Getting better all the time

I painted and I painted and then I painted some more. Thank God for a certain Russian sexpot who has very kindly been helping me for the last couple of days. She rightly informed me that you find out who your friends are when you move. True enough.

Today we ate chocolate croissants and slathered layer after layer of butter coloured paint on the lumpy aged walls of my apartment. After five hours we both agreed that it was coming along. Now all that is left is to paint 2 rooms, a hall, all the baseboards and trim, rip out the carpets, build an enclosure over the gross hole by the bathtub and various other odds and ends.

I am supposed to move in on the 15th. Methinks that won't be happening. I do want to be in there this weekend though. I want my own space. I want my things around me. I want to make it through the first night of 'new home' noises and to make the place smell like my place rather than paint and TSP. Whenever I want to make a new place feel like home I bake cookies and cook a turkey. Not necessarily in that order. You do that and the place smells and feels like home.

Am I making you sick? Insert finger into dimple here.