You open the front door to see a charming wrought-iron fence sitting beside a cobblestone street. Grass pokes up between the brick sidewalk which groans beneath the thousands walking upon it. The bricks actually dip in the center of the walkway, curving down the well-trodden path. I find it interesting that the relatively busy street neither threatens or intimidates me, but charms me with the roar of the varied cars as they rush on by. Grass that is long but just barely short enough to please the eyes nestles around the trees that relax complacently by the streets and the houses. This, the town of  stamped bricks and exquisite Queen Anns that sweep up to the sky, their widow walks and turrets grasping gracefully the blue above them. This, the town of the 32-room Book Loft, covered wall to wall and floor to ceiling with a voluminous assortment of every type of book, with hundreds of small, worn arrows stuck to the thread-bare carpet, directing the attentive shopper to the nooks and quoins holding the sought-after treasure of the shop. This, the town of the prince in his 150-year-old mansion and the pauper in his small yet charming loft in the back alleys. This, the town of the old. This, the town of the new. This, the town of German Village in Columbus, Ohio. 

How I adore this place. How happily the houses wink back at me and how gentle the sun falls upon me. The climate here is moderate. Oh blessed moderation!

I'm enjoying myself thoroughly. Yesterday we drove to Columbus and stayed the night at Cindy's house, my dad's lady friend. She forgot the bag that she needed for work in the morning at my dad's house, so we drove to German Village for a bite at the local starbucks and a nap in her cute apartment. Basically, it's Seattle, but you don't have to pay to breathe.

A couple times I've encountered a few things here and there that have reminded me of Carter, but on the whole I don't think I get attached like mum does. She keeps telling me: “Give yourself 3 weeks, it always takes a while for the change to settle in. Of course you're not crying now, but you just broke up with him. It'll come soon enough.” Well, I'm still waiting for the water works, just for the record. I always knew mum and I had our differences emotionally, but I really don't think I get attached. Or I don't let myself. Or I do and am pretending so well that I've actually convinced myself otherwise. Either way I'm not crying. There will be first loves, second loves, third loves, and fourth loves. My love life has just begun, I'm not going to mourn it for what it is: a compilation of many acquaintances (not necessarily many, but more than one for that matter.)

Elisse and I switched phones so that I don't have to writhe under the burden of evil, evil roaming rates. You know that commercial where the man drops his phone in the bear pit at the zoo ( I think it's a bear) and he jumps in because he's afraid the bear will make a roaming phone call? Yeah. They're not over exaggerating. Anything smaller than a great white is going to have to fight me to make a roaming call on my celly, it's like 70 freaking cents a minute. I'm not down with that. Not down with that at all.

I also did end up going to that cocktail party on Wednesday, and I had an absolute ball. Fish (or phish, however the obscure nickname is spelled) throws delightful parties. Everyone was dressed up, or at least you would know they tried if you knew the person. Glen Miller strummed gently in the background (at least for the last part of the party; earlier on they were playing some dreadful violation against good taste that I have completely blocked out of remembrance) and we sat on a pleasant evening, talking about everything from Ella to dyeing underage girls green in, what appeared to me to be an insensitive one, myself being underage and all, an attempt to avoid the whole statutory rape issue (All in all I was against the idea, for obvious reasons). I've decided I approve of Fish on some levels, which is crucial, because he wants to date Elisse. I haven't given her final approval yet, though, something of this nature must be thought out.

I believe it is 12:26 Cinci time, so I must leave you now and slumber in my daddy's semi-musty basement. Adieu!