it has to be spoken in a funny accent. yep, i'm losing my hair and my mind.