Shhhhh.

You will all be pleased to know that I have finally closed the Excel window containing the packing list. We're two hours short of an exact week since E, Chulito and I have been completely moved in at the new place, and all of our boxes are unpacked.

Since we've been here, we've worked virtually non-stop. Neither of us is fond of chaos and the sooner we can organize and hang our art and arrange our furniture, the sooner we can get to truly living in the new place.Moving on. Many of you probably already know this, but I'm part of a cult. It's a good one though. Oprah is a member. I actually joined before she did, but I admit I felt a wave of approval when I saw it featured on O's show. Like when I buy one of her books in Barnes & Noble. I obviously, rip the sticker off immediately. But, inside, I feel warm knowing that not only did Oprah read the same book, she loved it.Oh Oprah. The power you have over me.

Since the last big holiday season, I have had a clipping from the Jonathan Adler catalog on my refrigerator.

The 10 Commandments of Happy Chic
2. Thou shalt not deny thyself hotelish comfort at home. Thou shalt furnish thy rooms with paw-pampering, hand-loomed llama wool rugs, luxurious lighting and our fabulous furniture. Thy rooms shalt feel like the most opulent hotel rooms in which thou hast ever stayed. Thou art worth it.

When our first ever official guests, HRH & "A" (her quotes, not mine.) came over, the first thing they said was something to the effect of, "This is like a hotel."

That, my friends, is The Secret.

Since Erica and I moved in together, we have treated our apartment like we owned it. We furnished it as if it were a (moderately affordable) true home. And we bought things that were nice and made us neurotic every time Andrew, our dear friend the klutz, came over to eat. The things we've accumulated over the years are nice. But there was always the sense of putting makeup on a pig. A very attractive, comfortable pig, but at it's core, a pig. You know, I loved our old apartment and appreciate it for everything we had there, but there were always things I wished I could change about it. (By the way, HRH is not the only one addicted to things. I am a material girl. I love the decadence of Times Square. I love the anal-retentive neatness and predictability of The Gap. I am not green. I only hope that the World Wildlife Federation and Greenpeace can forgive me.)

However, as I've been unpacking our furniture and our art and our beloved tchotchke crap, it's all making sense. We finally are in a home that matches our taste and accommodates our beautiful stuff. Something that happened as a result of practicing The Secret. (Seriously. Don't knock it until you've tried it. Kum Ba Yaaaaaah!)

The Secret tells us that there is, based on the fact that everything on this planet is composed of pure energy, a universal Law of Attraction. Basically, good energy attracts good, bad energy attracts bad. Several of the speakers in the film suggest that you live as if you already have your dreams. The theory is that once you put yourself in the mindset of already having what you want, you open yourself up to it and it appears.

Well, we lived as if we were in our own home. We lived as if we were in a place worthy of the nice things we filled it with. And just as Erica and I were realizing that we were growing out of the old place and could no longer do anything to make it nicer than it was, or to make it perfect for us without breaking the agreements set forth in our lease, we found our dream place. We beat out a bidding war -- even though we were not the highest bidders. We got a down payment from Erica's parents. We got a mortgage. (My credit history is evidence enough that this was not just natural occurrence. This was a miracle.) And most importantly, we are here.

And, truly, my first step toward it was hanging Jonathan's second commandment on the adequate, but not perfect refrigerator at 79 Carroll Street.

Chez Chulo -- The End of an Era

It's over. Erica and I have crossed the threshold of Chez Chulo, nee 79 Carroll Street, for the final time. This past Saturday nine angels came to move everything we had. My dear friend, El Jimador and eight amazing other guys showed up at 9AM (actually one showed up at 8. I'll get to that in a minute.)

These guys arrived in two 20' trucks, an SUV of some sort and an exact replica of Tony Soprano's Escalade. (One of the angels is having an identity crisis.) Within an hour, the entirety of our life at Chez Chulo had been packed into the trucks and was on its way to Park Slope and HomOwnership. By 2PM the guys have loaded the trucks, driven over to Park Slope, unloaded, moved the stuff into the apartment, sat down for lunch (which a tenth angel showed up to pay for) and I had my first Home Depot experience as a home owner. That is a moment that is simply indescribable.
That afternoon Erica and I returned to the old place to do our final sweep of the place and finish priming the last room. Well, being The Princess you know and love, in my excitement over being a HomOwner in Home Depot, I got the wrong primer. Oil based.

Crap.

Erica was out at the local drugstore picking up her final bottle of pills from her closest friend in the neighborhood, so I cleaned the kitchen, swept the whole place, threw out my last bag of trash and waited for E to return. When E got back we called a car and went into the backyard for our last time. Your Princess held it together amazingly well. My voice only cracked once and tears never actually fell.
But, before we left, I turned the fence lights on.
So. Back to the 8AM angel.

This angel is a special angel. This angel was recently released from prison after serving 25 years for a murder he committed when he was 18 years old. I don't know the details of the case but judging by his age and where he's from, my guess is that it was drug or gang related rather than some psycho, "The call is coming from inside the house," type murder.

I realize that many of you may not agree with me, but The Princess believes that there is a difference. (Now, I remind you, I am making these statements based on presumption. But I think my assumption is an educated one, so we're going with it.) I imagine that a lot of my fans would not take too kindly to a recently released from federal prison murderer helping move all of their worldly possessions into their new home. For me, it's strangely not a big deal -- except I enjoyed meeting him and spending time with him because it was amazing to see what growing up in Maximum Security will do to you.

I do admit that there was a moment after I sent Erica out with, we'll call him Maximum Security, to pick up coffee. I wondered for a second if that was a good idea, but that was squelched by the thought that he wasn't the cuckoo killer, just the gang killer, so I figured as long as she didn't piss him off or try to invade his turf, she'd be okay.

So, what was interesting about a day with MS was seeing his social interaction. Very odd.

First of all, he came into our house as if he and I were BFF. (Remember, he showed up solo an hour prior to anyone else.) Plus, as he rang our doorbell, he had his forehead pressed to the window looking in. Nothing threatening, you see, just a little too familiar for the first time you're meeting someone. Someone who is technically your client.

Then there were little etiquette issues. (Yes. I know. Snobby, but I am The Princess. It fits.) MS was a little presumptuous with things like sitting on top of my coat and purse in the only chair that had stuff in it. Either he was rude, or he didn't notice, or was opposed to the comfort of sitting directly on the cushion of the chair that was across the room with no coat or purse on it.

Again -- not malicious, odd.

Once we were at the new place, Erica took the ground floor and I took upstairs . We pointed where the angels should put things and made sure the stuff was on the right floor. MS complained that he couldn't do the downstairs stuff because going through the basement (this was not an easy load-in) affected his asthma -- which he mentioned to me many, many times. The Princess, being an asthma sufferer herself, had no sympathy for this. So, MS changed tactics.

Throughout the afternoon, MS tried the asthma sympathy card, the "look at all of this stuff I moved in. I did it all by myself" card while panting dramatically. (And while standing upstairs, a second angel came in and out several times with boxes that MS still maintained were moved by him, personally.) Then I got the "look how huge my arms are" story. I had to touch them several times and assure him, "Yes. They are huge and very strong." (I too, was trying not to piss him off.) It felt as if he were trying to impress me or get on my good side in any way possible. Probably something that was very necessary in prison with anyone who seemed to be an authority figure.

As the boys were packing up, I tipped each of them and MS snatched the money out of my hands like a starving stray taking bacon. Again, I feel this is obviously learned behavior from growing up in an environment where every thing you had needed to be guarded constantly. Interesting. A bit intimidating -- especially when he was standing on the sidewalk with his hood up and his sunglasses on and his arms folded in a "I dare you to fuck with me" pose -- but all in all, a seemingly decent guy.