Changes in latitude, changes in attitude

the kitchenI spent a good part of the holiday weekend helping my BFF Cheryl move into her new condo in San Diego. Having lost her job in Irvine, she quickly obtained another at better pay in San Diego (who knew losing your job could be such an advantageous sort of event?) and in one fell swoop went down and negotiated the terms of the new job AND found a place to live. This is NOT a person who lets the grass grow under her feet!

Her new place had quite a rep to live up to. During her brief tenure in Orange County, she lived in what can only be described as a fairyland of perfection, the Newport Bluffs. It was a gated community of perfectly maintained streets and well-kept grounds. It had an on-site residents-only gym, a movie theater, and three swimming pools. *sigh* Most of us can only dream of living in such a place. Admittedly, the price she had to pay was steep: she was surrounded by the plastic people of the O.C. who drove their massively expensive cars way too fast down boulevards as wide as most freeways and felt a sense of entitlement greater than that which America feels towards oil in the Middle East.

So she moved to San Diego. And because she wanted to experience urban living (one might argue that living in downtown San Diego doesn’t quite constitute “urban living” but I digress) she chose a place that is right in the hart of downtown. It’s not nearly as grandiose as the Bluffs (but few places could be); still it has a lot going for it. For starters it has three fewer flights of stairs in it, and it has a market within walking distance (just crossing the street near the Bluffs constituted taking your life in your hands, the way folks drove around there), AND she can walk to work. She griped about the lack of closet space, but given the volume of clothes and shoes she has, the Trump Towers might not have enough closet space for her (just kidding, Cheryl – not).

We drove down yesterday and waited for the movers, then spent several hours directing them and unpacking boxes (whatever we could empty, they’d take away). I caught the 5:50pm train back home (she’s about a mile from the downtown San Diego train station, too!). I collapsed on the couch after saying hello to Chuck and fell asleep about fifteen minutes into – some show. It’s really tough when it’s you moving, but helping others move is exhausting, too.

Pics of the new digs here.

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