You're probably going to want to smack me for what I'm about to say. I would want to smack me for what I'm about to say. But whatever, it's on my mind, so I'm just going to say it.
At first I was excited about fixing up this apartment. I ran around saying, it's going to be so great! It's going to be so much fun! I get to fix it up however I want, paint it any colors I want, put in a new kitchen and new light fixtures and it's going to be SO MUCH FUN!!
You know what? This shit isn't fun. At all.
As a matter of fact, it's so not fun that I really haven't even started yet. I put a rug over the huge stain on the ugly carpet, replaced the sheets and pillowcases on the sofabed, got a new tablecloth and threw a blanket over the ugly-as-shit-but-comfortable-as-fuck chair. I hung a few random pictures in spots that already had hooks in the wall. After that, the home-improvement project came to a screeching halt.
I look at the carpet and it depresses me and I think, oh, I should go to the hardware store and get a big knife and a pair of hedge clippers and tear that shit up and throw it away. Then I could at least sweep and polish the lovely hardwood floor underneath, and eventually have someone re-sand and re-finish it for me. But then the thought of actually DOING that depresses me even more and I want to go back to bed.
I should remind you here that I'm really lazy, people. Really, really lazy. I hate doing shit that requires me to, you know, move, unless it's something I personally find enjoyable and rewarding, like riding my bike or climbing around on mountains and shit like that. Tearing up a carpet and painting my apartment don't qualify.
I need to call a fucking painter to come over here before I rip out the carpet though, because there's no way in hell I'm painting it myself, and picking colors gives me a headache. Once they start painting my life will be thrown into upheaval until they are done, and I'm sick of my life being in fucking upheaval. I've been living in a state of upheaval since JANUARY when this whole mess started.
But I can't stand the way it looks for much longer, so there you go. I'm kind of fucked for a while, no matter what.
We're not even going to talk about the kitchen right now.
One of my biggest problems is that I can clearly see the finished result in my head, and I really can't seem to wrap my head around the concept that it's a "process" as they say, and that it will "take time and patience (and lots of fucking money, of course) to complete but will be so rewarding once it's finished!" Yeah, I know it will be rewarding. But if I know what I want it to look like, why can't it be done tomorrow? Why can't I just leave town for a couple of days and get a team in here and have it be magically and beautifully finished upon my return? Isn't that how it works on all those TV shows?
So yeah, I'm feeling resentful over having to direct my time, money and energy towards all this crap right now when I have better things to do with my time, money and energy. Much better things. Like, you know... write this blog, or see what people are doing on facebook. Or ride my bike around the park, or sleep. Or eat pizza, or sit in bars and talk to strangers...
Yeah, I know. I'm an asshole, aren't I?
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Night and day
This is what it looked like before:
I only lasted a week looking at that shit. I said to myself, well who can blame the woman. I would have killed myself too if I had to look at that shit day in and day out. At first I was going to wait, I said, well, it might be ugly, but you just got here and you don't have a job so you really shouldn't go spending money on sheets and pillowcases until you have a job and have some money coming in. Then I said, OK, if I have to look at that shit for one more day I am going to climb onto the roof of this building and jump off. So I went down to Laytner's Linens to rectify the situation.
The painting had to go as soon as humanly possible. I couldn't look at it anymore without wanting to stab myself in the eye. I gave it away, to that dude from craigslist who has been so helpful, the one who helped me move my shit in. I was foaming at the mouth to get it out, and the minute I did I was overcome with a hugely depressing and horrible feeling of guilt. I have a feeling that she loved that painting and it meant a lot to her for some reason (because she was out of her mind and bat-shit crazy) and I'm sure she would have been extremely hurt and depressed to know that I was so eager to get it out of my house. Because it was fucking hideous.
But I got over it rather quickly, and was grateful for the plain white wall underneath. It's going to be forever before the place looks the way I want it to. It needs to be painted, I need to tear up the carpet and refinish the floor. I need this, that, the other. Whatever. It's getting there. This is what it looks like now:
At least we're moving in the right direction.
I only lasted a week looking at that shit. I said to myself, well who can blame the woman. I would have killed myself too if I had to look at that shit day in and day out. At first I was going to wait, I said, well, it might be ugly, but you just got here and you don't have a job so you really shouldn't go spending money on sheets and pillowcases until you have a job and have some money coming in. Then I said, OK, if I have to look at that shit for one more day I am going to climb onto the roof of this building and jump off. So I went down to Laytner's Linens to rectify the situation.
The painting had to go as soon as humanly possible. I couldn't look at it anymore without wanting to stab myself in the eye. I gave it away, to that dude from craigslist who has been so helpful, the one who helped me move my shit in. I was foaming at the mouth to get it out, and the minute I did I was overcome with a hugely depressing and horrible feeling of guilt. I have a feeling that she loved that painting and it meant a lot to her for some reason (because she was out of her mind and bat-shit crazy) and I'm sure she would have been extremely hurt and depressed to know that I was so eager to get it out of my house. Because it was fucking hideous.
But I got over it rather quickly, and was grateful for the plain white wall underneath. It's going to be forever before the place looks the way I want it to. It needs to be painted, I need to tear up the carpet and refinish the floor. I need this, that, the other. Whatever. It's getting there. This is what it looks like now:
At least we're moving in the right direction.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Sticker shock
My mother had so much crap it was unbelievable. I kept what was usable or worth selling, but the rest of it... Man, that shit had to go. My friend Jenelle helped me unload most of it. The rest I carried to the Goodwill up the street, one box here, another there. Most of it was garbage, some of it was decent but ugly as sin, and some of it was stuff I figured I might be able to sell, but it would be a pain in the ass and take a long time and a lot of effort for only a little cash. I needed space in the apartment more than I needed cash in my wallet, so off to the Goodwill it went.
I walked by today and saw some familiar china in the window. Lenox, nothing special. Horrible lamb and flower pattern. Eleven plates, eight coffee cups, one pair of salt and pepper shakers. I remember them well. I remember being extremely grateful to have them out of my kitchen cabinets. Imagine my surprise when I saw the price tag...
Hah. Good luck, Goodwill. Better your shelf space than mine.
I walked by today and saw some familiar china in the window. Lenox, nothing special. Horrible lamb and flower pattern. Eleven plates, eight coffee cups, one pair of salt and pepper shakers. I remember them well. I remember being extremely grateful to have them out of my kitchen cabinets. Imagine my surprise when I saw the price tag...
Hah. Good luck, Goodwill. Better your shelf space than mine.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
The short version of the long story
There have been requests from the blogosphere (Hi, Cassie!) and other random sources for me to please explain the story of how and why I moved from San Francisco to New York with a six-month layover in New Orleans in between.
OK. No problem. For those who know me personally and are familiar with the story, feel free to move along. You're probably sick of hearing it by now. For those who don't know me personally and are unfamiliar with the story, buckle in. It's going to be a bumpy ride.
So. Here we go.
After a complicated and convoluted initial twenty years of existence (another story for another time) I moved from Long Island, NY to New Orleans, Louisiana in 1996, found my Shangri-La, and remained there in a state of delirious bliss, my days and nights filled with music and dancing, great booze and even better food, family and friends, love and laughter.
After nine-ish years or so, I began to grow weary of my familiar bliss, car-jackings on my corner, murders twenty feet from my front door. Yes, quite literally. Twenty feet from my front doorstep.
So I began a search for a new home.
I wandered, as I always had, but this time with a purpose in mind. Trying to find the next stop. Quite frankly, the rest of the country left me cold. Nothing seemed right. Until I went to San Francisco.
Oh, San Francisco! She was so sexy, so smart. Gorgeous, truly stunning, natural beauty everywhere. She really had her shit together, too. I heard that all of the restaurants offered health insurance, and then someone mentioned medical marijuana delivery and I was sold.
So I moved there, got the best job I have ever had, and unfortunately discovered that the douchebag-to-cool-person ratio is painfully skewed in the wrong direction. Again, remind me to tell you the story about The Incident With The Jumper Cables someday. Please let me say, however, that what I miss the most about San Francisco is without a doubt the amazing, incredible, brilliant, talented, generous and beautiful friends I made there. But in general, San Francisco and I, we just didn't see eye to eye.
So for four and a half years I struggled and tried to be happy in a city I really wasn't happy in and went to visit New Orleans on a constant basis and did my best to enjoy living in San Francisco and tried to make a square peg fit in a round hole and then I broke my knee in Peru. This was about a year ago. I was down for the count, out of work for several months. While I was recovering, I had all the time in the world to think and travel and visit home (New Orleans) and realize WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING?!?! I miss New Orleans, my family, my friends, my life, my joy, it's all there, what the fuck am I doing in San Francisco, living half a life, laughing only half my laughter, crying way too many tears?
So, while on a knee recovery visit to my beloved New Orleans, I made the decision that I would move back. I tied up my loose ends, made some calls to San Francisco, told my job I wasn't coming back. Gave notice to my apartment manager and room mate. The decision was made, the deal was done.
Three days later, I got a phone call saying that my mother was dead. Seems she jumped off the roof of an apartment building in Manhattan on Christmas Eve. As a matter of fact, I was sitting right here when I got the call.
By the way, here I should probably mention that until that day, I had no idea where my mother was or what she was doing with her life. For twenty-three years, I had only a vague clue where the woman was. Suspected she was in Manhattan. Didn't know for sure. Again, another story for another time.
Turns out Mom owned an apartment in a co-op building in New York City. Turns out she did pretty well for herself, in a round-about way. Turns out the apartment was paid for, cash. No mortgage due. Lucky me.
There was no will, I'm the only heir, by default it goes to me. Maintenance fees are due each month, at what amounts to a very affordable price, by NY standards. So logically, it made sense for me to move in.
Regardless of the fact that I was in the middle of moving back to my beloved Nouvelle Orléans. Nevermind that I was about to go to lots of trouble and spend a bunch of money dragging all my shit halfway across the country. Forget that New Orleans was welcoming me home with arms wide open.
I had some things to think about.
Like I said, my move from SF to New Orleans was already in motion when I got the news, and initially it was all such a mess that I needed a minute to figure things out. Where better than home, surrounded by friends and family, loved ones? I packed up my shit, drove across the country, went to New Orleans, went to work, and starting thinking.
I decided to move to New York.
Regardless of how happy I was. Nevermind that my day to day life was so fulfilling I really thought I was crazy for leaving. Forget the fact that I had just (finally) met an amazing Sweetheart that put me on a pedestal, treated me like a queen and made me scream so loud in the sack I forgot other men even existed.
New York just seemed like the right thing to do.
So I packed up my shit, (again) and drove across the country (again) and moved my ass up to New York.
Here I am. I just got here. Don't even have a job yet. We'll see what happens. I'm sure it will all be fine. I'm actually getting on a plane to New Orleans tomorrow morning. Just a visit. Only a week. Had a ticket with Southwest I had to use up before the tenth. I figured, where else but home? Go dancing, visit Sweetheart. Eat some gumbo. Ride down by the river one last heartbreaking time.
Hmm. That makes, what? I've been gone eighteen days? Eighteen days and I'm already salivating, scratching, clawing, foaming at the mouth, chomping at the bit, dying to get home? How long will I make it in New York? A year? Two, three, five? Who's taking bets?
Sorry. I know I promised you a short story. But it was, really. It could have been much longer. Trust me. You want the long version? Really? Send me an email. Make sure you've got time to spare...
OK. No problem. For those who know me personally and are familiar with the story, feel free to move along. You're probably sick of hearing it by now. For those who don't know me personally and are unfamiliar with the story, buckle in. It's going to be a bumpy ride.
So. Here we go.
After a complicated and convoluted initial twenty years of existence (another story for another time) I moved from Long Island, NY to New Orleans, Louisiana in 1996, found my Shangri-La, and remained there in a state of delirious bliss, my days and nights filled with music and dancing, great booze and even better food, family and friends, love and laughter.
After nine-ish years or so, I began to grow weary of my familiar bliss, car-jackings on my corner, murders twenty feet from my front door. Yes, quite literally. Twenty feet from my front doorstep.
So I began a search for a new home.
I wandered, as I always had, but this time with a purpose in mind. Trying to find the next stop. Quite frankly, the rest of the country left me cold. Nothing seemed right. Until I went to San Francisco.
Oh, San Francisco! She was so sexy, so smart. Gorgeous, truly stunning, natural beauty everywhere. She really had her shit together, too. I heard that all of the restaurants offered health insurance, and then someone mentioned medical marijuana delivery and I was sold.
So I moved there, got the best job I have ever had, and unfortunately discovered that the douchebag-to-cool-person ratio is painfully skewed in the wrong direction. Again, remind me to tell you the story about The Incident With The Jumper Cables someday. Please let me say, however, that what I miss the most about San Francisco is without a doubt the amazing, incredible, brilliant, talented, generous and beautiful friends I made there. But in general, San Francisco and I, we just didn't see eye to eye.
So for four and a half years I struggled and tried to be happy in a city I really wasn't happy in and went to visit New Orleans on a constant basis and did my best to enjoy living in San Francisco and tried to make a square peg fit in a round hole and then I broke my knee in Peru. This was about a year ago. I was down for the count, out of work for several months. While I was recovering, I had all the time in the world to think and travel and visit home (New Orleans) and realize WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING?!?! I miss New Orleans, my family, my friends, my life, my joy, it's all there, what the fuck am I doing in San Francisco, living half a life, laughing only half my laughter, crying way too many tears?
So, while on a knee recovery visit to my beloved New Orleans, I made the decision that I would move back. I tied up my loose ends, made some calls to San Francisco, told my job I wasn't coming back. Gave notice to my apartment manager and room mate. The decision was made, the deal was done.
Three days later, I got a phone call saying that my mother was dead. Seems she jumped off the roof of an apartment building in Manhattan on Christmas Eve. As a matter of fact, I was sitting right here when I got the call.
By the way, here I should probably mention that until that day, I had no idea where my mother was or what she was doing with her life. For twenty-three years, I had only a vague clue where the woman was. Suspected she was in Manhattan. Didn't know for sure. Again, another story for another time.
Turns out Mom owned an apartment in a co-op building in New York City. Turns out she did pretty well for herself, in a round-about way. Turns out the apartment was paid for, cash. No mortgage due. Lucky me.
There was no will, I'm the only heir, by default it goes to me. Maintenance fees are due each month, at what amounts to a very affordable price, by NY standards. So logically, it made sense for me to move in.
Regardless of the fact that I was in the middle of moving back to my beloved Nouvelle Orléans. Nevermind that I was about to go to lots of trouble and spend a bunch of money dragging all my shit halfway across the country. Forget that New Orleans was welcoming me home with arms wide open.
I had some things to think about.
Like I said, my move from SF to New Orleans was already in motion when I got the news, and initially it was all such a mess that I needed a minute to figure things out. Where better than home, surrounded by friends and family, loved ones? I packed up my shit, drove across the country, went to New Orleans, went to work, and starting thinking.
I decided to move to New York.
Regardless of how happy I was. Nevermind that my day to day life was so fulfilling I really thought I was crazy for leaving. Forget the fact that I had just (finally) met an amazing Sweetheart that put me on a pedestal, treated me like a queen and made me scream so loud in the sack I forgot other men even existed.
New York just seemed like the right thing to do.
So I packed up my shit, (again) and drove across the country (again) and moved my ass up to New York.
Here I am. I just got here. Don't even have a job yet. We'll see what happens. I'm sure it will all be fine. I'm actually getting on a plane to New Orleans tomorrow morning. Just a visit. Only a week. Had a ticket with Southwest I had to use up before the tenth. I figured, where else but home? Go dancing, visit Sweetheart. Eat some gumbo. Ride down by the river one last heartbreaking time.
Hmm. That makes, what? I've been gone eighteen days? Eighteen days and I'm already salivating, scratching, clawing, foaming at the mouth, chomping at the bit, dying to get home? How long will I make it in New York? A year? Two, three, five? Who's taking bets?
Sorry. I know I promised you a short story. But it was, really. It could have been much longer. Trust me. You want the long version? Really? Send me an email. Make sure you've got time to spare...
Monday, July 26, 2010
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...
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...
Sunday, July 18, 2010
See you soon...
Well, that was a lazy exit. To be honest, it wasn't much of an exit at all.
When I was preparing to leave San Francisco six months ago, it was a "hurry up, get this shit done, everything must go, say a million tearful good-byes, holy shit I'm really leaving" sort of situation.
When I was preparing to leave New Orleans these past few weeks, it was more of a "it's a nice day, let's go to the pool, I can just leave this stuff here, I'll miss you, but I'll be back in two and a half weeks and then again in late September so I'll see you soon" sort of situation.
It doesn't even really feel like I've left. I'm just taking an extended vacation, or working offshore for a while, as Sweetheart likes to say. My friends aren't all that concerned, they know I can never stay gone very long. Besides, half of them are storing shit for me, knowing full well that they'll be getting their closet space back sooner rather than later.
So yeah, no problem, no big deal. See you soon. Down by the river, or maybe poolside, mimosa in hand, like I never missed a day.
When I was preparing to leave San Francisco six months ago, it was a "hurry up, get this shit done, everything must go, say a million tearful good-byes, holy shit I'm really leaving" sort of situation.
When I was preparing to leave New Orleans these past few weeks, it was more of a "it's a nice day, let's go to the pool, I can just leave this stuff here, I'll miss you, but I'll be back in two and a half weeks and then again in late September so I'll see you soon" sort of situation.
It doesn't even really feel like I've left. I'm just taking an extended vacation, or working offshore for a while, as Sweetheart likes to say. My friends aren't all that concerned, they know I can never stay gone very long. Besides, half of them are storing shit for me, knowing full well that they'll be getting their closet space back sooner rather than later.
So yeah, no problem, no big deal. See you soon. Down by the river, or maybe poolside, mimosa in hand, like I never missed a day.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Getting ready
Last time I was in New York I rented this bicycle:
I spent four solid hours riding around my neighborhood. Up and down the same streets. Over and over. Figuring out which gym I should join and where the 24-hour drugstores are. I found a jazz club on Broadway that will probably get me into a lot of trouble. I discovered that the Hudson River can be just as meditative as the Mississippi.
In other words, I finally spent a day slowing down a little bit, and learning to love my new home.
Every time I've come to New York the past six months I've been running around at breakneck speed, Doing and Doing and Doing. Visit this person, see that person. Dinner here, drinks there. Sign papers, meet people, clean out an apartment, haul a dead woman's shit away. Busy Busy Busy. But every time I go it gets easier and there's less work to do.
So it was nice to finally have time to be lazy and ride around and see what was going on. It turns out my mother picked a nice neighborhood. I liked what I saw.
I liked the bicycle, too. At the end of the day, when my four hours were up, I bought it from the guy who rented it to me. There's room for it in the apartment now that all that shit's cleaned out of there. It's in the hallway, waiting for me to get back so we can go to that jazz club together...
In other words, I finally spent a day slowing down a little bit, and learning to love my new home.
Every time I've come to New York the past six months I've been running around at breakneck speed, Doing and Doing and Doing. Visit this person, see that person. Dinner here, drinks there. Sign papers, meet people, clean out an apartment, haul a dead woman's shit away. Busy Busy Busy. But every time I go it gets easier and there's less work to do.
So it was nice to finally have time to be lazy and ride around and see what was going on. It turns out my mother picked a nice neighborhood. I liked what I saw.
I liked the bicycle, too. At the end of the day, when my four hours were up, I bought it from the guy who rented it to me. There's room for it in the apartment now that all that shit's cleaned out of there. It's in the hallway, waiting for me to get back so we can go to that jazz club together...
Friday, July 2, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Lazy day
Wilson Creek, North Carolina
I still don't know where I'll be living in two months. New York? New Orleans? Who knows. But wherever I end up, North Carolina is poised to become my new favorite distraction. It's only a day's drive from either city, and there's tons of places like this to lounge around all day with your friends...
I still don't know where I'll be living in two months. New York? New Orleans? Who knows. But wherever I end up, North Carolina is poised to become my new favorite distraction. It's only a day's drive from either city, and there's tons of places like this to lounge around all day with your friends...
Thursday, April 8, 2010
It's just a portion of your life
Words of wisdom from that genius, Jenelle.
Jenelle and I have been friends for, well, it seems like forever but I guess it's only been about eight years. She's from New Orleans, her whole life. We used to work together. We also used to play together. Solid partner in crime.
She moved to New York about a year or so before I moved to San Francisco. Of course we stayed in touch, and of course madness ensued when we would visit New Orleans at the same time. We once got kicked out of a bar at three am for asking what the difference was between the mozzarella sticks and the fried cheese on the appetizer list. We weren't trying to be rude. I think the bartender was having a bad day.
So anyway, as I mentioned, Jenelle is as solid as they come. Both times I was in N.Y. recently, she showed up to Take Care of Business. This last time, when I needed help taking bags and bags and bags of crap to Goodwill, Jenelle showed up with a van and came upstairs. I had just been looking around thinking, "Fuckin' A. This is a lot of shit. I'm not sure if we'll be able to get rid of all this today".
Jenelle came in, gave a brief inspection and said, "All right. Let's do this!"
We got everything downstairs and filled the van in record time. The parking gods smiled and we got a spot with time left on the meter right in front of the drop-off center. Unloading was twice as fast. Plenty of time left for pizza and beer.
Jenelle: "So dude. You coming to NY to stay for a while?"
Me: "Yeah dude. I like it here. If I want to keep the place, I've got to move in, at least for now. But fuck, man. I love New Orleans. I just got back. I really hate to leave."
Jenelle: "I hear ya, man. But dude. It's just a portion of your life. It might be three months, three years, whatever. It doesn't have to be forever. If I thought I was going to be gone from New Orleans forever, I'd go fucking insane. We can always move back. We WILL move back."
Yeah. I knew that. But something about that phrase. I liked it. It rolls around in my head all the time now, when I'm driving back from New Orleans East and get stuck in traffic, or I'm drowning in a sea of dysfunction at work, or feeling sad about leaving a place I love for an undetermined amount of time.
Dude. It's just a portion of your life...
Jenelle and I have been friends for, well, it seems like forever but I guess it's only been about eight years. She's from New Orleans, her whole life. We used to work together. We also used to play together. Solid partner in crime.
She moved to New York about a year or so before I moved to San Francisco. Of course we stayed in touch, and of course madness ensued when we would visit New Orleans at the same time. We once got kicked out of a bar at three am for asking what the difference was between the mozzarella sticks and the fried cheese on the appetizer list. We weren't trying to be rude. I think the bartender was having a bad day.
So anyway, as I mentioned, Jenelle is as solid as they come. Both times I was in N.Y. recently, she showed up to Take Care of Business. This last time, when I needed help taking bags and bags and bags of crap to Goodwill, Jenelle showed up with a van and came upstairs. I had just been looking around thinking, "Fuckin' A. This is a lot of shit. I'm not sure if we'll be able to get rid of all this today".
Jenelle came in, gave a brief inspection and said, "All right. Let's do this!"
We got everything downstairs and filled the van in record time. The parking gods smiled and we got a spot with time left on the meter right in front of the drop-off center. Unloading was twice as fast. Plenty of time left for pizza and beer.
Jenelle: "So dude. You coming to NY to stay for a while?"
Me: "Yeah dude. I like it here. If I want to keep the place, I've got to move in, at least for now. But fuck, man. I love New Orleans. I just got back. I really hate to leave."
Jenelle: "I hear ya, man. But dude. It's just a portion of your life. It might be three months, three years, whatever. It doesn't have to be forever. If I thought I was going to be gone from New Orleans forever, I'd go fucking insane. We can always move back. We WILL move back."
Yeah. I knew that. But something about that phrase. I liked it. It rolls around in my head all the time now, when I'm driving back from New Orleans East and get stuck in traffic, or I'm drowning in a sea of dysfunction at work, or feeling sad about leaving a place I love for an undetermined amount of time.
Dude. It's just a portion of your life...
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Upheaval
It looks like I'm about to be one.
Well, not really. I'll always be a New Orleans girl. We all know that. She's my love, my life, my everything. My heart and soul live there, and always will. I can't stay away. I'm not even gone yet, and my heart is already aching for her. Just the thought of leaving, it makes me cry. But I'll be back. At the end of the day, I'll always come home. She's my destiny.
But right now, it seems like life is taking me to Manhattan for a while. I have an opportunity, and something is pulling me. I feel compelled to follow. Feels like I'm on the edge of a cliff right now.
Shit. Shit shit shit. I never wanted this! New York was never in my plans, never on the list. I grew up in her shadow, on Long Island. Had no interest in the city. Moved to New Orleans in 1996 and never looked back. Now I'm being catapulted back. My head is spinning.
My life is about to be in upheaval again. Moving, packing, saying goodbye to a place I love, tearing myself away from friends, family and loved ones. Didn't I just do all that two months ago?
Leaving San Francisco was hard. Leaving New Orleans will be harder. To be honest, I might not be able to. It would be so easy to stay. I have everything I need. Great food and music. All the love I can stand. A beautiful home and pool weather nine months out of the year. Sexy jazz musicians to date...
Scheming and dreaming. Need to sleep on it tonight...
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Nostalgia
Finally made it to my old neighborhood the other day. Life was good over there. Fun times living at The Compound. I have friends from San Francisco in town and I'm trying to show them as much of the city as I can, which is great, because I'm in the process of rediscovering the city myself. I really haven't been back very long.
My former hood looks great, all the good stuff is still there, and now there's all kinds of new stuff to sort through. I'm hugely pissed that the St. James Cheese Company didn't open until after I left. If the St. James Cheese Company was three tiny New Orleans blocks away from my house when I lived there, I might never have left in the first place. Lots of other cool stuff too. I saw a sign outside of some new place on Magazine St. that said "boudin meatloaf."
What? Boudin meatloaf?
I should have stopped. Why the fuck didn't I stop? When will I learn that my greatest regrets are always the things I didn't do? I'm still kicking myself for not buying that jacket at that thrift store up the street eight years ago. It was twenty bucks! What the fuck was I thinking?!
Of course I went to see my old place. My former landlord owned all the houses on the block. I was surprised to see that they were being painted. I didn't even recognize mine, it was quite unsettling. I'm really hoping that it's primer I saw and not the final color. Because if it is, it's hideous. I was thrilled to see that my sticker hadn't been removed from the window, although the bastards got paint all over the bottom:
I'll bring something to scrape it off with next time I'm in the area. Who dat!
My former hood looks great, all the good stuff is still there, and now there's all kinds of new stuff to sort through. I'm hugely pissed that the St. James Cheese Company didn't open until after I left. If the St. James Cheese Company was three tiny New Orleans blocks away from my house when I lived there, I might never have left in the first place. Lots of other cool stuff too. I saw a sign outside of some new place on Magazine St. that said "boudin meatloaf."
What? Boudin meatloaf?
I should have stopped. Why the fuck didn't I stop? When will I learn that my greatest regrets are always the things I didn't do? I'm still kicking myself for not buying that jacket at that thrift store up the street eight years ago. It was twenty bucks! What the fuck was I thinking?!
Of course I went to see my old place. My former landlord owned all the houses on the block. I was surprised to see that they were being painted. I didn't even recognize mine, it was quite unsettling. I'm really hoping that it's primer I saw and not the final color. Because if it is, it's hideous. I was thrilled to see that my sticker hadn't been removed from the window, although the bastards got paint all over the bottom:
I'll bring something to scrape it off with next time I'm in the area. Who dat!
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Lunch break
Funny how easy it is to slip back into comfortable routines. Sometimes it feels like I've never been gone, like I've been living here the whole time and have only been on a really long vacation for the past four and a half years. San Francisco seems like a foggy dream now. It feels good to be sitting here in between shifts again. Like catching up with an old friend.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Love affair
I was riding my bike down by the river today. The sky was red from the setting sun, casting a deep pink shine on the water, all sleek and sexy. The lights were coming on downtown, and the city was glittering. It was then that I had to stop pedaling, because my eyes were blurred with tears.
I am so fucking happy to be home.
Have you ever rekindled a love affair with a former flame? A former flame that you were passionately in love with, that you had sheet-grabbing, shirt-tearing, back-arching sex with? You know those initial stages, when you can't get enough, when you can't wait to retrace every pleasure-zone, reveling in the familiar nooks and crannies of your sweetheart's body, delighted by what is still the same and discovering the ways you both have changed? When you want nothing more but to gaze into each other's eyes, to kiss and caress, to devour each other, wholly and completely?
Yeah, that's pretty much where I'm at with the city of New Orleans right now.
My love for this town, it's almost unbearable sometimes. No other place on the planet can do it to me like she does. I wish I knew why. I've tried to break away, oh sweet Lucifer have I tried. San Francisco did her best, but could never seem to completely satisfy. Like a neglected wife, I kept having to sneak away to the seductive arms of my former lover at every possible opportunity.
Sorry, SF. The song was mistaken. I left my heart in New Orleans. You're beautiful, you're well put-together. We had some amazing times, didn't we? You have a lot to offer. We'll always be friends. I'll always love you. But I'm not "in love" with you. Don't worry, I'll still come around. We'll still have lots of fun together. Hey, you never know what might happen in the future. Seriously. But right now...
Right now I'm exactly where I want to be. I hope you understand.
I am so fucking happy to be home.
Have you ever rekindled a love affair with a former flame? A former flame that you were passionately in love with, that you had sheet-grabbing, shirt-tearing, back-arching sex with? You know those initial stages, when you can't get enough, when you can't wait to retrace every pleasure-zone, reveling in the familiar nooks and crannies of your sweetheart's body, delighted by what is still the same and discovering the ways you both have changed? When you want nothing more but to gaze into each other's eyes, to kiss and caress, to devour each other, wholly and completely?
Yeah, that's pretty much where I'm at with the city of New Orleans right now.
My love for this town, it's almost unbearable sometimes. No other place on the planet can do it to me like she does. I wish I knew why. I've tried to break away, oh sweet Lucifer have I tried. San Francisco did her best, but could never seem to completely satisfy. Like a neglected wife, I kept having to sneak away to the seductive arms of my former lover at every possible opportunity.
Sorry, SF. The song was mistaken. I left my heart in New Orleans. You're beautiful, you're well put-together. We had some amazing times, didn't we? You have a lot to offer. We'll always be friends. I'll always love you. But I'm not "in love" with you. Don't worry, I'll still come around. We'll still have lots of fun together. Hey, you never know what might happen in the future. Seriously. But right now...
Right now I'm exactly where I want to be. I hope you understand.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Pre-game...
The French Quarter was at its best. The chaos of Mardi Gras is a beautiful and wonderful thing, precisely because of the disorganized chaos of a million different kinds of parties happening all at once. This was different, and a thousand times better. It was the jubilation of Mardi Gras, but it was like our own (public) private party. A million people celebrating one common cause, and all wearing the same costume. BLACK AND GOLD PATROL!!
I've never seen so many happy people in one place. Move over, Disneyworld...
This guy is my hero. I can't imagine being on crutches in the French Quarter this weekend. Actually, yes I can. Broken knees suck.
The beauty of complete strangers hugging and kissing on the street never gets old to me. Post-game, on Frenchmen St. some guy grabbed my friend and starting screaming and hugging him. Then they grabbed each other's arms and started jumping up and down screaming, "WHO DAT!! WHO DAT!!"
"Earl," I said, "Who was that?"
He said, "I don't know. But I feel closer to him now..."
It was a beautiful thing. I myself have been picked up and spun around by so many random dudes this weekend I'm still dizzy. These two were walking past each other and started shrieking and hugging. For no apparent reason. Oh yeah, wait a minute. The Saints were about to play in the Superbowl!
The best part is, I hadn't even been back in town for twenty-four hours yet. What a welcome home party!
I've never seen so many happy people in one place. Move over, Disneyworld...
This guy is my hero. I can't imagine being on crutches in the French Quarter this weekend. Actually, yes I can. Broken knees suck.
The beauty of complete strangers hugging and kissing on the street never gets old to me. Post-game, on Frenchmen St. some guy grabbed my friend and starting screaming and hugging him. Then they grabbed each other's arms and started jumping up and down screaming, "WHO DAT!! WHO DAT!!"
"Earl," I said, "Who was that?"
He said, "I don't know. But I feel closer to him now..."
It was a beautiful thing. I myself have been picked up and spun around by so many random dudes this weekend I'm still dizzy. These two were walking past each other and started shrieking and hugging. For no apparent reason. Oh yeah, wait a minute. The Saints were about to play in the Superbowl!
The best part is, I hadn't even been back in town for twenty-four hours yet. What a welcome home party!
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Shadow Shot Sunday
New Orleans, LA
January 3rd, 2010, about three pm
The Calm Before the Storm
This was just a few minutes before I got a phone call that would turn my world upside down. Crazy day, crazy past few weeks. Total monkey circus. Looks like things are settling down now.
This was also a few minutes before the Saints lost their final game of the season, finishing at 3-13. They may have dropped their last three, but they finished strong and that's what matters. The New Orleans Saints are going to the Superbowl. For the first time ever. I wish I could explain what it means to this city. What it means to me. I couldn't have picked a better time to move back home...
WHO DAT!! WHO DAT!! WHO DAT SAID DEY GONNA BEAT DEM SAINTS!! WHO DAT!! WHO DAT!!
GEAUX SAINTS!! BLACK AND GOLD SUPERBOWL!! WHO DAT!!
http://heyharriet.blogspot.com/
January 3rd, 2010, about three pm
The Calm Before the Storm
This was just a few minutes before I got a phone call that would turn my world upside down. Crazy day, crazy past few weeks. Total monkey circus. Looks like things are settling down now.
This was also a few minutes before the Saints lost their final game of the season, finishing at 3-13. They may have dropped their last three, but they finished strong and that's what matters. The New Orleans Saints are going to the Superbowl. For the first time ever. I wish I could explain what it means to this city. What it means to me. I couldn't have picked a better time to move back home...
WHO DAT!! WHO DAT!! WHO DAT SAID DEY GONNA BEAT DEM SAINTS!! WHO DAT!! WHO DAT!!
GEAUX SAINTS!! BLACK AND GOLD SUPERBOWL!! WHO DAT!!
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Storm Warning
New Orleans, LA
Hurricane Wanderlust is due to make landfall this evening. Floods of joy are expected in the Bywater, Faubourg Marigny, French Quarter, Mid-City and Uptown neighborhoods. It is advised to remain indoors, especially when the Saints win the Superbowl tomorrow. Those outside their homes during this time are subject to hugging, kissing, screaming, and tears of pure, unadulterated Bliss.
But you knew that already, didn't you?
It's been a long road home. I have driven for days. Battled snow, sleet, torrential downpours. Just to get Home. To my beloved bayous and lakes and rivers. To the magnolias and crepe myrtles. To the Spanish moss in City Park. To the music, the dancing, the crawfish. To the biggest motherfucking Superbowl party this country has ever seen!
WHO DAT!! GEAUX SAINTS!!
Oh wow. Homeward bound. Only a matter of hours now. Yeah you fucking right!!
Hurricane Wanderlust is due to make landfall this evening. Floods of joy are expected in the Bywater, Faubourg Marigny, French Quarter, Mid-City and Uptown neighborhoods. It is advised to remain indoors, especially when the Saints win the Superbowl tomorrow. Those outside their homes during this time are subject to hugging, kissing, screaming, and tears of pure, unadulterated Bliss.
But you knew that already, didn't you?
It's been a long road home. I have driven for days. Battled snow, sleet, torrential downpours. Just to get Home. To my beloved bayous and lakes and rivers. To the magnolias and crepe myrtles. To the Spanish moss in City Park. To the music, the dancing, the crawfish. To the biggest motherfucking Superbowl party this country has ever seen!
WHO DAT!! GEAUX SAINTS!!
Oh wow. Homeward bound. Only a matter of hours now. Yeah you fucking right!!
Dining on the road home
Austin, TX
When I'm in Austin, I like to have migas for breakfast:
Beer for lunch:
Bar-B-Q for dinner:
And these?
These I like to have as often as possible. Careful. They're addictive.
When I'm in Austin, I like to have migas for breakfast:
Beer for lunch:
Bar-B-Q for dinner:
And these?
These I like to have as often as possible. Careful. They're addictive.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Rest stop on the road home
Onion Creek, Austin, TX
I really love Austin. J & J are lucky. They have all this a few blocks away from their front door:
Austin is beautiful, even in winter when the trees are bare. The rest of the year all of this is alive, lush and green. It's amazing.
There's a cactus patch up the hill. Great place to spend an afternoon if you have two energetic dogs in your company.
I always enjoy being here. To me, Austin feels like the comfort of a familiar lover's bed. Wish I could stay a little longer, but I've got to hit the road. Stopping off in Houston to have lunch with a dear friend I haven't seen since August 2005. Next stop, New Orleans. There's a very important Superbowl party I have to get to. A Black and Gold Superbowl party, to be exact. The Saints are going to the Superbowl. For the first time ever. I may have mentioned it once or twice. WHO DAT!!
I really love Austin. J & J are lucky. They have all this a few blocks away from their front door:
Austin is beautiful, even in winter when the trees are bare. The rest of the year all of this is alive, lush and green. It's amazing.
There's a cactus patch up the hill. Great place to spend an afternoon if you have two energetic dogs in your company.
I always enjoy being here. To me, Austin feels like the comfort of a familiar lover's bed. Wish I could stay a little longer, but I've got to hit the road. Stopping off in Houston to have lunch with a dear friend I haven't seen since August 2005. Next stop, New Orleans. There's a very important Superbowl party I have to get to. A Black and Gold Superbowl party, to be exact. The Saints are going to the Superbowl. For the first time ever. I may have mentioned it once or twice. WHO DAT!!
Dining on the road home
Dripping Springs, TX
When you're in Texas, you know you have to stop for some...
And when you're in Dripping Springs, Texas, you have to make sure you stop for some Bar-B-Q here:
I'd been driving all day. It's a long road, the road through Texas. I wasn't far from Austin, not at all, but it was pouring down rain and I was starving. It was that weird time in the afternoon, between lunch and dinner, so I had the whole place to myself.
I mean really. What more do you need?
Actually, I would have preferred a Purple Haze. But they only serve Anheuser-Busch products. It's OK. At least A-B makes that ZiegenBock stuff, which isn't half bad. Brewed 'specially for Texas. After seven hours in a car, a beer is a fucking beer, right?
Chopped brisket. Spicy sauce. A reprieve from the rain and a cute waitress. I like Dripping Springs.
When you're in Texas, you know you have to stop for some...
And when you're in Dripping Springs, Texas, you have to make sure you stop for some Bar-B-Q here:
I'd been driving all day. It's a long road, the road through Texas. I wasn't far from Austin, not at all, but it was pouring down rain and I was starving. It was that weird time in the afternoon, between lunch and dinner, so I had the whole place to myself.
I mean really. What more do you need?
Actually, I would have preferred a Purple Haze. But they only serve Anheuser-Busch products. It's OK. At least A-B makes that ZiegenBock stuff, which isn't half bad. Brewed 'specially for Texas. After seven hours in a car, a beer is a fucking beer, right?
Chopped brisket. Spicy sauce. A reprieve from the rain and a cute waitress. I like Dripping Springs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
