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After two years, six rooftop photo shoots, a few mice given the same name, a fennec fox blog launch party, one trip to The Edge and back (the bar on the corner, not suicide), and two untouched bottles of Manischewitz, it is time to pack up our humble abode and scatter elsewhere in the city.  For me, that means moving just a few blocks up the street.  For Sylvie, however, that means setting up camp in a new neighborhood with a new zip code.  Considering I have only recently begun to feel confident about the number of zeros in my zip code, I’m glad it’s her battle and not mine.

I’ve done quite a bit of complaining, what with the paper thin walls and eccentric neighbors, but as I take down photos, seal boxes, and pour the final bottles of wine, I’m reminded of all that I will miss.

Favorite Store.  I will certainly miss that.  The inspiration for this blog, Favorite Store has never let us down.  Well, except for that time we were in search of hot fudge, although I’m writing that off as a fluke.  The delivery truck must have been stuck on the FDR.  My new apartment is not far from Favorite Store, but there is another deli in its way: More Favorite Store.  I have never seen so many kinds of hummus.  Sorry Favorite Store, you may have my heart, but More Favorite Store has single Tootsie Roll Pops.

I will miss the comments from the quirky people on my street.  Being told that one hopes you get punched in the face when you turn the corner never gets old.  Luckily I am gaining a new cast of characters.  The other day on the walk to my new apartment I was told I have an “onion head.”  Onions…layers…depth…genius…I’m taking that as a compliment.

Despite the fact that the members of the Hells Angels motorcycle gang prefer most activities to smiling, occasionally stumble out of their headquarters and narrowly avoid killing me on the sidewalk, and they’ve been known to throw people out of windows, I get a strange feeling of comfort knowing they are close by.  I think I’m beginning to understand them.  Just last week I learned that not only do they dislike people outside of their group, but they also dislike each other!  This was visible in their interest in ramming into each other’s motorcycles while impatiently waiting at stoplights.

I will miss the Super’s son’s inexplicable dislike for Sylvie.  He likes everyone else, and will even ask everyone else out on dates.  But not if Sylvie is present.  Her presence invites glares, coldness, and most often, complete avoidance.

It is really incredible how Sylvie’s room adapts effortlessly to the change of seasons.  Her window remains open year round, and one can never tell by looking out it what season or time of day it really is.

We own a signed photo from the Irish Tenors’s 2000 Christmas Show.  You probably don’t.

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It has been Chanukah for two years. Opening dresser drawers yields a bounty of small dreidels, and the windows are adorned with menorahs and star decals.  The freezer houses three boxes of frozen latkes which are just fifteen minutes away from complementing a joyous occasion. I’d venture to guess that there are very few other apartments so equipped for spontaneous Chanukah celebrations.

At any given moment there are more dead flowers in our apartment than there are real ones.

There is a dog on our floor named Baby.  This is a clever name for him though, because he is old.  Baby and I occasionally meet on the stairs, and he stops to let me ascend or descend first, as my legs usually move faster.  He is the only considerate baby I’ve ever met.

We live above a Hookah bar and still do not know its name.  We are also continually surprised when it isn’t empty.

No matter the level of political unrest, there is a constant war raging in our building.  It is a war that usually starts around 11 PM and really picks up by 1 AM.  It is a war whose proper name is either Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare or Gears of War.  We’re not quite sure which.

I must now learn to live without the luxury of whispering through poorly constructed walls. I estimate that it will take several months to bring my voice back to normal speaking volume, as I’ve grown accustomed to imitating the cast members of Felicity.

Lots of other things happened here; the projector exploded and I thought I got shot, we watched every episode of MTV True Life, we cooked vegan meals with names like “Christmas Dish” and “Little Italy,” we fooled many visitors with decorative paper that looks like a Magic Eye but really isn’t, and we broke a whole lot of glasses as well as one toe.

Apartment, you were good to us.  I can only hope the next tenants will appreciate you and your quirks as much as we did.

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