The Moving Chronicles: Part Two

Okay so I wasn’t AS productive today as I hoped to be, but it really wasn’t my fault. Its snowing! In New York! In October!

In any event, I dropped off 5 more boxes of crap PLUS 3 storage boxes (so I guess that’s 8 boxes), I drank 4 beers, ate 5 kit kats, took all the stuff off the walls (not including the horizontal blinds, I don’t want my creeptastic neighbor peeping on me), I packed my car with the last of the boxes and miscellaneous stuff AND I bought a TV and DVD player.

Alright so it wasn’t as bad as I thought. I could’ve done another run, but I don’t want to strain myself. All I really have left is the bed and couch, some clothes (packed, yo!) And the rest of the blinds.

I keep flashing back to when my friends showed up at my last move and I had shoved everything in the middle of my living room in plastic bags and yogurt carts, hung over and crabby, dropping my mattress on my cat. She hasn’t been squished yet, but my dog is a nervous wreck. Wait till she sees the new bed I bought her.

I’m totally redeeming myself here.

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The Moving Chronicles: Part One

Boxes Packed: 10
Boxes Moved: 8
Recovered Items: 4.5
Beverages: 3 beers, 1 martini
Broken Items (as of 10:30 PM): ZERO

Today was a wild success, especially considering the first time I moved I was doing 85 down the Cross Island Parkway with a mattress sticking out the back window of my ex boyfriend’s barely-street-legal Durango (I’m pretty sure I took it without him knowing), hung over, and the last time I moved I spent the 4 days up to it watching tv and drinking beeeeeeeehas, smashing (at least) 11 pint glasses.

I had boxes this time. Boxes! And tape. AND a marker.

Granted, it took me 3 hours to even get started – 2 hours to find a home depot and 1 hour to remind myself if I was tipsy by the time Mom swung by to help me out, she’d kick my butt.

I didn’t kill my landlord, not even when she disturbed my packing groove to show the apartment to an unsuspecting woman (who she’s planning on over-charging), or asked me to stay another year.

I found 3 remote controls, 5 nail clippers, a broken digital camera (that’s the half), and 5 rolls of Christmas wrapping paper. I made friends with my new Super, and the lady a few apartments down invited me over for wine when I move in.

I don’t know if it was one of those “I’m just being polite and don’t really mean it” invites, but I don’t care. I’m going anyway.

Sloppy Food? Sign me up.

I love BBQ.  Eating BBQ with 2 gay men (Wifey and Poodle)?  Well, that’s just an extra special treat. 

This place we went to was okay.  Not good, not bad – okay.  My Little Poodle got ribs bigger then the ones tucked inside his tiny poodle ribcage (and subsequently whined about the prospect of getting sauce all over his pretty shirt), Wifey got herself a rib combo and I ate catfish.

Oh shut up, sometimes catfish is a good choice.  We were gonna cruise gay bars after dinner, couldn’t have bbq sauce all over me.

The best part of this BBQ joint we went to, Dallas BBQ, were the giant drinks and the extra shots my waiter slipped me in test tubes.  And the two or three kettle and clubs he made me (f*cking strong, kid) whilst only charging me for one, well, thank you.  It kind of made up for the fact that the rest of the night I was invisible to every one of the opposite sex (think: water water everywhere, not a drop to drink).

moving moving moving

Some people HATE moving.  Me, I kinda like it.  Its almost like a fresh start – and each time I move I say to myself, “Self, you are going to pack your stuff up nicely this time, you’re going to label it, and you’re not going to leave it in boxes for 6 months after you move in”. 

Of course, that hasn’t happened – last time I moved I took two days off work to “pack” and I essentially sat on the couch, watching television and drinking beer.  When my mom and sister showed up to help, I had moved all of my belongings into the middle of the living room next to a stack of bags.  The U-Haul was a friggin disaster, when we opened it in front of my new place, bags came careening out of the back, smashing some of my beloved pint glasses.

In any event, THIS time will be different.  I’m even getting boxes – real boxes – from the store.  And I have a marker, and tape, and I’m going to start this ish tonight. 

Why tonight? Because the new land lord has a creepy crush on me and is letting me move in early (apparently I “brighten his day” over the phone.  And he texts me.  Texts me!  WTH).  I’m going to start boxing things up and sneaking them into my car tonight, tomorrow night, etc. in the hopes that I won’t have to spend too much time talking to my current-soon-to-be-ex-a$$hole-landlord.

She’s literally insane, and I might kill her.  I told her I was moving to a completely different boro, not across town, so if I ever run into her, I’m just going to pretend I’m my twin, Regina.  I don’t have a twin, but maybe she won’t know that.

This weekend will be…interesting.  At the very least, I might have some stories to share when it’s all done.

I Can Never Take a Compliment

 

So I dated this guy YEARS ago, and when we broke up…well, let’s just say that it was “messy”.

In any event, I’ve gotten past it, and I’m pretty sure he has too, so I would like to think that we’ve become friends.  He was in Gotham yesterday, getting fitted for whatever he’s wearing as an extra in a movie he’s in, so I agreed to meet him for a few beers.

After the initial nonsense, he says “well, you look really good. Thin, you look nice”

My response? You’d think it was “thanks!”  Nope.  “Um, what, was I fat and ugly before?”

Broads are crazy.

Occupy Wallstreet?

Everyone who knows me knows I don’t follow politics, the news, traffic or weather – I’m pretty much not interested in anything that doesn’t have a direct effect on my day-to-day life (so I guess I kinda pay attention to weather).

Needless to say, I was kind of surprised when I stumbled upon the people protesting at “Occupy Wall Street”. Honestly, probably would have walked right past em had it not been for the hippie beating a drum in my face.

“What are they protesting?” I ask
“Corporate America”
“Why?” I ask
“Because they have no jobs”

Oh. All I saw walking around there were dirty people in tents, scratching their dreadlocks and smoking weed.

Essentially – their message was lost on me. It just looked like a concrete version of Woodstock. Get a job and get off Wall Street, hippie.

Boys are Funky

My house mate is a wonderfully weird man, and we get along quite well, but living with a boy is “different”.

I don’t mean bad – he’s not dirty, he puts his dishes away, doesn’t leave garbage anywhere, and is never here. Except like, Tuesdays. Or once in a while to shower.

But he thinks he lives in a hotel, because he uses my towels. That are hanging to dry in the bathroom. That. I’ve. Used.

And it’s honestly unintentional, which I think, makes it even funnier. But after 3 consecutive days of wayward towels, I asked him what was happening.

“Wait…those are yours?”

It seems as though the house service was putting out somewhat fresh towels for him every day.

Love you house mate!

The Cheesecake Trials

We’ll delve into my own personal, single life later – and ya’ll won’t be disappointed.  As surprising as it is to believe, I AM single and I DO have a potpourri of personalities from boyfriends/dates/stalkers past.

But this, this story is not me.  I only had the pleasure of hearing it second-hand from a friend of mine, killing time on the train the other day.

**Preface: when I’m on the train, I am as unapproachable as possible.  I’m talking, fake sleeping, fake reading, fake listening to the iPod.  It’s not that I don’t like talking to people, I just don’t want to get stuck in a conversation with someone lasting an hour (or more, if there are delays) when I know we’re going to run out of things to talk about after about 5 minutes**

Moving right along.  My buddy spots me on the train and slides in next to me with: You know women are crazy, right?  As his opener.  Jackpot, I can listen to this.  I bite, and say “Oh, I’m sure you had a hand in whatever happened, but tell me why you think that”

Turns out he met a chic at the grocery store (now, I always hear rumors that the grocery store and the coffee shops are a hot spot to meet people, but I never believe it.  I always think about when I’m at the grocery store – messy, disheveled, coupons flying everywhere, not in control of my shopping cart – but I guess I’m wrong) and they started talking.  He said she seemed nice enough, so they made plans to hang out that Sunday afternoon at a chain restaurant not too far from where we live (think: step up from Applebees, step down from a real restaurant).

They meet, and the first thing he notices is her blackened, dead tooth: “C’mon.  Its 2011.  You’d think she’d get that sh-t fixed by now”.  And her jacked up feet: “First time I met her she had on sneakers, now she’s in flip-flops.  It was awful.  Just awful.”

Ha, now I know here’s where I’m supposed to say “Don’t be so superficial”, but I can’t, because I agree with him.  Keep your jacked up feet in check, ladies, no one likes nasty toes.  The tooth – idk, maybe she just doesn’t have dental.  But when you’re dating, you’re essentially marketing yourself, and if you can’t keep the corns to a minimum…no ones buying, kid.

Apparently it was clear relatively quickly into the date that there wasn’t going to be a second one.  No animosity (fingers crossed he didn’t comment on her toes), they just weren’t feeling it.  They power through dinner and ask for the check.

At the beginning of the afternoon, she had mentioned that she ordered a cake before they got there (hint: this place is most likely known for their desserts) for a friend’s birthday, and asked the waiter to bring it out with the bill.  After watching the bored expressions on their faces and their constant phone checking during the meal, the waiter must have assumed they were a couple, so he brought everything in a combined check. 

Dinner: 50 beans, Cake: 65.

My friend isn’t cheap, but he’s also not a sucker.  He isn’t going to pay for a cake, for some broad, who’s having a party he wasn’t invited to, so he asks the waiter to put dinner on his bill and give this chic a separate check. You can guess what happens here – the waiter mistakenly charged him for the entire bill and asked them to work it out so he didn’t have to get a manager involved.

I’m not always the most reasonable person, but even I would get the money for this dude – even if I had to hit an ATM.  This broad tosses him some attitude and finally says “fine.  Follow me, I have money in my car.”  They get up to leave, head towards the door when…

she falls out in a dead on sprint, cake in hand, cuts off a family at the door and bolts to her car.  You can re-read that if you want, cause I had to ask him to repeat it. 

“Shut UP.  What did you do!” (my buddy is a big dude – all ripped up.  Not the sprinter type though, but I was secretly hoping he ran after her, tripped her, and sat on her back eating the cake with his giant, meat hook hands)

“I just stood there, in shock”.  Weak Sauce.

Here’s the kicker – the next morning she sent him a text “You’re a really nice guy, but I don’t think that we should date.  I didn’t really feel like we had much there”

…so I’m moving…

My current land lord is a raving lunatic. My neighbor – raving lunatic. After 3 years of living among the lunatics, I decided to pack up the apartment and move.

Now, I live in a beach town. It’s approximately an hour away from where I work so I was planning on moving a little closer to my job when I realized that would simply mean I had no excuse to be late anymore.

not that my current excuses are anything good, but sometimes they’re warranted.

Part of the moving process is the “showing of the current apartment” to potential renters. I’m okay with that – it doesn’t really feel like home now, and lessbehonest, I’m not Rockefeller. The most important thing in that apartment to me is my dog and my pint glass collection. Unfortunately, I’m 98% sure that my dog would happily go off with a complete stranger if they scratched her ears…leaving me with the pint glasses.

In any event, I told ole Gerty upstairs to just give me a ring before viewings – if I was at the house, I’d stay out-of-the-way, if I was at work, well…alright, alright, that’s not really an option.  If I was at the bar – I’d happily tell her not to judge me based on the dishes in my sink (I was microwaving marshmallows the other day.  Absolutely hilarious – trust me and try it, but do it on paper plates cause it’s a b!tch to clean up after)

She agreed, however, she’s a filthy liar. Rewind to a few days ago, I’m sleeping on the Big Easy in my drawers, covered in tissues and a pit bull, messy hair, with Days of Our Lives blaring in the background (I don’t ALWAYS look a hot mess, I was sick, I swear), and in walks Gertie, potential renters in tow.

Did you see that I was in my drawers? I’m talking under-roos, panties, undies, grannie panties, whatever you want to call them – so it’s not like I could jump up and hide in the bathroom without further humiliating myself.

At least the potential renters got a glimpse as to what they might have to deal with if they decide to rent from her.

Hello world!

As per WordPress, I’m supposed to delete the original text on this blog post and write my own.

But what if I have nothing to write about?  Or talk about?  Yea Right!

Here’s what you need to know about me:

  • I love my friends and my family and my dog and a handful of people I work with.  I suppose they aren’t really “People I Work With” then, since I consider them friends, but I don’t always call them all the time, so they’re not really friends? What category is that?  I digress.
  • I get bored very easily and have now decided to become an internet phenom (this is where you come in)
  • I do a lot of stupid sh-t, maybe you’ll find it funny.  If anything, I’m going to need to document the shenanigans in case I don’t actually become someone who has a biography written about them.

I guess that’s it.  Oh!  I love feedback.  Even the bad stuff.  I might not agree with it, but I’ll read it.  And then laugh at you.  Maybe.

 

**DISCLAIMER: ALL NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED.   YOU MAY THINK YOU KNOW WHO I’M TALKING ABOUT – ASK THEM.  I’M ALL ABOUT ALIASES**