Westward weiner smuggling.
I’ve been in this town for forty years, in this apartment for sixteen. I have my favorite deli, pizzeria, subway line, barber, newspaper, baseball team and proctologist. In 72 hours, I’ll be packing my hounds into bags and taking them to our new home in LA. Hello, white space.
These have been times of change. In the last few months, I redid my apartment and started living with my girlfriend, then decided to pull up stakes and move to LA, left my job, started some super exciting new projects, got a new book contract, spent the summer with Jack, then he left again, I started watching Real Housewives, drinking green juice, drawing with a pencil, and parting my hair on the right — the list goes on. If this is mid-life, I guess I’ll live to be 106.
My life has always been marked by change ever since my parents split before I was two. I have lived all over the world, had calamities that reshuffled my deck several times, and more and more craved stability and consistency. I hated change and wanted to just be left the hell alone. But as I age I have realized that there is no such thing as consistency. Change is inevitable and it’s good. Even more so when you have some say in it.
Now, at last, I have control over my karmic checkbook. And I am mixing it up, folks. I may even get my eyebrows threaded. Stay tuned. We fly west on Sunday night.