Check Your Boy Out in Apartment Therapy

If you know me, you know that every space I have ever lived in has just been a bonafide storage unit for hundreds of books. For years, I've lugged boxes upon boxes of books from one apartment to the next, plopping my weary tush down on various people's furniture, and dreaming of the day I could buy a couch of my own that won't turn my spine into one of those bead mazes that pediatricians have in their waiting rooms.

At long last, that day came last year: I finally moved into an apartment of my very own. As someone who would rather be turned into a human piñada than leave their house, ever, I thought, if I'm going to stare at the wall for hours on end, it might as well be a pretty wall to look at.

A few months later, I achieved the prismatic nirvana of my dreams. I posted a few pictures on my Instagram, and, the next thing I knew, Apartment Therapy emailed me to ask if they could feature my home on their site. Figuring this was a great way to make my nemeses jealous, I said yes. Behind the shower curtain went my laundry and bags of clothes and books to donate. Vacuumed was every visible crumb. Gently placed underneath the bed were various pieces of explicit homoerotic art. And, boom.

Read my feature here. You can also watch my video tour/interview, in which I cursed within the first two seconds:

Thanks again for stopping by. Come again soon! (But not any sooner than, like, eight months from now, at which point we will, fingers crossed, rain check!)