My Quest For A Completely Average Pizza

Last week I moved into a new apartment. Moving is a horrible task, and even though I tried to do a bunch of things that would ostensibly make my life easier during the move — renting those reusable plastic bins instead of getting moving boxes; calling around to find the mover who would give me the best quote; arranging several furniture deliveries so that things would arrive at my apartment the day I got here — life, as they say, had other plans for me. My moving bin company ghosted me. My movers lectured me on the stripped screws holding together my bedframe and told me they couldn’t reassemble it for me in my new apartment (I didn’t know!! I bought it on Craigslist!!!!) so I slept on my mattress on the floor for several nights like a 22 year old drummer living in a living room converted into a bedroom in Bushwick. I’m still waiting for the vintage dresser I bought to arrive and yet I have the gall to be offended it’s still not here, like I didn’t buy it from a stranger on Instagram.

This is all to say that at the end of moving day when I realized I didn’t know how my patio doors locked, the shower curtain rod fell down, and I found a spider crawling over the aforementioned mattress on the ground, the only thing in the world I wanted was to eat a middling slice of pizza. I went over to my boyfriend’s apartment (due to the unlockable patio doors, the fallen shower curtain, and the spider) and asked him if he wanted pizza. Specifically what I asked him was: “Do you want like a Saraghina pizza, or like, pizza place pizza?” Thankfully, he chose…