So years ago I had oral surgery because I had an impacted cuspid (hot!) And I remember thinking at the time that unlike so many experiences in life where you get yourself all worked up and nervous and then they go fine and are much better than you were expecting, the surgery really kind of sucked. And then I had to have it again a couple years later or maybe some months later, I can’t remember because it was high school when I was busy writing down what I wore everyday so I didnt repeat which is funny since now I always repeat. Clothes are really just an extension of your personality and my personality is green sweater. But anyway, moving is like surgery. It always is worse than you expect, or just as bad, and yet it gets done and then you forget about it and then eventually you have to do it again. I like the place though. I just feel a little disconnected because thanks to superior customer service, and that’s sarcasm, I have no internet or cable. Or phone, but that was to be expected. Anyway, if I sound hoarse tomorrow it’s because I had to smoke crack to settle my nerves. Also because I was on the phone for hours trying all manner of pleading from desperate to irate to resigned. Anyway, once I’m connected again just you wait because I took pictures with fred and rita today while moving in the midst of a crazy allergy attack. So, there’s that to look forward to.
The best email I received today
from my mom:
I’m teaching Tobey to “dance.”
I am alive!
Sorry blogreaders, I’ve been kinda MIA today. Last minute moving junk and either stress is making me feel like I’m going to barf or I really am going to barf. Which is good when you think about it because it’ll lighten the load. At one point today I stood in front of five rolls of carpet which ranged in color from sand to taupe and then decided that I really couldn’t decide today. I’m bad at decisions and I’m bad at being bad at decisions. But I am totally ready to talk about fall fashion trends on Good Day New York on Friday morning at 7:45am, so if you happen to be up and in New York, do tune in. I see it like this: I’ll talk about fall fashion trends while modeling a look from past seasons. I call it the “this was hanging in my closet” look. Well, to be honest it might be the “this was hanging in my closet except for part of it which was crumpled on my floor.” That look, by the way, is hot on all the runways in between my bedroom and living room.
Tomorrow is the official move, by the way. I’m at that point where I’m not just bringing stuff that I need or love, I’m just dumping crap into boxes. It’s a sort of defeat, but it sure goes faster!
this is what my Twitter page looks like
When you’re on Twitter and you look at your home page it shows you all the messages that all the people you’re following have written along with yours. This is my impression of what my home page looks like:
everyone else: politics! denver! convention! important work!
me: boxes!
Tobey rolling over
I like how he kinda gets stuck in the middle.
Tobey takes a load off
Tobey in repose
And to think I almost moved without these
So I’m packing up my books and I realized there’s a pile on the floor of my sister’s books but some of mine are mixed in. Thank God I realized that, I thought to myself as I recovered my trusty copies of:
Joy Shtick (or What is The Existential Vacuum and Does It Come with Attachments?) by Joy Behar
But Enough About Me… by Jancee Dunn
The Scorecard by Greg Gutfeld
The Verbally Abusive Relationship by Patricia Evans [not a how-to, unfortunately]
Happiness is a Warm Puppy by Charles M. Schulz
What we talk about when we talk about moving
Dustin: happy packing!
Me: oxymoron!
Box: 1; Me: 0
I’m having a fight with this boxTwice today I’ve found myself talking out loud even though I’m alone. The first was when I nearly stepped in a street loogie and let out a little yelp and then the second was this afternoon when I put together this wardrobe box which refused to crumple down in any way that would allow for neat and efficient taping. I’m pretty pissed at this box right now. Not as pissed as the woman I passed this morning who was berating her dog Lincoln because “Did I tell you you could get up, Lincoln? Did I? LINCOLN!” At first I thought she was yelling at a dog named Winky which made it even sadder. It was kind of like when you pass someone who’s yelling at a kid and you want to reach out to the kid and report the parent but instead you just glare, kind of hoping they’ll notice you but also a little afraid of what they’ll do if your glaring causes a confrontation. But then I was thinking that she wasn’t hitting her dog, she was just upbraiding him, but it was upsetting all the same. And she was a little thing and the dog was a big thing (a black lab) who was sort of putting up with her even though you could tell she was a total pain the ass.
But anyway, back to this box, it’s just very spirited and on the one hand I don’t want to break its spirit but on the other if it’s going to house my clothing it’s going to need to learn to cooperate.
Sometimes my finger hits the wrong key
And I end up saying to someone “We should totally do that and blob about it!”
I should get back to packing though. More packing, less blobbing.