Some assembly required
Next time I move, I’m hiring a professional.
Friday afternoon, I picked up the keys to my new home, high up on the 3rd floor of a 3-story walk-up. I spent the next 4 hours cleaning the apartment (to my anal-retentive standards) to remove whatever dirt and decay had been left by the previous tenants. I was thankful that the place had indeed been painted and cleaned as promised so that I wouldn’t need to remove the 50+ empty bottles of booze in the kitchen. Two hours of my cleaning time was spent removing the nicotine coating from the inside of the windows, effectively stripping the yellow tint from the rooms. A new toilet seat, some Kaboom in the tub and bathroom sink and a little scrubby scrubby on the floor and the bathroom was fresh as a daisy.
Friday evening I bribed my old downstairs neighbor with two cases of beer and a pizza for the use of his truck and his back to assist with moving the heavy stuff, the couch, shelves, desk and bed. The rest of the stuff has been moved by 2 other friends and myself. (Note that I still have a fair amount of things left in the old place that I’ll be removing this week. The new tenant of the old place doesn’t move in until Saturday.
But seriously, after carrying my belongings up 3 flights of stairs, I may just tell my old roommate to toss the stuff left into a charity bin. I’m so tired of lugging things upstairs. How did I accumulate so much stuff? Where did this crap all originate? Why is porn so heavy?
Saturday was spent carrying even more boxes and bags upstairs until I passed out and had a nice long nap in the late afternoon. The evening was spent unpacking and arranging.
Sunday was spent shopping! Oh, how I love to shop. I picked up the two 5’x8’ rugs I’d previously purchased at CB2 along with 16 rug tiles of various colors for my new office area and a new stylish coffee table. (It was on the shopping list)
Tonight, I think I’ll try to finish moving everything out of the old place and get my kitchen and office situated.
Anyone in the Chicago area want to help feel free to let me know!
October 26, 2005
hundreds and hundreds
I am afraid of plugs because I once stepped on one and it punctured my foot leaving a gash and a painful reminder for many weeks to come.
Tonight, I went to a fundraiser for Equality Illinois, a gay political action organization that has done some amazing work in the past few years. My lovely neighbor invited me to attend “night of 100 drag queens” with him, I accepted and I’m glad I did. I had a marvelous time. (Though I’m pretty sure I only saw at most 10 drag queens all night)
While I was walking thru the bar, I had a slight altercation with a drag queen (unbeknownst to her) and instantly I understood the entire Charlie’s Angeles hair flip phenomenon.
She walked by and flipped her hair as she passed me and I must admit, it kind of stung as it struck my face. The pure amount of product in this queen’s hair was enough to withstand the winds of Katrina.
Those hair flips are not just a display of feminine wiles, but they are also a threat of deadly physical violence. So beware. Whenever a woman fag drag queen flips her hair. She means business and you’d best get out of her way.
PS. Its true. Drag queens do indeed prefer larger barware. It makes their hands look smaller.
October 24, 2005
unrealistic fears
I have a fear that I’ve never shared with anyone. I don’t even think there is a name for it in the medical journals. I’m afraid of electrical plugs. I’m not afraid of the electrical outlets, just the plugs.
Many years ago, shortly after I moved into my first ever apartment on my own, I had a horrible run-in with an electrical plug that left me wounded, shaking and forever traumatized. After stepping out of the shower and drying myself thoroughly with an oversized towel stolen from a local hotel, I plugged in the hair dryer and whipped my hair into place. Finished with the task at hand, I unplugged the hair dryer and threw it back onto the shelf where I kept it, leaving the cord dangling and the plug laying on the floor. Looking back, I should have known better, I should have taken that extra step and coiled the cord around the dryer; but I didn’t and because of that one lazy moment, I have had to cower in fear ever since. The strange thing about this phobia is that it only hits me in the bathroom. No other room fills me with dread when I see a haphazardly strewn cord and plug.
What was accident that has instilled this fear in me?
October 21, 2005
Home sweet home sweet homo
Yay me!
I found a place. After an exhausting search high and low, near and far, I stumbled upon a lovely place just a few blocks from where I live now. I won’t need to change dry cleaners; I can still stumble home from the Eagle, and since this place is on the 3rd floor of a walk-up, expect me to have an ass like a marble statue in no time at all.
There are a few drawbacks. There is no parking, however the building across the street has garage spaces available (maybe next month) and it was kind of a dump. Let me clarify. It was a dump. The former tenants were not the tidiest of people. They were, however, boozers, as exhibited by the fifty or so empty bottles of booze lining the area above the cupboards in the kitchen. The floors, once cleaned should be very nice. Currently, they suffer from several areas of black “goo” and other sundry items covering them. The bathtub is a lovely shade of brown.
The management company is going to paint and clean this place before I move in. I will do the same ensuring it is up to my anal retentive, compulsively clean requirements.
I get the keys next week.
So now the question is…
Should I go the trading spaces route and have an accent wall? I think not.
Moving sucks
I hate moving season. The very notion of having to box up my belongings and relocate to another space, re-paint my walls to white, paint my new walls away from white, make friends with someone that owns a truck (which usually means putting out), and convincing others that they should help me move the few pieces of furniture that I have all add up to a big fat headache.
I spent a portion of yesterday looking at apartments. Five apartments to be exact. I rode along with “The Apartment People”, a “free” service here in Chicago that lists and shows apartments. To her credit, she picked out 5 pretty good places that they were close to where I was looking to live. She showed me the perfect place (with a god awful color palette). This place had a garage with remote, 2 bedrooms, brand new kitchen, big fenced yard for Stella to run around in and the rent was reasonable. Then the landlord asked for a full month’s rent as a deposit for Stella. He asked for a $795.00 pet deposit! I told my apartment guide that I would take the place on 2 conditions, one being that he allow me to paint and the other that he make the pet deposit reasonable like $200-$250. He countered with half a month’s rent. So totally move-in cost to me would have been, and I’m bad with math, cause, well, math is hard, but my total move-in would be, 3 carry the 5 minus the 2 plus… $2,200 roughly. I told him he could shove that 2 grand, well, my guide did so much more diplomatically than I did.
So I settled on another place that is very nice, walking distance to Wendy’s, upstairs from a coffee shop, next door to a Hot Dog stand and across the street from both a CVS and a Sears. This apartment too would require close to $2100 in order to move in.
I don’t get it. Why is a full month’s rent as a deposit so damn important?
Alas, I came home and went back at the classifieds and found a few more apartments to look at today. These take dogs and have reasonable deposit requirements. No parking, but at this point, I?ll hunt down a garage at a later date.
Off to find a new abode.
October 20, 2005
Magical thinking
A friend of mine told me a story this morning that I have to share with you. She is sure that her actions have sealed her fate and that she is indeed going to burn in hell. To which I say, “oooh company”.
This friend, who under threat of physical pain has forced me to promise that she remain nameless, made her boss cry. Her boss recently transferred into the Chicago area from a foreign country (think - Land where Lord of the Rings was filmed) due to a relationship meltdown and parting of ways. Before she left, she took her dog to a “reader” and was informed that the dog thought it is too old to travel that far, and would therefore remain in this very green land down under. Her boss, let’s call her Sue (no its not her name, I don’t like pain), well Sue, left New Zealand minus dog and relationship and returned to the US broken, saddened, and defeated in life. (I added the emotions, I think it adds to the tragedy of her life, and this story)
She took a position in my friend’s, um, establishment as my friend’s very demanding boss. Personally, I think she is taking her frustrations out on her staff, but who am I to speak. Well, she has been forcing my friend to work late a lot the last few weeks and last night, while they were once again pulling a late evening, (fake name) Sue took a moment to talk to said friend and the topic of New Zealand and the dog were breached. My friend, angry about all the late hours and frustrating working conditions made the decision to push the subject and keep talking about Sue’s dog, sort of turning the handle of the knife in her back, so to speak.
Sue started crying, remembering her dog, her life, her love lost, and my friend left the, um, establishment a little happier that she had taken just a touch of revenge on Sue.
Well, Sue phoned my friend this morning. The dog passed away last night, and Sue was thanking this friend for bringing up the subject last night and allowing her to remember fondly the dog that she adored so much.
My reaction was to question how much she’s been talking about my dream of moving to the West coast, or my career, or my love life. Hell, she killed a dog a world away, with that amount of power; I just want to make sure that she isn’t sabotaging my life as well.
October 19, 2005
Thinking things thru
I’ve spent many, many years of my life moving from place to place, from job to job and from man to man. Today, I’m thinking that maybe, just maybe, I should stop, and let life catch up to me.
Is it really so bad to work at a job that you don’t love?
Is it really so bad to live in a city that you don’t adore?
Is it really so bad to sit still and wait for life to happen, or better yet, to proceed with a plan instead of just rushing off into the oncoming winds of change without direction or thought?
If I’ve truly grown as a person these last 5 years in Chicago, then shouldnn’t I have a plan in place before I take off on yet another wild adventure?
Chicago, it looks like I’m stickin it out a little longer.
October 18, 2005
kick me when i’m down
Timing is everything.
Today, for the first time in the 2 years working for this company (and the day after i find out that the powers that be consider me a loser), i find out that i’ve met my quota requirements. Two years to make my numbers for the first time. Patience truly is a vertue and i’m thankful my employer has gobs of it.
oh bittersweet irony.