Still on the shitlist.

After being semi-moved for about a week, the cat still hates me and won’t come out from under the bed, even for kitty junk food (read: deviled ham).

The big furniture has been moved and I’m sleeping at the new place, and now it’s all about sorting what’s left at the old place into two piles – what’s coming to the new place and what’s getting sold/thrown away/burned.

As much as I’d like to go back to my usual routine of work/gym/sleep, I’m still stuck moving for a few more days.
On the bright side, I went to see my family and ate more fatty food in six days than I normally do in a year. Also, I brought home a pound of jalapeno bacon. Sweeeeet.

I wonder how well it’ll go with jalapeno vodka.

Filed under: Uncategorized

It’s all over but the shouting.

After what seems like eons of tearing my hair out and cursing the bad luck I have to be me, I’ve finally managed to find an apartment.

The Good: It’s in a much better area (rich people adjacent as opposed to tranny hooker central), it’s easy biking distance to the beach (my current place is biking distance to the beach – but it’s an hour ride with a tailwind), the landlord is very nice, it’s closer to work, and I’m not being charged a pet deposit, so the cat will continue to  freeload. It’s near a lot of nice restaurants and an all-night coffee shop is just around the corner. It’s also in a section of town that I’ve never really spent any time in, so it’s kind of like moving to a whole new city.

The Bad: It’s small. I don’t mean ‘kind of small’. I mean ‘postage stamp’ small.  It’s about a quarter of the size of my current place, and there’s no yard or utility room or closet space or front porch. Hell, there’s not even a garage – it’s a car port, so I can’t even cram junk into the car’s room.  Also, since it’s in West LA, the traffic is beyond horrible at rush hour – not that I come home at 6 pm very often.

The Ugly: Most of my stuff is going to have to go. Since I’ve lived in the same place for quite some time, I’ve accumulated lots of crap – most of which I’ve been saving for the proverbial rainy day or an unexpected apocalypse, but now I just don’t have the room, so out it goes.

This has been more difficult than I’d imagined. Aside from the ‘but I might neeeeeeed it’ factor, throwing away damned near everything I own is scary. I’ve got a pile of stuff that I absolutely positively won’t part with (first editions of books, my project bicycle, jewelry, etc), but most of it I’m just going to have to suck it up and throw it out.

Things I’ve tossed so far:

About a million paperbacks.

Cheap plastic dishes from Tar-jay (I’m going to use my grandmother’s Wedgwood china as my everyday dishes, simply because I don’t have room to keep more than one set).

Clothes that are two sizes too small and out of style.

Shoes. Mostly heels that I can’t wear anymore.

A bunch of childhood crap that my sister sent me because she didn’t want it cluttering up her house, but didn’t want to throw it away. Serves her right.

I’m moving the furniture Sunday, but since I have this place until the end of the month, I’ll use the bonus time to assess what I can fit into the new place and what I can’t. Then, at the end of the year, I’ll sell off what I can’t take and throw one hell of a party in the empty shell of my former life.

Which is all good, but I may not post much until the end of the year, when all this shit is over and done with.

Be patient.

Filed under: Non-Work

This rant’s been coming on for quite some time.

It’s a good thing that I don’t have any work this week, since I now have a date by which I must vacate my current home – January 3, 2011.

So, instead of earning a living, I’ve been burning gas by driving around town looking at apartments from sunrise to sunset.

My main problem seems to be landlords’ creative interpretation of the English language.

An apartment with such small rooms that I can stand in the middle of said room, stretch out my arms and touch opposite walls?  Not fucking spacious.

Two burner hot-plate and the sink’s in the bathroom? Not a fucking gourmet kitchen.

Right across the street from the freeway? Not fucking quiet.

Nobody’s been killed in the building so far this week? Not fucking safe.

Built in 1899 and not had any maintenance since then? Not fucking quaint.

Parking in an unsecured lot six blocks away? Not fucking convenient. Not by  a long shot.

Illegal garage conversion in a paved-over backyard that’s the domain of two angry (or friendly – who can tell?) pit bulls who are ‘just kidding’ when they bite? So not a fucking ‘spa-like setting’, dude.

Don’t even get me started on ‘cozy’.

Dammit, can’t I just see one honest ad? “Hey, this place sucks balls,  but it’s cheap so what are you gonna do, deadbeat?”

This needs to be over soon, especially since today the construction workers knocked a very expensive rice cooker off a shelf and broke it. Of course, the landlord’s not going to pay for it, since it’s apparently my fault that the construction workers, while very nice guys, are clumsy.

I need a vacation.

Filed under: Non-Work