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As if the job news isn't enough, one thing that I've hinted at before is the fact that Frenchie and I are moving in together.  Next week.  The day after I quit my job.  I guess when it rains, it pours. 

We're not married, heck, we're not even engaged but it is really the right move for us to make.  We are getting a bigger place, where I will be able to set up that dream home office, and will also have room to entertain.  We'll also be able to have guests stay over comfortably and I'm really looking forward to being a hostess.  You can imagine, when I told my ultra-conservative Asian parents about this, they weren't exactly jumping for joy.  But Frenchie and I are both closer to 30 than we are to 20 and it makes sense to me and him to take our relationship to this next level. 

However, it didn't really hit me until I was picking up mail from my current apartment that I'm leaving the place that I spent my first working years.  That I'm leaving the place that I lived in with only a mattress on the floor and a desk for the first six months, the place where I crawled into bed in the wee hours of the morning time and time again after a long night at work, the place where I held my first real dinner parties and where I was glad to go back to after a holiday at my parents' home even.  I was lucky to have it and an awesome, drama-free roommate that put up with my nutty work schedule.

We both have a lot of work to do before we get to next Saturday and a heck of a lot of packing to do.  I'm excited though - more excited than I have been in a long time.  I think I've craved this change for awhile and it's a relief, in a way, to finally be getting it.