Free Stuff!

The company I used to work for (not the show itself, but the much smaller company that technically employed me) has hired me for the week to clean out their old offices, which were basically unused by more than one person for over two years.

They're selling much of the old furniture to the incoming tenants, but they've decided not to store any of the remnants, so they're giving away what they couldn't convince the new kids to take.

I scored a very nice lamp, which will now bring light to my attempts to read on the couch, and a great overstuffed chair that conveniently matches the color of the couch.

There's only one minor issue: The chair has been sat upon by two dogs in the fairly recent past, a pug belonging to my former employers and a husky/Aussie shephard mix belonging to another employee.

This was slightly concerning, since I know Chaplin doesn't get along very well with other animals (this is a large part of why I have him in the first place: while he's a sweet kitty on his own, he didn't get along with his previous owner's other pets).

After I dragged the chair into my apartment this evening, Chaplin flipped a bit, sniffing and scratching and scratching and sniffing at it, and seemingly generally concerned.

At least he was until he decided to bury himself in the chair, working his own little groove into the seat. It'll be covered in cat hair in no time.

And that's when I'll know that the chair is definitely mine, since the defining characteristic of about 90% of what I own is that it's covered in cat hair.

Spring Cleaning

Here's how bored I am right now: I cleaned. And not just "sprayed some Lysol over the bathroom" cleaned. Like, threw out tons of shit I don't need anymore.

You know how, when you move, there's always a few boxes that never actually get unpacked until you move again, and you wonder, what's in here that is actually worth moving?

I unpacked those two boxes today. Turns out the answer was: not much.

I also went through my magazine and newspaper collection and threw out anything that wasn't of legitimate historical value, meaning about 95% of the batch is now in the dumpster.

Let me back up for a second: I've had several boxes of old magazines that I kept around for years (as in, the oldest one I found was the issue of Newsweek right after the '95 Oklahoma City bombing).

I've dragged these boxes all over the country, since my mother moved out of the house I grew up in and into a much smaller condo, depriving me of much-needed storage space.

I started hanging onto this stuff after my dad showed me a newspaper he'd kept from the day Kennedy was shot, something I found really fascinating. I wanted to save similar stuff for the future.

But I went a little overboard: I saved dozens of issues of Guitar World, Rolling Stone, and other magazines that really are of no use to anyone. I saved every Oscar issue of Entertainment Weekly. I saved everything even moderately historic from Newsweek.

I'd long considered selling the collection on eBay, but when I went to look online today at what I might actually get for some of these magazines (answer: very little to nothing), I decided to just pitch them.

So I went through, saving a very few truly historical items, but otherwise pitching everything. I threw out four bankers' boxes worth of crap.

What's funny is that when I checked my email after doing that, there was email from my dad, who'd been looking for my Social Security card. He didn't find it, but he did find a massive pile of other stuff, including correspondence from summer camp, report cards from elementary school, and various other pack-rat items.

At least I know where the hoarding instinct comes from.

After that, I went through the aforementioned drag-around boxes, digging up dozens of documents that needed to be shredded, and a whole lot of trash.

I wound up with so much stuff to shred that two things happened: First, my shredder overheated badly enough to be unusable for about an hour. Second, I filled a medium-sized moving box completely with the shredded remains of all that paper.

My bedroom is now almost disturbingly clean, and my cat is really, really confused, since all his hiding places are gone. I've kicked up enough dust to be sneezing like a madwoman, but it's nice to feel like I've actually made progress on something.

Tomorrow, I'm attacking the living room. I expect to finish filling the dumpster sometime in the next couple of weeks.

Interwebs!

Not only interwebs, but the return of SPECTACULAR HD to the Gigantic Damn Television, on which I am currently watching Oregon stomp Michigan, and laaaaaaaaughing and laughing.

The only problem is that I think I am going to need a bionic left foot. Anyone have a spare?

I Like To Move It, Move It

I will be moving downstairs all day tomorrow. I had a hell of a long day and only moved shit for an hour tonight, and I'm already wiped out.

I swear to god, when I am done with this move, I'm not moving out of this new place for at least four years or I buy a condo, whichever comes first (which will heavily depend on how the SoCal housing slide and my rise to the upper echelons of Hollywood coincide).

Next post will be whenever I manage to get internet up and running in my new place. Cross your fingers for me that Time Warner Cable actually shows up sometime roughly in their 1-3 appointment range tomorrow.

I Am Such A Lesbian

Moving brings out the big old butch lesbian in me. I mean, not that she had far to come, but for just two examples:

Spackle. I bought spackle. I love spackle. I love the word spackle. I love saying and typing the word spackle. Spackle spackle spackle.

I even love spackling all the holes I've placed in the wall, which there are WAY more of than I realized. I guess that's what framing all your posters and hanging both your guitars and your TV on the wall will do.

Power tools. I get to use my drill to take everything down! With all the spackling I have to do, I now have a legit excuse to buy a power sander! A small one, but still! Power sanding!

It's a good thing I already packed all my flannel away, or I'd really be a hideous stereotype. At this rate, the haircut I so desperately need will be a mullet.

The Apartment Shuffle

You would think that moving from one apartment to another in the same building would be easier than doing a full-on move.

Unfortunately, as I've realized as I prepare to move downstairs to get out of the abominable heat of my current apartment, this is clearly not the case.

You still have to do 90% of the work: Pack everything in boxes, file change of addresses with eight billion companies, move all your utilities.

About the only things you don't have to do are 1) rent a truck and 2) scrape together the money for another security deposit.

Damnation.

World Exclusive Photos!

I've got a some photos of the new place up at Flickr, along with several photos of Chaplin helping me move. Enjoy!

Apologies

The blogging shall recommence in earnest this weekend with an Old Place vs. New Place comparison, and exclusive pictures of my new place.

I outbid In Touch weekly for the photographs.

Fun With The CrapCam

Chaplin is still adjusting to the new apartment.


Guess which one is the real Chaplin and win a prize!*

note: prize is the satisfaction of being right.

On Notice

The following people, corporate entities, and inanimate objects are hereby on notice:

1. Time Warner Cable. Four hours of pure fiasco, and I still don't have cable. "It needs to come in from outside" apparently didn't convey clearly enough the need for drilling, and thus for a signed note from the building manager.

The manager, of course, was elsewhere, so the guys (who were an hour late to begin with and didn't call to say they were running beind) left.

2. The garage door at my old building. As I was coming into the garage with my last armload of stuff, someone started to try and come in. The door got about a foot off the ground and then crashed with a very loud metallic THUNK.

I'm writing this up via the Swiss Army Phone while sitting in my car, waiting for the super to come over. The length of time it's taken for him to come over, let alone open the gate, is making him very close to being On Notice.

3. My back and my ankle. Listen kids, you stop fighting with me and I'll buy you some serious painkillers.

An Unexpected Snag

Packing is going to take a lot longer than I thought it would if Chaplin keeps up his current trend of jumping in every single box I try to pack.

I know cats really, really like boxes, but this is ridiculous.

Drumroll Please

Annnnd the big news is: I'm moving!

After five goddamn months of trying to get away from "GO STEELERS! *clap clap clap* WOOOOOOO! *clap clap clap*", I finally found a place that is a) nice and b) not completely insanely priced (for California...for anywhere else except NYC, I'd be buying at least a condo).

I'm moving to Santa Monica, and while I'm sad to leave behind America's Smorgasboard of the Rationally Challenged, I'm very excited about there being a lot more shit within walking distance of my new place.

I'm moving Saturday, so if you know anyone in the greater Los Angeles area who's willing to help me move in exchange for free furniture and small appliances, send them in my direction.

Pictures of the spiffy new place (new appliances! hardwood floors! granite everything! pool!) TK once I start moving stuff in.