Pugs get cranky when they have packing tape stuck to their paws
Sometimes Blind Pugs have freak outs when they can't locate woobies or toys that have been packed or throned that have been thrown away, and then you have to rush them to the animal ER.
Rushing to the animal ER is fun when you've closed out your bank account that very day and just have a wad of cash and a bank issued cashiers check.
having four loads of laundry left to do when you only have enough change for 2 loads means you pack a box while Febreze-ing every layer
having 'arguments" with friends while experiencing something that tops the stress lists, except for deaths in the family, are really unpleasant, especially when they think you're mad over an air conditioner, rather than an ongoing pattern of behavior at a really freakin bad time
Moving really sucks.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Wednesday, August 3, 2005
These Are The People In My Neighborhood, In My Neighborhood....
The countdown is officially on, and I'm still procrastinating. I've got at least half the apartment left to pack, plus cleaning and the removal of various furniture pieces heavier than endtables or Girl Pugs throne.
I've been scouting out some of the less threatening addicts in the 'hood for furniture removal..however I seem to keep running into them while they are thorughly stoned and therefore not making much progress. I live in a very poor neighborhood, and am a minority here, so when I moved in 5 years ago I quickly learned that becoming friends with certain addicts and characters actually improved my safety. Suprisingly, I met all of them because they liked my pugs. Just goes to ahow a Rottweiler is not always the best choice for safety!
The first was Big Scary Drug Dealer, with his Big Scary Drug Dealer Dog, a huge black chow mix. Girl pug attempted to rip out BSDDD jugular, which caused BSDD to laugh and BSDDD to just look mildly amused. Then she fell in love with both of them, which was reciprocated. BSDD will squeal "Here, Pug Pug Pug!" in a high falsetto when he sees her approach, which sends Girl pug into fits of wiggling. Being Pavlovian, she now also associates the lookouts " Cops are coming" series of whistles with BSDD, which can cause problems while he's working and she wants some lovin. Other than her sluttish response to the lookouts whistling, this kept me safe when coming home from work after 3 am. I'm not about to ask him for any help, though.
Then there was J, who seemed to live down the block, and was often found passed out in the shade of my building on hot summer days. J generally roamed about all day looking for a hit, and whacked his comrades upside the head if they decided to hit on me. J dissapeared about two years ago, and I assumed he had died. Two weeks ago he reappeared, clean and sober and almost completely unrecognizable. He's not in the area much these days, trying to avoid old habits, but everyone he whacked upside the head before still knows to keep their distance.
Girl and Boy pugs favorite is W and his cohorts, who keep vigil at the corner bodega. W has been here forever, and first introduced himself to the pugs and myself by exclaiming " Yo, dat's the dog from Men In Black! Yo Frank!!". He took to calling them Frank and Mrs. Frank, and when Girl pug hears his gravelly voice she lunges at the end of her leash looking to get a belly rub. W is kind of like the neighborhood ambassador..he knows everybody and everything. He's supposed to be scouting for manual labor for me.
I've been scouting out some of the less threatening addicts in the 'hood for furniture removal..however I seem to keep running into them while they are thorughly stoned and therefore not making much progress. I live in a very poor neighborhood, and am a minority here, so when I moved in 5 years ago I quickly learned that becoming friends with certain addicts and characters actually improved my safety. Suprisingly, I met all of them because they liked my pugs. Just goes to ahow a Rottweiler is not always the best choice for safety!
The first was Big Scary Drug Dealer, with his Big Scary Drug Dealer Dog, a huge black chow mix. Girl pug attempted to rip out BSDDD jugular, which caused BSDD to laugh and BSDDD to just look mildly amused. Then she fell in love with both of them, which was reciprocated. BSDD will squeal "Here, Pug Pug Pug!" in a high falsetto when he sees her approach, which sends Girl pug into fits of wiggling. Being Pavlovian, she now also associates the lookouts " Cops are coming" series of whistles with BSDD, which can cause problems while he's working and she wants some lovin. Other than her sluttish response to the lookouts whistling, this kept me safe when coming home from work after 3 am. I'm not about to ask him for any help, though.
Then there was J, who seemed to live down the block, and was often found passed out in the shade of my building on hot summer days. J generally roamed about all day looking for a hit, and whacked his comrades upside the head if they decided to hit on me. J dissapeared about two years ago, and I assumed he had died. Two weeks ago he reappeared, clean and sober and almost completely unrecognizable. He's not in the area much these days, trying to avoid old habits, but everyone he whacked upside the head before still knows to keep their distance.
Girl and Boy pugs favorite is W and his cohorts, who keep vigil at the corner bodega. W has been here forever, and first introduced himself to the pugs and myself by exclaiming " Yo, dat's the dog from Men In Black! Yo Frank!!". He took to calling them Frank and Mrs. Frank, and when Girl pug hears his gravelly voice she lunges at the end of her leash looking to get a belly rub. W is kind of like the neighborhood ambassador..he knows everybody and everything. He's supposed to be scouting for manual labor for me.
One of my favorites is the neighborhood transvestite, who after 5 years I still am not sure of his name. He's a frequent recipient of my cast off clothes, and if I ever lost Boy Pug I would be sure to find him sitting on T's lap. We first really met T on Sept 11th, 2001. I was bolting home with the pugs in tow while the Twin Towers were burning, and T was on my block crying " Oy mami, the sky is falling! The sky is falling!" T is still struggling with sobriety, and many of my evening walks find us on his stoop, the pugs being stroked while he rehashes his weekly dramas. T has an old back injury, and his friends are HIGHLY suspect, so I havent mentioned the moving furintiture saga to him. i will tell him once it's out, in case he wants to claim anything.
And finally, theres B. B seems to be my age, maybe younger. When you look at him you can still see who he once was, and how deep into a personal hell he has fallen. He and his "wife" are the epitome of a crackhead couple. Often she's angling for tricks while he's wobbling down the block, trying to drink a beer. I always really liked B..even while high he was always very kind and liked to pet the pugs and ask me how my day was going. He was also the one most firmly entrenched in addiction, and the one I worried about most. B would do things like perform surgery on himself after his jaw was wired shut after an accident, using pliers to snip the wires himself. Today while dragging the pugs down the block we ran into him again. We stopped to chat and B revealed he's been sober for 35 days..and was grinning from ear to ear. Having a family history of addiction, we yapped for a while about meetings and family roles and recovery. I was so tickled about seeing him sober and happy I had to call M at work and tell her. I don't think I'll ask B for help, simply because his "wife" is likely to think I'm hitting on him and try to cut me, or she'll figure out some way to rob me blind while I'm not looking.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
The Jenga-Tetris Rent Stabilized Monster
"Are you throwing anything away?"
" Mom, I've been living the past five years in a ahoebox. If it's still here, it deserves a chance to survive in DC"
Yesterday I moved out an end table. I could feel the eyes boring into me from the third floor acrss the street. Back up in my apartment, peering from my window, I saw one of the firebugs from the halfway house across the street lugging it back into her building.
Today, my broken printer and the other end table went outside to enjoy the weather. 15 minutes later I lugged down a few bags of my 'Who am I kidding, like I'll ever have a job where I need to wear a silk shell" clothes and brought them to the church across the street. The printer was still there ( probably doesn't make good kindling). The end table wasn't.
"I got your tables!" I hear coming from above me. The firebug is leaning out her window waving.
I squint against the sun and look up. " I'm gonna be moving out the matching coffee table in a few weeks. I'll yell at your window when I do. She grins, displaying her three prettiest teeth, and dissapears back inside.
I've got three seperate box piles going now, and have reached the stage where you want to cry, burn it all down, or take a shower every 15 minutes. Each round of box paccking require me to carefully dislodge items from the patented "Big City Shoebox Apartment Organization Disguised as Decorating" and with that, new plumes of dust and tufts of pug hair are dislodged and float about. This ticks me off. I've vaccumed three times in the past two days, and am very tempted to use all those rolls of plastic sheeting and duct tape purchased a few years ago to make myself a "Moving/Packing Suit."
As incredibly painful as it was..it was time to get rid of Girl Pugs throne. I need that wall for storing packed boxes.
The throne is a blue and white checked Queene Anne armchair, gotten at an auction for 7.50 six years ago in my old midwestern town. I was living on the top floor of a hundred year old house then, and while waiting for my dad to come help me lug it up the stairs, Girl Pug plunked her butt in it and claimed it as her own. I put a dog cushion and a red chenille throw on it, and this is where she lounges, laying on all the toys she's chosen to hide from her blind brother.
To prevent uneccesary drama, I put her and Blind Boy Pug in the bedroom while I huffed and puffed and threw the throne down three flights of steps. Once on the street I look up at the apartment slowly being redecorated with my stuff. She leans out the window.
"You want it?" I yell.
"Too big!" She yells back.
Too big for what? It's got plenty of cotton ticking coming out the bottom. Maybe it would catch fire too quickly. I dunno.
So now I've showered again and have set up the fluffy parts of the former throne on the floor. Of course Girl Pug is looking terribly distraught and sitting in my clean laundry instead.
" Mom, I've been living the past five years in a ahoebox. If it's still here, it deserves a chance to survive in DC"
Yesterday I moved out an end table. I could feel the eyes boring into me from the third floor acrss the street. Back up in my apartment, peering from my window, I saw one of the firebugs from the halfway house across the street lugging it back into her building.
Today, my broken printer and the other end table went outside to enjoy the weather. 15 minutes later I lugged down a few bags of my 'Who am I kidding, like I'll ever have a job where I need to wear a silk shell" clothes and brought them to the church across the street. The printer was still there ( probably doesn't make good kindling). The end table wasn't.
"I got your tables!" I hear coming from above me. The firebug is leaning out her window waving.
I squint against the sun and look up. " I'm gonna be moving out the matching coffee table in a few weeks. I'll yell at your window when I do. She grins, displaying her three prettiest teeth, and dissapears back inside.
I've got three seperate box piles going now, and have reached the stage where you want to cry, burn it all down, or take a shower every 15 minutes. Each round of box paccking require me to carefully dislodge items from the patented "Big City Shoebox Apartment Organization Disguised as Decorating" and with that, new plumes of dust and tufts of pug hair are dislodged and float about. This ticks me off. I've vaccumed three times in the past two days, and am very tempted to use all those rolls of plastic sheeting and duct tape purchased a few years ago to make myself a "Moving/Packing Suit."
As incredibly painful as it was..it was time to get rid of Girl Pugs throne. I need that wall for storing packed boxes.
The throne is a blue and white checked Queene Anne armchair, gotten at an auction for 7.50 six years ago in my old midwestern town. I was living on the top floor of a hundred year old house then, and while waiting for my dad to come help me lug it up the stairs, Girl Pug plunked her butt in it and claimed it as her own. I put a dog cushion and a red chenille throw on it, and this is where she lounges, laying on all the toys she's chosen to hide from her blind brother.
To prevent uneccesary drama, I put her and Blind Boy Pug in the bedroom while I huffed and puffed and threw the throne down three flights of steps. Once on the street I look up at the apartment slowly being redecorated with my stuff. She leans out the window.
"You want it?" I yell.
"Too big!" She yells back.
Too big for what? It's got plenty of cotton ticking coming out the bottom. Maybe it would catch fire too quickly. I dunno.
So now I've showered again and have set up the fluffy parts of the former throne on the floor. Of course Girl Pug is looking terribly distraught and sitting in my clean laundry instead.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Queen Packing Slug Supreme
August 15th
But I have 5 boxes packed! I do. I packed a jillion cookbooks, my culinary school binders, my petite four pans and my offset spatula, my back issues of "Food Arts" and "pastry Art and design", my ancient Kitchenaid, my ice cream maker, my microplane grater, and my Series Of Unfortunate Events books.
Thats some progress, right?
But I have 5 boxes packed! I do. I packed a jillion cookbooks, my culinary school binders, my petite four pans and my offset spatula, my back issues of "Food Arts" and "pastry Art and design", my ancient Kitchenaid, my ice cream maker, my microplane grater, and my Series Of Unfortunate Events books.
Thats some progress, right?
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Happy Happy Joy Joy
I am now officially unemployed!
My last night was Friday. I got cake, and wine, and cards, and tried my best to slack off and take naps in the walk in.
No more 120 degree plus work days, no more mildewed shirts, no more snapped underwires and Gold Bond powder on my forehead for heat rash!
Next up...packing for the move, and trying to figure out how to sleep like a normal person again. When 6 pm has been ones 6 am, this could prove difficult.
My last night was Friday. I got cake, and wine, and cards, and tried my best to slack off and take naps in the walk in.
No more 120 degree plus work days, no more mildewed shirts, no more snapped underwires and Gold Bond powder on my forehead for heat rash!
Next up...packing for the move, and trying to figure out how to sleep like a normal person again. When 6 pm has been ones 6 am, this could prove difficult.
Tuesday, July 5, 2005
Going Away Party For One
So..though I've yet to officialy hire the moving company, or pack, or start getting rid of certain yucky pieces of furniture, I've been antsy about my upcoming move, and attempting to try and do something about it. Kind of. there's this awful unsettled anticipation when you are about to embark on something new, but have yet to close out the current chapter.
So last week I bought new shoes..and they're SPARKLY!!! My closet is filled with black brogues and funky Mary Janes, and my work shoes are well worn Merrils or something else quite sensible. I usually avoid buying shoes, as years of wearing Converse with no socks or chinese slippers and years of working on my feet ( and being a wee bit more than slightly chunky) have left me with some enormous footsies.
But last week M and I went shopping..as she finally HAS a job ( as I'm getting ready to quit one) and is starting to plan a move out of her parents house ( as I am planning on moving back to the nest) and of course, being attracted by shiny objects and totally unsensible at times, I found myself in a huge shoe department. And suprisingly, all the cute sparkly shoes FIT!!
So I know have my "mermaid shoes", my "if they were red instead of green they'd be ruby slippers" shoes, and my metallic embroidered " Oh my god i have to call my snotty sister, it has a KITTEN HEEL" shoes. Because, of course, instead of paring down before a move, i must aquire more stuff.
Having no boxes yet to pack anything in, I've rearranged my closet and placed my nice " if I wasn't a baker and actually cared if I looked grown up" clothes into bags for donation to some worthwile charity. I threw out all the old bras with broken underwire, which I just found several of strewn on the street as I took the pugs for a late night walk. And..I've been clearing out the cabinets.
Which means I found alcohol. All opened but barely used.
Despite the fact my beer consumption at work this past year has bested all beer ever previously consumed by me, I'm not a drinker. I just look like one. Seriously. Yet I have several bottles of vodka given to me by a previous cowroker, when i was managing a snooty bakery. She either thought I must drink like a fish because I had that job, or SHOULD drink like a fish because I had it. There's also a huge bottle each of bourbon and rum from my holiday baking.
Now of course, I'm thinking moving open bottles of hard liqour would be a no-no, so what am I to do?
All i can say is right now I'm running out of mixers, and I haven't even made a dent.
So last week I bought new shoes..and they're SPARKLY!!! My closet is filled with black brogues and funky Mary Janes, and my work shoes are well worn Merrils or something else quite sensible. I usually avoid buying shoes, as years of wearing Converse with no socks or chinese slippers and years of working on my feet ( and being a wee bit more than slightly chunky) have left me with some enormous footsies.
But last week M and I went shopping..as she finally HAS a job ( as I'm getting ready to quit one) and is starting to plan a move out of her parents house ( as I am planning on moving back to the nest) and of course, being attracted by shiny objects and totally unsensible at times, I found myself in a huge shoe department. And suprisingly, all the cute sparkly shoes FIT!!
So I know have my "mermaid shoes", my "if they were red instead of green they'd be ruby slippers" shoes, and my metallic embroidered " Oh my god i have to call my snotty sister, it has a KITTEN HEEL" shoes. Because, of course, instead of paring down before a move, i must aquire more stuff.
Having no boxes yet to pack anything in, I've rearranged my closet and placed my nice " if I wasn't a baker and actually cared if I looked grown up" clothes into bags for donation to some worthwile charity. I threw out all the old bras with broken underwire, which I just found several of strewn on the street as I took the pugs for a late night walk. And..I've been clearing out the cabinets.
Which means I found alcohol. All opened but barely used.
Despite the fact my beer consumption at work this past year has bested all beer ever previously consumed by me, I'm not a drinker. I just look like one. Seriously. Yet I have several bottles of vodka given to me by a previous cowroker, when i was managing a snooty bakery. She either thought I must drink like a fish because I had that job, or SHOULD drink like a fish because I had it. There's also a huge bottle each of bourbon and rum from my holiday baking.
Now of course, I'm thinking moving open bottles of hard liqour would be a no-no, so what am I to do?
All i can say is right now I'm running out of mixers, and I haven't even made a dent.
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