Tag Archives: moving

Bookin It

28 Jul


Sleep was a total exercise in futility.

When everything hurts from moving 12 times your body weight across 9 or so hours…”rest” isn’t gonna happen.  Just throbbing fucking everything.

…By 7:30 am, I gave up, dragged my pillow to the couch and screamed as I sank into the couch cushions.  Then, I yelled again as I got up for tea about half an hour later, then again, about thirty minutes after that. By 10:00, I was exhausted further, just from hurting.  The actual act of “hurting.” 

Rejoining the world at-large, I managed to finally brush my teeth, and joined Ma at the town house to art direct one of her main bookcase walls in the living room.

…I do love me an architect who sinks a full wall of shelving into a home for the pure purpose of showing off as many sexy volumes of classic, bound text, in as many genres as you can fathom.  Directing that to look like just the cluttered, half-hazard home to an eccentric Lit Professor, takes time. Hours and hours of it. Luckily, its something I totally dig doing, and it was the right amount of light physical manual labor to help loosen the death-clutch of muscle seizure, but not influence anything further.

Done, and done.

…And so is m’day.

Off for some more “Studio 60,” and yelling in pain, as I flip flop back and forth on the sofa.

Being out of shape really blows, you guys.



27 Jul


You know when you realize that your eyelashes don’t hurt…only because they are the only things that don’t?

…Yeah. I’m there.

In about twenty minutes, I hope to have shut today down, and call it “yesterday.” 

…Meanwhile, Ma begins a new life in a new town house. A charming place in Old Towne…just on the waterfront…a location she’s only wanted to live in, the whole of her life.

Welcome home, Ma. And good sleeps to us all.

…Dear lord, how I hurt.


Attack Of The Eyeball

26 Jul


Accidentally slept in my contacts last night.

My eyes have been wrongish all day…constantly clouding over, dry and scratchy, and for the past hour or so…refusing to focus almost entirely. Finally taking the contacts out just now, felt like I was peeling my corneas off. 

…There’s a lot of bloodshotness there.

…They also feel like they’re packin’ 25 lb weights per lid, and keep creeping downward, even though it’s only 11 pm.

In this case, I feel I shouldn’t fight it. Tomorrow is Ma’s moving day, and that woman has more furniture, books and other 5 tons weight accumulators than most of the people you will ever meet.

…I already need coffee, just thinkin’ about it.


The Pirate Is Forced To Retire

17 May


Two moving vans and and new wireless notification pop up, announced the worst.

“Relocation of your wireless signal.”

My leached-for-free internet of the past several months was mourned, duely.

A moment of silence, in respect.

It is a very terrible thing to be, suddenly, a Pirate without the free  booty to pillage.  One feels quite at a loss.  Like an actor whose just finished their last gig and has nothing next to move onto.





…And highly inconvenienced.

The hope-through-positive-thinking, that whomever will fill said apartment, will be just as liberal with their signal, is too mean a temptation to fall under. 

In these days?

With all the assholes in the world?

…Who will break into your account without your permission?

…Whenever they freakin’ want?

Be real.

NO ONE in their right mind, would be open to that.

…And I will miss my little overly-trusting brothers, who (no doubt) have moved to other pastures that they will equally water with the blessings of their free-willingness to spread joy and free-internet-wonder amongst the masses.

It was a short romance, but it was voracious in content, and exceedingly memorable.

…I will always look on these months as a time of wonder, great growth, and astounding culture, for which: I thank you.

Not every Pirate had been so nobly sponsored.

I will never forget you.


The Dread Internet Pirate


A Letter To The BFF, As She Moves To L.A.

22 Sep


The BFF is leaving tomorrow.

…Not forever, just a few months…but I still don’t like it.  I know she’s coming back no matter what, because I’m holding The Fella and all my booze for ransom, but she’s kinda getting in the habit of ditching us…and that isn’t cool. 

…This one time, she did it for a whole semester in Dublin, and had WAY more fun than me, then decided to travel the whole fucking continent of Europe, before she ever came back home again. And where I’m way more jealous of her doing that, I still don’t totally agree with the whole “plan” she has mapped out right now. But, I guess she’s going anyway.

…Because she secretly hates us.

The flip side of this is that she’s moving to L.A., where NO ONE has more fun. Because they’re too busy being starving-hungry on purpose all the time.  And they have to get everything waxed so they look like hairless rats.  And always bleach their teeth and eye whites.  And get injections into their faces, of juice toxins they make bombs out of. And meat (outside of the porn biz) is totally outlawed there. 

…I heard this one time? A girl gained .002 of an ounce, just by accidentally breathing in beef spores from the lunch meat on the Kraft Service table, and she was totally kicked off the movie set. On breach of contract.  That’s when they first passed the law, I think.  It’s one of those lesser-known ones that people don’t really talk about, just inherently “know.” Like the one where your boobs have to be bigger than your butt cheeks…and brunettes can only play “evil”, or “the girl-next-door”…and everyone spends two hours applying makeup before they drive into the studio to get their makeup done for “real”, in case of paparazzi.*

(* That last one isn’t a real law, just a good idea in general.  Have you SEEN the covers of The Star and National Enquirer? Okay, then…)

…BTdubs…best get used to the rash of arrant-misinformation-factoid-news-stories NOW, cuz they sure as hell ain’t gonna get any better.

…But I digress. 

This was all supposed to be a letter. A letter of wise words to send my non-blood sister out into the wide-wide world with. Even though she’s already seen ten times more of it than I have.  However, she also almost died that one time…in that Romanian hostel pit from hell, (that she saw fit to spend a night in once and somehow live to tell about.)  And it’s because of things like this, that I feel obligated to list out a few “do’s” and “don’ts” for her.  You know…just in case she gets the feeling to check into a Bates Motel, or work at a strip joint, or shack up with some roomies that turn out to be Colombian Drug Lords.

I only say these things, because I love her.

…Which I wish she would keep in mind.


Dear The BFF,

I bought a tiny jar of dill pickles today, and it was tragic. I couldn’t do the big Costco one this time…know why? You won’t be here to help eat them. And after three months or whatever in L.A., you’ll prob’ly never eat dill pickles, ever again. “Too much salt and food content,” you’ll say.

…And you won’t fry things in butter anymore. Or bake cakes. And you’ll go back to eating tofu sandwiches – minus the bread – which is just tofu really, only you’ll still call it a sandwich…because clearly it is made of at least two foods: “to” and “fu”…so that’s a full meal right there…on the occasion that you still even eat food, that is.

(P.S. I hear they have a new surgery now, where they take out your taste buds so you can just totally give up and not even care about food at all, anymore.)

…When you come home again, I will ultimately just disgust you, with my buttersauce ways, and fat-pudge. And you’ll take out an ad to hold Open Casting for a new BFF…one with less evil chub, who doesn’t smell like meat products all the time. Possibly a blond. With a single syllable name…which doesn’t require spelling and pronunciation lessons every time it is given.

(P.S.S. I heard they have this service where you can just order friends off a menu, on Sunset. But if you get the wrong “package deal,” they’ll send you themed strippers instead. This one chick I know, ended up with a Latina in lederhosen holding a Heineken, on her doorstep…when all she wanted was someone to go shopping with.)

…You’ll also be buddies with all the famous people, after this, and have free designer clothes…and know all the new “in” words, so I won’t have any idea what in the hell you’re even talking about anymore…

“Those shoes are just ralsh of viv for the rycalm of it all. I bet Mila and Natalie have ’em. I was at this dinner once, hashing with Reese, Russell & Amy and they were all: ‘you are monster jade, you know that?’ And, O-M-G…did you SEE what Amanda was wearing at that one award show? What a drosh…it was sooooo last season.”

“…The hell?” I will sadly respond.

“Seriously. I cannot even believe I once thought you were Ivan in the sweet and we were all xadish. What a fucking Kevlar I was,” you will reply.

(P.S.S.S. Someone told me this one time that the real reason it’s so hard to break it into Hollywood, is because of the language barrier. Tons of people just never pick it up. Which is prob’ly why almost all the major stars are Foreign. Cuz they already speak nine or ten other languages, so it’s easier for them to pick it up somehow.)

…Of course, I am just panicking and jumping to conclusions here…(which, hello, is totally what I do)…but the innermost “me” knows this is all ridiculous, because you would NEVER betray food like that. Or me. (And I’m totally fine that that is the order we come in.) But I still worry ’bout things.

…Just…you know what? Do me a favor. Maybe find out where ever Winslet, Fey, Pitt, Clooney, Hathaway…the cast of “How I Met your Mother,” or the Whedonites are hanging out…and go be with them. Cuz they’re “real.” I’m told they still have all their original bone structure and skin, even. It would really make me feel better…just “in general.”


* Don’t ever “borrow” someone’s office couch to crash on…it’s prob’ly got enough generations of movie-starlette spunk on it, to disgust even a garbage man.

* Don’t walk Hollywood Blvd after dusk…especially after a party…people will stop their cars and offer you money to turn a trick.

* Don’t take money from people, while agreeing to “turn a trick.” It isn’t what you think it is. There are no magic doves, disappearing acts, or decks of cards involved in the kind they want. And if there are, you’re even MORE screwed. (Pun intended.)

* If you HAVE to shop lift, (in total emergency situations), wait until you see which store Winona Ryder is going into. When the alarm goes off, point at her. They will totally believe you. Then, when the security guards start to frisk her: run.

* “Organic” special nature California foods, are just a giant trick. ALL produce grows in or from dirt. The end. So don’t pay extra just because they tell you different. (I know I’ve already been having this same argument with you for two years, but it’s not gonna stop now. Isn’t constancy nice?)

* If you go shopping on Rodeo Drive, keep your sunglasses on the whole time, and sneer at the saleswomen like Patsy in “Ab-Fab.” In the words of Meg Ryan from “French Kiss”: “If you’re nice to them, they will treat you like shit, treat THEM like shit, and they’ll love you.”

* Don’t catch any wild ideas about future children’s names and weird charities you wanna sponsor. There are plenty of real ones in both cases, so use/support them. Just for the record: I absolutely refuse to call your kid “Cumquat” or “Pumernickle” or “Spring Rain” or “Ra-$h8-tra.” And I won’t run twenty miles to support the Pygmy Marmoset Dwarf Monkeys of Ecuador. So don’t ask.

* If you run into any of the list of men I gave you before you left, give them my number and tell them to call me.


* If you accidentally find yourself rich, bring me back something from Tiffany’s.

…For now, that should do it. I feel like I took care of all the really important stuff. Except to say: “I love you…and don’t forget me.”

…And also, I fucking miss you already.


~ Your BFF

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