the house

Wait, I forgot to mention that we have a house. We moved in over a month ago. I no longer live in a hotel with a minibar. And to be honest I had loads of time during those Last Days of the Minibar to write and post blog pieces, but I didn’t feel like it.

Often I rather felt like watching Netflix and reading Twilight porn and smoking on the balcony. I would apologize, but I’m not sorry.

And yes, I know, I should have posted daily and chronicled the process of finding a home in São Paulo, one that others might find useful should they relocate. But again, I didn’t feel like it. 

And anyway the particulars of finding a home here were the very things rendering me unable to do anything but watch and read crap and smoke, so why, why would I record that noise and spread frustration and misery like the Bubonic plague?

(i just wanted to say Bubonic. heheh. bube.)

I will give you the midget version: three houses stood out; we called them the monkey house, the pirate house, and The House. 

We moved into The House. 

I wanted the monkey in a major way (cause monkeys rule) and Mark wanted the pirate (cause he likes hammocks and rum) until he saw The House. 

We’re here mainly because it is has a yard for the dogs, a modern kitchen and an affordable price tag. 

Then there are the things I never dared dream of, like the in-the-ground pool, the garden house, the jacuzzi, the walk-in closet. Things that kind of don’t exist in New York unless you're johnny pockets.

The only concern I have about this place is that it is a house. 

I haven’t lived in a house in years because I don't like them. I like apartments, noise, movement. Plus I'm incompetent. 

My first day alone here I spent maybe forty minutes trying to figure out how to turn off the light in the driveway before realizing it’s a motion sensor and all I had to do was stop trying and go away. I’m certain that this is a metaphor for something, I just don't know what it is. 

sinta se em casa, bichos