Better your wall than mine

That's that horrible painting that was in my mother's apartment when I got it.  Remember that fucking thing?  It's hanging on a wall at an Asian restaurant in Flushing now.  I went to take a look a while back, I don't even remember the name of the place or where it is, to be honest.  All I know is that it looks much better on their wall than it did on mine.  Good fucking riddance.

Fuck this Christmas music is killing me.  I'm at the deli on the corner because I still have no internet.  They're playing non-stop Christmas music and it's making me want to break things.

But anyway, I came across that picture and had to laugh.  I gave the painting to some dude on craigslist.  I gave most of her shit to him, lamps and couches and chairs and more awful paintings.  He got all kinds of crap out of my hair.  The house looks so much better now.

Except the fucking bathroom floor.  If something isn't done about it soon I don't know what's going to happen.  I can't look at it anymore, much the same way I felt about the painting.  But I have a plan.  It's all coming together.

Sorry for the unfocused randomness here.  Actually, no.  I'm not sorry.

The music, I can't take it anymore.  I have to go, I have to leave.  Can't do it.  Tomorrow will be better, I swear...

Moving day

Hi!  I'm back!  Did you miss me?  Yes, you did.  Don't lie to me...

I've been busy.  Wandering the country, near and far, far and near.  Went to visit Leigh in North Carolina again, had way too much fun again.  I moved to New York in the meantime, too.  As far as moves go, it might have been the easiest transition I have ever made, even easier than when I left San Francisco.  Because I can't seem to keep still for more than six months at a time lately, I have managed to pare down my personal belongings to the point where they fit into the back of a Jeep Grand Cherokee, more or less:

            

Which is great, because that's about as much space as I have in this apartment, more or less.

Loading the truck was easy, mainly because I didn't have to do it.  Mainly I stood around saying, "I don't think everything's going to fit" while Sweetheart loaded the car and said, "That's everything.  What else did you want to take?"

When I got up here, things were just as easy.  Remember the dude from craigslist I told you about, the one who took all the crap from this apartment that I didn't want?  He had said to call him if I needed help unloading the truck when I got back, he said he'd be happy to help me, seeing as how I had given him so much stuff and he really appreciated it and blah blah blah.  So I called him the day before I got here.  Do you know what he said?  "Absolutely, I'll be over at noon tomorrow, you just hold the elevator door open and I'll do all the heavy lifting."

Wow.  Welcome to New York City...

This, by the way, is a completely different version, in fact, a completely OPPOSITE version, of the story about my first day in San Francisco, my "welcome" to San Francisco, if you will.  Remind me to tell you that little gem someday.  Advance apologies to my friends and former co-workers in the Beautiful Bay Area, who are entirely sick to death of hearing that story by now...

Bad taste

I was in New York last week, trying to hurry up and get things done and move shit out and get rid of what I don't need and make room for the things I do need.  Figuring out where I'm going to put all the shit I'm bringing up from New Orleans.  Wondering how it was possible that my mother had such inexcusably poor taste in furniture.  Fuck, that shit was ugly.  Do you want to see how atrociously ugly it was?

                

      

Seriously.  That fucking carpet, too.  Holy shit.  Easy to replace, but holy shit.  Really?

The couch and hideous chair are gone, thanks to an angel from Craigslist, along with a bunch of other unnecessary crap I wanted to get rid of.  It took the dude three trips in his Grand Marquis, but ultimately he went home with a glass coffee table, an ugly couch with a matching chair and ottoman, a blender, two ugly lamps, a huge glass water pitcher with matching bowl, and a well-executed but ridiculously stupid oil painting.  There's another offensively stupid painting that's taking up entirely too much space on my wall that I think I've convinced him to take, he told me to call him when I get back next month.  He's going to help me figure out what to do with the damn kitchen, too.  Have I ever mentioned how much I adore Craigslist?  The amazing, wonderful, magical power of Craigslist?  No?  Remind me to tell you about it someday.