#spider-managing

Mary Jane had started talking from the moment she’d opened the door to the Upper East Side penthouse, a bottle of wine in hand that she absolutely took a sip directly out of as she kicked the discarded Louboutins she'd left directly in the doorway out of the way. “So now it’s saying my new password cannot be my old password and it’s still telling me that my current password is not my password. I haven’t even gotten to touch the multi-factor crap yet and I am about to throw my computer off the balcony so please tell me you know how to do this." Because if not then, well a new laptop would be joining the new phone and everything would probably be twice as complicated. "Also hi, welcome home," said after another hefty glug of wine directly from the mouth of the bottle, stepping forward to plant a red-lipsticked-kiss right against his jaw (his cheek had been the aim, but well, out of comfortable reach without the Louboutins). "I ordered pizza."

Packing was a process, and never one that she’d been particularly good at; moving was agonizing, and Mary Jane was always sorely tempted to hit the easy button and just rebuy what she needed upon arrival to her new home away from home (because the penthouse in New York would always be home, even if she wasn’t always there). She was more or less doing just that, just packing essentials with professional packers and movers and everything else in-between coming within the next few days to help do the job right....but that didn’t help her now, not when Miss-Type-A had her entire closet emptied onto her bedroom floor and the mess was worse now than when she’d started.  But it was still progress, even if it looked like the oppposite. The big move was looming, she was still trying to wrap her head around it all, and there were still a few loose threads she had to snip or tighten up before she made the move to Sokovia. Working on any of those would be undeniably more useful than sorting through clothes, but she was a little too deep into a bottle of red for anything work-related, even when her head was still a-buzz with all things work-related-move. The wine had been necessary to try to quiet some of that, and for a little liquid courage to dial a much-familiar-but-long-since-dialed phone number. Hesitation for that would explain the closet situation, too. And she almost hung up before the ringing in her ear ended and she was forced to push forward in the decision to call: “Hey, Pete.”

“ -- Lesson number one: the coffee cart sucks, and the coffee downstairs in the lobby is somehow almost as bad.  Oh also, the Keurig in the break room is definitely broken and does this thing where it sometimes sprays boiling water all over the counter-top so it’s safest when avoided. Always bring your own coffee.” A lesson she’d learned the hard way, over the past few months. Call it her good deed of the day to save the new guy the same fate with the Keurig that she had suffered. Her good deed was in-hand in the form of two takeaway cups in a drink carrier; ‘Stacey’ was scribbled on one in messy half-script with ‘new guy’ on the other, considering she absolutely didn’t know his name. Hell, Stacey wasn’t her name either but that was another story entirely. “I don’t know your order, but I figured a latte would be better than the crap from the cart. Trust me on this.”