Virginia is for lovers. And guns and slaves and Super Target, of course.
For me, Virginia was definitely all about lovers.
After all, I moved to Virginia for love.
Damn. I moved to the suburbs of Virginia for love. Don't I get extra points for that?
Actually, I loved the Virginia burbs. But not because there were kids everywhere you looked. And not because a half mile in any direction got you to a Giant, Safeway or Harvey Tweeter. And certainly not because everyone's car was clean.
I loved the burbs because there was love waiting for me everyday when I got home.
Now, granted, sometimes love was napping on the sofa or being pissy or whining about wanting a Sprite even though he was trying not to drink soda at home.
But love was in that suburban house.
And now Boo and I are moving to DC and I've never done so many countdowns in my life.
Every once in a while - like once an hour or so - I open the Outlook Calendar and check to see how many days are left until I'm back in DC. Then I double check to see if I'm off by a day. Sometimes I start with today and count up toward October 1st. Sometimes I work backwards from that wonderful Fall Friday....counting down through September.
First I do the basic counting. Then I debate whether I should include the current day and moving day in my count. I always decide no on both issues. Today can't be counted since today's almost over no matter what time it is. And moving day can't be counted since that day is the day.
And then I think about how much better the final number is compared to yesterday's number.
Funny how that works.
And then I consider how special the number is. And how only special numbers can participate in the countdown to moving day.
And then I play mind games.
I think about what I'll wear on October 1st. I wonder, since it will be October, whether I'll need to wear socks on moving day. I think about whether my hair might look good again by then since the humidity will be lower. I think about packing all of my clothes except for three outfits that can get me through the special number of days left until October 1.
And then I think about the evening of moving day...that special Friday night. And the moment when Boo and I will be on the sofa. And the moment when we'll know that we're finally home.
I think about where Boo's little water bowl and food dish will go and whether I'll have coffee or tea or wine that night. I think about my pretty mugs decorated with little shoes and purses and where they'll sit on the counter. I think about unwrapping the new inventories of toilet paper, paper towels and tissue and how they'll all be so fresh and inviting, unlike any other paper products in the world.
Can you say Mental Masturbation?
The mind dance doesn't stop there.
I think about how much wine and vodka and ice and soda and chips and dips I'll need to buy for all the friends who will come by on a regular basis. And I think about stocking the bathroom with tons of brand new pretty and bright toothbrushes so my friends can stay anytime they want.
You know, I've tried the toothbrush thing before.
After all, it's not like this is my first place.
Every few years, I assess my value as a 'stay here if you want' friend. And I promise to be the best 'stay here if you want' friend a friend could want.
And every few years I make a new commitment to keeping the kitchen fully stocked and the closet piled high with fresh, plush towels. Every few years I revisit the new toothbrush campaign, imagining my friends coming by before this or after that or during really bad weather. Everyone will get a new toothbrush that they can use for a short term stay or just toss casually when it's time to hit the road.
And yet, I'm fairly certain that none of my friends would say 'new toothbrush' if you asked what they think of when they think of any place I've ever had. And let's just toss out the inquiry as to whether my kitchen was ever fully stocked for their visits. Even I understand that Cheez-Its don't bring people back.
But this time will be different.
Because this time I'm different.
This time I'm centrally located. And this time there's parking in places without meters or aggressive tow trucks. And this time I'm walking distance to Starbucks. And spitting distance from the Cathedral. And drinking distance from Georgetown.
This time I'm a mere 3.54 miles from work. Zero miles on days I work from home.
This time I'm really on top of things.
Madeline used to call me the whore of hospitality.
That was a long time ago. Before Maddy's hubby and kids. Before Boo. Before my foray into law. Before I became officially inducted as a professional contrarian.
But long ago there was a time when I'd throw a party everytime somebody farted.
There was a time when I didn't know half of the people at my parties. But by the end of the party, we were planning the next party. There was a time when I heard from others about upcoming parties at my place even though I hadn't planned them yet.
Yes. There was a time.
But it's not my intention to renew my hospitable whore status this time. I don't need too much partying in my life. At least not this year.
But in 33 days - almost 32 - I'll be back in DC and I can't wait. I know I must be excited because I'm actually starting to plan the sauces for the pastas I'll be boiling up each night. I've decided to alternate between the tomato and cream bases instead of just eating one or the other for three months depending on the last sale.
And I've calculated all relevant distances from both the front entrance and back. And I've timed the commutes to and from work in at least six different traffic and weather situations.
And as of today, I've experienced 9 of the 12 Starbucks located within 2.5 miles of the new place. And 3 of the 4 CVS locations.
As of today, I'm 33 days closer to doing something that's more exciting - and more oddly familiar - than anything I've done in quite a while.
Virginia was great, but since signing a DC lease I feel like I barely remember having lived in Virginia at all.
I heart VA.
I definitely heart VA...and I always will.
But even 33 days away, I can feel that DC will be very good for my heart.
Perhaps even a better place.
Virginia may be for lovers, but the district's looking pretty damn good.