Wew! It was a mad dash getting everything pulled out of the house, and I’m sweaty and tired and cranky. But it’s DONE! I’m so excited. Nothing is ever entirely bad, of course, and there are always going to be good memories mixed in with the bad. So was the case in living in Bed Stuy.

Here are some of my favorites:

The parties. All of them! There were too many to count, and a lot that just kinda came together last minute. We rocked it out almost every month, and I got to know so many cool people who were friends of friends that later became friends of my own.

November 4, 2008, 11:00pm and the hours that followed. Never, ever, ever will I forget the air in the streets that night, hugging neighbors, slapping high fives and crying like crazy, overjoyed people. I know it was similar in other parts of Brooklyn, but I don’t think it was as vibrant, as meaningful, as in a poor black neighborhood. I don’t care what you think of Barack Obama: it was an amazing day for black people (and, really, it was an amazing day for everyone who hates racism).

Sitting in the tiny front entry way bundled in my coat with Bra the cat curled in my lap purring like crazy, happy to have somewhere warm to put his paws.

Fried chicken! Horrible, greasy, sketchy fried chicken, right down the block.

The look of sadness on my old-lady neighbor’s face when she saw us bringing our final boxes to the car. “You’re leaving us?” she said, and Rob said, “Yeah, we are.” “Awww.” she said, crestfallen, and I felt bad, which is saying a lot.

Time to move forward, though! Here we go. Park Slope. Tiny apartment. Laundromats. Vibrant neighborhood. Excellent shopping. John Hodgman as a neighbor!

Happy August.

*This is the fourth place Rob and I have lived together in almost as many years. WHO DOES THAT?