As some of you know and most of you don’t, in about three or four weeks I’ll be leaving my cozy Brooklyn apartment for a spacious 3br in way-the-fuck-uptown Manhattan, where I’ll be gaining a Roommate and a Fearsome Beast. In the spirit of giving Chris one last chance to run for his life, here are some things anyone who plans to live with me probably ought to know:

All that stuff about waking up early on Saturdays to watch Pokémon? That’s not a joke. I actually do set my alarm early enough that I can be up and coffee’d before the theme music starts. When I spend all week bitching and moaning about how I’m always exhausted, you may be forgiven for supposing that when the weekend rolls around I’ll take advantage of the opportunity to sleep in: but this is not the case (I’m just not that rational).

Similarly, those cute little toothbrush-grabbing animal heads I recently attached to your bathroom wall are the beginning of the end as far as your tasteful, minimalist apartment decor is concerned. You haven’t seen how many toys I have, because my apartment is smaller than yours and many of them are boxed up in the closet or under my bed. But with the advent of a three-bedroom residence, you can bet they’ll find their way out. And it’s not just toys - have you seen my Hello Kitty chopsticks?

I’m happy to cook, but there’s a reason I’ve had to go grocery shopping before almost every visit you’ve made to my place. The only things I keep in any quantity around my house are bags and bags of those instant Thai noodles. I know you like Thai noodles now, but this is literally all I eat when I’m by myself.

I’m really, really bad at remembering to do laundry. I’ve actually gone out and bought socks during the day because I forgot to do laundry the night before and had to leave for class still sockless or in knee-highs that were never intended to be worn in real life.

There’s a bag of wrapping paper and ribbon that lives in my closet. Soon it will live in your closet.

I don’t ever throw away old magazines: I just stack them up on what passes for my coffee table until they start to slide off of it, at which point they move to the floor next to the coffee table or possibly under my bed. But they don’t ever get thrown out, so I hope you’re interested in acquiring some back issues of Wired and The New Yorker.

And finally: well, I can’t tell you everything. That would ruin the surprise.